Anonymous said: Yo dude, not a question, just a heads up...
@simonkingesq is stealing your tweets... I didn't feel like mentioning you on Twitter, so I found you here.
Thanks for having my back, Anonymous. Nothing upsets me more than racists, the British, and people who steal tweets. As far as I know, @simonkingesq is ALL THREE. The worst part is that in one of my tweets he posted, he changed “James Franco” to “Eric Pickles”. “Who the heck is Eric Pickles?!” I wondered. A British politician, it turns out. But I had to look him up on Wikipedia, and I will NEVER forgive @simonkingesq for that.
Anyway, I wish I could thank you personally, but you know, the whole anonymity thing. I understand your reasons for it, of course. You assumed that if I knew who you were, I’d track you down and give you back the cursed monkey’s paw you gave me all those years ago, knowing the pain it has brought anyone who happens to be unfortunate enough to be in possession of it. You know me all too well, Anonymous. You know me all too well.
Here is a gratuitous slideshow of my first experience with Fruitstripe gum since the early years of my childhood at Oakbridge Asylum for the Criminally Insan— Elementary School. Oakbridge Elementary School.
Anyway I would say the flavor lasts about the same amount of time as I can stand listening to a song by that Lady Gaga dude everyone’s always talking about. Which is to say not more than about a second and a half.
I feel like I’m supposed to remember something about this place, but for the life of me I have no idea what it is… It’s definitely NOT the Mexican restaurant where I found a hair in my enchilada. It’s gotta be either the place we had Rick’s bachelor party or that Jazzercise studio I’m not allowed to go back to anymore. :(
I’m a man of few words. Mainly these ones: hatred, spite, insecurity, waffles.
Still, I believe I’ve learned a thing or two about LIFE and the freaking HUMAN CONDITION during my time in this crazy world, so I decided to compile everything I know into this post, which I call ADVICE FOR PEOPLE NAMED “KEITH”. So here you go, Keiths:
'Sup dudes! How are things? Not good, probably. I know. It's tough out there for a Keith. You've had a hard time finding prospective employers willing to look past your neck tattoos and you're forced to change meth dealers so often you can't remember the prison nickname of the one who'd always been your favorite. Snake-something, or something-Dawg. SnakeDawg? No, that wasn't it.
Anyway, like I said, it’s tough being a Keith. I’m sure you wish you’d been born in this past decade, a time when mothers have the foresight to give their sons names like Hayden, or Aidan, or Jaden, or Bentley.
If you do, CUT IT OUT. That’s dumb. Those names are stupid. If you’re going to wish anything, you should wish to have been born 150 years ago, when men had REAL names, like Rutherford B. Hayes and Chesterton Scowlesworth. No Keiths back then, that’s for sure. You know, now that I think about it, this isn’t so much “advice” as much as it is me making fun of you.
I suppose if there’s one thing to take away here, it’s this: change your name. It’s easy. Lots of people do it. Just start calling yourself something crazy, like Garbageman or Funk. Problem solved!
Well, that’s it I guess. Hopefully you feel a lot better. I know I do.
*Additional note to self: Seriously. Don’t forget to fix the title. I bet you will, you moron.
Do you ever think maybe you’ll be the first person to live forever thanks to your impeccable fitness regimen and homemade protein shakes that contain 30% whale butter and over 43% live bees, only to realize that in order to reach your goal of being the world’s oldest hermaphrodite you should really cut back on all the risky activities you participate in, like skydiving, practicing “Pražnjenje Želuca”- the ancient Croatian art of competitive vomiting, and sharing underwear with Courtney Love?