Me…Winning!

As you know, I am a very famous and important blogger, definitely one of the “beautiful people” of the world.  If you borrowed my brain for five seconds, you’d be like, ‘Dude! Can’t handle it, unplug this b*$%#&!’ It fires in a way that’s maybe not from this terrestrial realm.  However, I have noticed lately that a lot of other “celebrities” are getting more attention than me, people like Brangelina, Oprah, and even that dude who runs the Make-a-Wish foundation and, to be frank, I want my piece of the pie. 

I tried writing good blog posts, fun stuff about Oreo-laden desserts, family trips to the beach, and cute guinea pig stories, but I’ve decided it’s all boring, jaded crap.  The problem is I have a different constitution. I have a different brain; I have a different heart; I got tiger blood, man.  I’m tired of pretending I’m not special.

So here’s my plan.  First, I am going to overdose… this is always an attention getter.  I am thinking chocolate or possibly sticky buns, but I will narrow it down closer to the time.  After I  am found lying in a sugar-induced haze, I will be taken by ambulance to the local Weight Watcher’s meeting but I will be sure to tell the media that my “accident” was just a shameful train wreck filled with blind cuddly puppies, because that totally makes sense and everyone loves puppies and trains!  My overdose will be a big one.  I will be banging seven-pound sticky buns. Because that’s how I roll. I have one speed. I have one gear: Go.

While at the Weight Watcher’s meeting, I plan to really tear the place up, I mean, chairs dangling from lighting fixtures, scales broken in half, Little Debbie wrappers scattered around-- real damage.  And then I’ll blame it on the Little Debbie’s.  I might have to pay for the damage, but just think of the blogpost I could write about that little incident!  That will get my name out there!

(I am also thinking of writing a few blogposts claiming things like “the Japan earthquake/tsunami never happened, it’s all a huge fake” and “all hamsters are terrorists”, because nothing generates publicity like a little conspiracy theory/anti-small rodent declaration.)

This leads me to my squeaky clean image.  I’ve got to dirty it up a bit, even at the expense of my family.  They will be fine.  They will be so thankful to me just because I let them close to my fame.  What they will come to discover is, it isn't how you get there, it's that you get there. If that's what it takes to get me where I'm at today, so be it.  I may have to shoot Dave “accidentally” in the arm and I may have to forget I have children for awhile, but they will understand and appreciate all I am doing for them.  To be honest, I’m really looking forward to kicking them all out of the house and getting two cats, my sweet little “goddesses” I will call them!  Dave and Ben are allergic, so this is my chance.  To be with two cats.  At the expense of my family.  Because I will be famous!  After all, I think I’m worth over a 100 BILLION dollars, and that’s just on a cellular level.

Finally, once I am good and famous, completely bi-winning and riding the tsunami of media on a mercury surfboard, I plan to launch my national tour!  The tour will consist of me and my tiger blood, up there on the stage, probably doing something awesome, like for instance I know a lot of Knock-Knock jokes, I may play air guitar and lip synch to many songs including “Livin’ on a Prayer” and Bette Midler’s amazing “The Rose”, or maybe I will just read a few of my blogposts to the crowd.  I think I will call it “My Violent Sticky Bun of Truth/Defeat is Not an Option”, and I believe I may earn a stunning $7 million dollars on this tour which I will use to buy kitty treats for the goddesses and alimony/child support (if I have to) and more sticky buns.  It will be magic.

People, I am on a drug, it's called Dirty Laundry. It's not available because if you try it you will die. Your face will melt off and your children will weep over your exploded body. 

Me...Winning.