See, I told you I don't Google myself but once in a Blue Moon.
Here I was given the Transmundanity Award for having the wildest and most mindblowingly original blog--my Godzilla-Mothra blog.
You can read what Canadian Uber-blogger Matthew Caverhill actually wrote, instead of what I chose to misremember to self-aggrandize, here: Thanks, Matt!
And nobody tole me.
This was in September, 2009.
Okay, I don't think he used those exact words, but that's the great thing about an award. You can keep adding adjectives of your own choosing to it until it's like the Jean Hersholt Humanitarian Award. You can feel like Gandhi but with a certain coolth added.
I sit on train tracks all the times, but it's amnesia not civil disobedience.
I'm quite honored, Matthew, as your blog is very smart and you process culture much faster than I can. But I can aspire. I will add you to my blogroll.
And yes, you have good taste.
Do you know I still get emails from strangers demanding that I "finish the damn novel, already!"
I'm always honored by the aggressive tone.
I promise to finish it if nature doesn't finish me first.
I think they are implying I have a glint of commercial viability hidden down under my bushel. Just one problem: I'm psychotic and I live my life after that line by Keith Waldrop, that prayer to God about not finishing things...
Plus, the book is unfilmable. So why publish it, right? Isn't that the American cynicism about what books are really for? You whores lol.
Lately, I'm having more fun with the psychopathic homos in my other novel.
They keep daring me to do horrible things to them. I think they are masochists.
I just love having them fuck each other up and get fucked up by everything and everyone in their lives.
At first, I thought I had won the Transhumanity Award, but I think psychiatrists have to give you that one.
I like you, Matthew Caverhill.
When I become rich and powerful like a Gobot out of control, like Google, I promise to buy you your own strip club or library--depending on your stripe of perversion.
If you're smart, you'd choose the library. Because the girls there actually put out.
Making twenty-four thousand dollars a year turns people into driving sex addicts for some reason.
I think Karl Marx could explain it, but I can't.
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2 comments:
You see, library gals are impressed by words, which are cheap. Strippers are impressed by jewelry and fancy cars... which are not... especially when you steal them, because let's face it, no one wants to work for a Ferrari and a sack full of diamonds... and that is the kind of stuff they send you to prison for.
Hehe, Matthew.
The last time I was in a place like that all the girls were hanging around in the lobby between numbers and all they talked about was things like picking up their kids, daycare comparisons, taxes, etc.
They were very practical little gals who just happened to have great T & A & L.
But then there is the "other" stripper...the one my brother's friend dated who picked up a glass table and threw it across the room at him.
The pole can endow you with inhuman strength, apparently.
I want to buy the action figure.
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