Recently, in Why I Hate the Interwebs land, I came across the tweet below.
I’m not sure why I bothered to white out his identity. Pretty sure it’s because I don’t want to inadvertently contribute to his…notoriety. He’s already a Portland-famous self-proclaimed celebrity.
I point out that his celebrity is self-proclaimed…if it were up to me, I’d choose Stupid American as a label for this clearly adrift Lost Boy.
Ok, A) yes. Right?!?
But, also, B) I wasn’t really that confident that he was joking. I think I was trying to “program” his behavior with my words.
Also, I am fairly sure this is why people sometimes refer to people who use Twitter as twits.
Another grumpopatomus response that went through my head was
Not as weird as you even asking the question.
But grandma had a strong voice when it came to appropriate behavior, so I gave her her day on the Internet.
Now, because I can exist in the simultaneous states of grumpy and self-entertained, I was having a different internal conversation with my dear departed grandma about this tweet as I typed my response. That voice was cracking me up with a running dialogue kvetching about how much work it would be to execute this plan.
I mean, the waxing, the bleaching, you’re gonna want an intensive week of leg day workouts beforehand…and then you gotta find a photographer. And it can’t be just any photographer.
“Why not? Wait…what do you know about leg day?”
Don’t you worry. But it wasn’t all water aerobics at the Y for me, let me tell you.
Now, you’d want natural light for this shoot. You’d need an outdoor photographer.
“An outdoor photographer?”
Of course! This isn’t picture day at school. You can’t just hire any old guy from Sears Portrait Studio to do this.
Quite right, you are! Imagine some poor schmuck that makes his living taking pictures of pets for family Christmas cards trying to pull this off.
“Mm-hmm. I’m sure that simply wouldn’t do.”
You’re gonna want the guy who puts out a Grand Canyon calendar every year for this job.
He’s used to working with giant, gaping holes.
“That was quite a lot of set up just to backhandedly call this guy a slut, grandma.”
He’s nothing but a common tramp.
I’m not sure why, but sometimes grandma sounds like grandma in my head. Others, she has a Southern accent. I call her my imaginary Southern grandma. This time she had a New York Jewish accent. That’s new…
It’s a wonderful time to be alive, folks.