Okay, so I’m tweeting now (@badsandwich). I don’t really get it though. I mean, I’ve got it set up so if I text, for example “go get fucked why dontcha” that it turns up in my feed (is the shit called a feed?) but what’s with everything else? Like, I vaguely get that if I want to get toby’s attention, I can tweet “@redscaretoby is a total dildo” and that will somehow get reported to him, but does it get reported to him on his phone? On his computer? What the fuck? I don’t get it. What’s that noise? This music sounds like screaming to me! Oh! My hip! I’ve lost my medicine! Where’s the hash mark come in? Do I use that in a sentence like “man, how about those #cans? If I want to see a bunch of cans? I dunno. I really don’t know what the deal is with this twitter.
I dreamed about it last night though. That’s something. Usually, almost every night, I have the same dream. I’m having sex with a beautiful woman, but she’s got the face of Chris from my band and he’s got an Abe Lincoln beard and a stovepipe hat on (I guess another way to say this is that I’m doing it with an Abe Lincoln/Chris hybrid who has a vagina instead of a dick, but that makes it sound kind of gay) and then when we get up from that, I’ve got this gigantic dong, like two Pringles cans long and at least as big around as a slice of baloney (so, just a tiny bit bigger than my actual dong), and we have a good chuckle about how easy it is for me to suck myself off, and why do I even bother dealing with other human beings? Then we have fondue in the back of a mirror plated humvee and then usually, I wake up.
That’s the dream I have almost every night, but last night my dream involved twitter and all my followers and the notion that I’m further littering the already pretty gross internet with my unique form of uh…what’s the phrase I’m looking for? Useless drivel? Yeah, that’ll do. I guess though, if Sarah Palin can tweet, so can I, right? Of course I can. I mean, that chick on two separate occasions practically failed at passing Trig. Get it? Heyooo!
Okay, it’s not nice to make fun of a sweet woman who brutally and ruthlessly parades a special needs infant around the world at all hours in order to further her theocratic, fringe party agenda that promotes the destruction of the earth, the loss of basic freedoms, the war on small business, the middle class and the non-Christian world and of course the furthering and championing of the idea that stupidity equals honesty and patriotism somehow, because let’s face it: she’s pretty hot. And I’m sure she does depraved shit. Have you seen Todd? He’s gotta be a total ass man (and you know, if you do it in the ass, you’re still a virgin. True. Ask god.)
But this is the arena I’m in now. I’m a tweeter. A twitterist. I’m in the octagon with Palin and Kanye and Kim and Paris and man, I’ll be dipped in shit if they’re gonna do this better than me. I mean, I play to win, folks. That’s why my band is so popular and I’m so wealthy. And I’m gonna bring a new dignity to twitter. No C U FAGZ L8R shit for me, folks. That’s for your grandma Courtney Love and your great-aunt Lindsay Lohan. No. My twitterings (already more sophisticated sounding than tweets [you gotta start with the details, and work out if you want to fail in true, grand form]) will feature such lost traditions as punctuation and proper spelling. And you know, so forth.
So, my point is, fuck you Sarah Palin. Fuck you Kanye. Fuck you Courtney Love. You’re three people that I deeply respected before I started delivering my twitterings, but now, it’s on. It’s war. I fully expect to have more followers than Kanye by lunch time. Don’t let me down, slaves.
Now I just need to figure out how to work the twitter, and I’m set. Any advice?