Good Morning America is in my house right now standing behind me getting video footage of how badly I type. It’s the standard shot of the blogger blogging, and if the producer got back to the studio in New York without this footage her boss would be all HOW WILL WE KNOW SHE IS A BLOGGER IF YOU DIDN’T FILM HER BLOGGING? You want to know how? Just go look at the wrinkles on her husband’s forehead, one for every time she turned to him and said, “I published,” and he considered whether or not it would be less painful to shoot himself in the head than to read his wife’s website.
The camera guy (hi, Doug!) is zooming in now on my fangers, oops, fingers, FRIED CHICKEN WANGS, sorry I had a temporary Memphis flashback just then, and I guess this means I shouldn’t say anything that could get me in trouble. Like balls! BALLS. You can’t say that on television, I didn’t know this, although GENITALIA is actively encouraged. I wonder if I could say boobs, no actually I already know the answer to that. You can. And I did. And it was fulfilling.
Something else you can say on the air? HOT HOT SEX. Although I hear that if you’re at all religious you’d hear it as HOT HOT SEC with a hard c because God is protecting your delicate ears. I think this post should sufficiently irritate all the new readers being sent here by the local news. Hi, guys! If you could send me more email talking about how you can’t wait to wave at me in over there in Outer Darkness from your cozy golden couch in the Celestial Kingdom, that would be awesome, but maybe think about cutting back on your exclamation points. You know what they say, everything in moderation. Besides, exclamation points are the gateway drug to swearing, and next thing you know you’re in traffic yelling DAMMIT(!!!!) and then look who can’t take the sacrament on Sunday.