Timeline: Demo T. Vader
Demo is in the house, yo!
Every morning the guru of negativity loads up his Facebook which pushily insists, “What’s on your mind?”
Oh no. I’m not about to fall for that one.
The people you’ve connected with on Facebook are called “friends.” Laws, yes. Friends. Good one!
Of the various types of content on Facebook, my favorite goes a little something like this:
- The opening: You want something. State what it is. Ex: “I’m curious how people feel about my sexual organs.”
- The insult: Get things rolling with a jab at your so-called “friends.” Ex: “I know only approx. 4-1/2 of you ever read my posts.”
- The hook: Describe the payoff in terms of pleasure centers of the brain that will glow upon compliance. “I’m going to give you a chance to prove your friendship.”
- The plea: This is the objective, the thing you hope to see accomplished. Ex: “Reply to this with a graphic description of your favorite sexual organ on my body. Sexual organs only, please!”
- The demanding social element: This is self-explanatory. Ex: “You must then copy this to your own timeline so my ego can grow. Please don’t comment and not copy to your own timeline.”
Out of respect, I’m not going to comment because I have absolutely no intention of following your rules. Thanks for trying to control me, though.
For the record:
- Yes, I actually read your shit. And I loathe myself for it.
- You can’t handle the truth. I won’t comment on our alleged “friendship.”
- It’s news to me that you have sexual organs so I’m unable to comment further.
- I will decide what pieces of evil hate go on my timeline. Not you. Nice effort, though.
- A real friend wouldn’t have done this. Thanks for reinforcing my theories.
Has Facebook invented a squelch feature yet or must I continue to be subjected to this crap with a little help from my friends?
He Tasks Me
I give the orders around here.
This post is dedicated to The Boss whoever it* may be. Ed.
It happened on a work day. (Holy fuck. Is that the scariest opening ever or what?)
It was the arrival of a package that prompted the fun. The boss stopped everything he was doing. Ooh, a package had arrived.
Must. Open. Now.
His fleshy, grubby and unwashed digits picked up the box and it rotated in his massive NFL-style steroid-induced mitts. A piece of gooey food substance jiggled in his beard as he moved.
“Oh look,” he said. “I got something for you.”
Inside? You guessed it. New business cards for my department, the department where he always claimed I was in charge and had autonomy.
The cards were emblazoned with his name. Not mine. And underneath, the business title was printed. “Manager.”
Indeed.
Some time later he indicated with an explosion of gas that he had a “task” for me.
All hail the task!
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Call for submissions
Greetings, Earthlings. Full disclosure here, I don’t necessarily come in peace.
I think it’s high time we get some new blood on this blog. Also, we need a guest post or two. 🙂
You got something negative to say? Well then, come on! You do all the work and I take all the glory. What could be better than that?
Perhaps something on this blog struck a chord. Or perhaps you wish to take exception to something that has happened on here and rip me to shreds with a rebuttal? Or perhaps you want to talk about something completely different.
Whatever. Bring it on!
If you are certifiable and you wish to submit, click the “shout” link on the menu bar above to send me your shit. Think about it, will ya?
And now, to terminate this cheap ass excuse for a lame blog post, please enjoy the following little duty. For double reward points, try to think about me while you listen and replace every instance of the word “night” with “life.” Let me know if you try this little experiment and be sure to comment below and share how it makes you feel.
Shouts from the Abyss 
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