A little context for you:

So, in a conversation with Carmen, I referred to her as the token cool chick from a ’90s dotcom indie quirk-centric TV show and she jokingly assigned me the task of writing an essay to support that statement. Being that my personal motto is “Ask and you shall regretfully receive”, and that I don’t really understand the nature of jokes, I had to oblige.

She apparently liked it and thought it worthy of your eyes and so I Ctrl+v it here.

The following is why you shouldn’t make jokes in my vicinity.

“The Internet is a wide place.” - Me, just now.

That is a gross understatement. In fact, it has been speculated (by me) that the average number of people come across in one’s entire lifetime, twelve years ago, could easily be surpassed by a 53-hour Youtube sitting, today. That number includes every person whose urine you collected in the fabric of your Chuck Taylors at that Smashing Pumpkins concert you went to before you matured enough to realize that “Billy Corgan” was probably an old Gaelic term for “Antiquated Alabaster Douche.” It includes every posterior-picking, deodorant-declining, dental hygiene-disbeliever you were unfortunate to be stuck behind in the not-so-express lane at Walmart. It includes- you know what I mean. Everyone. Let’s get on with this essay.

The point I was trying to make is that the Internet has undoubtedly expanded our cognizance to the truly vast number of people who share this floating orb of rock, metal and water with us. And those people aren’t as interesting as we’d like to believe. Sure, they speak different languages, eat different foods and watch different TV shows from the rest of us but that’s really all the differences there are. Now I understand that that may seem like a shallow generalization and condensation of the ‘beauty of diversity’ but as you should be able to tell by now, I am an idiot.

What I’m trying to get at is that, bearing in mind that this is written subjectively, people always end up being either too familiar to remain interesting or too different to be likable.

But then I met you, dear reader (I’ve written this for your eyes so I’m obviously referring to YOU, doofus). You were the third pot of porridge. You were just the right combination of warmth, sweetness and, considering this story takes place in a house in the woods belonging to a fucking family of bears, unfamiliarity. Now, we all know what happens at the end of that story. But I’ve fallen asleep in the most comfortable of beddings, woken up, and waited and waited for the bears to come home. It hasn’t happened yet and this makes me question your factuality.

Could it be, that there exists a real person with qualities this exemplary and flaws this forgettable? Of course not. This person has obviously been designed to appeal to the masses. To bring in the crowds for a soon-to-premiere scripted reality TV show. That, or I’m insane.

Either way, I’ve never been happier to be part of a focus group for some TV show. Or a pharmaceutical test subject for the newest and most pleasing of hallucinogens.

Turns out I had nothing to do with your bum anomalies, so here it comes again.

Your thoughts :

“This isn’t my fault.”
“Why is this happening to me?”
“I can’t be blamed for what happens.”
“Why won’t you believe me?”
“I don’t have to be sorry.”
“I did this for you.”

Mine :

“Nothing is ever your fault.”
“You deserve all that comes your way.”
“Fuck you!”
“You are fucking killing me.”
“I can’t believe you are who you are.”
“I wish I never had to speak to you again.”

I apologize if you’ve read this. There really is no other appropriate venue to let this out.