Current mood: Twisted Arm
There are two reasons for this post.
The first is that it involves no thought, which I like, and can be done without devising any complicated sentence structures… as if I ever do that.
But the second needs, nay, deserves a preamble.
Many of you, numbering in the hundreds of thousands, have been writing me sweet letters of appreciation and gentle love. Beautiful perfumed letters that motivate me everyday to continue my chosen path of entertaining you, my legion of fans, my army of fans. I am totally grateful for your support and well wishing and don’t worry, I read each and every letter that is sent.
But to get to the point. Many of these letters, perhaps eighty-nine point seven percent, contain a postscript. Each postscript the same, each asking why I haven’t posted any real pictures of myself, continuing with a description of how the clay appearance makes them sick and finishing with a request for an autograph and a unwashed pink thong. Although I have always obliged any request for a thong, until now I have ignored the screams for an actual image of me. That’s right, I said until now. If you were to turn your attention to my pics, you will see two pictures of me. Two unaltered, ugly, orange pictures of me.
Whoa, calm down ladies.