Something odd happened.
I dreamed about Simian Idiot. This is the first time I can recall that happening.
In the dream, it came to my attention that Canadian easy-listening powerhouse Michael Buble - someone I have never consciously thought about - quoted me on Twitter. There was a distinct moment when I was looking at a photo of Michael Buble’s big goofy Canadian face - a face I never would have known I could identify - with a quote of mine underneath it, and a link to Simian Idiot citing his statement.
Then tragedy struck, and I mean a tragedy worse than inspiring Michael Buble. I realized that the name of this blog had been misspelled. Michael Fucking Buble was sending his readers on a one-way trip to Errorsville, and I was failing to get credit for my dick joke or fart metaphor or insightful commentary or whatever.
The rest of the dream was spent trying to track down Michael Buble, something I would never in a million years ever do. At one point, while navigating my way through a parade, I encountered my former employers of ten years ago, who informed me that a condition of my passage was that I had to w*rk a full day at my old j*b, and I couldn’t remember where anything was or how their software worked.
Perhaps this horrifying Michael Buble nightmare is a subliminal expression of feeling under-appreciated. Perhaps, on some level, my subconscious grieves the fruitlessness of writing every single day, for a small but vocal and very highly valued audience, while other, stupider bloggers post a single blurry cell-phone camera photo of their dog and 50,298,218 people break their necks to tell them what a great picture it is, and how they instantly creamed their pants the moment they saw it in all its four megapixel glory.
Perhaps…that is bullshit. Because Simian Idiot has received a MAJOR AWARD.
So, many, many thanks to LA Juice, for considering me a worthy recipient of the LIEBSTER BLOG AWARD. She wrote me a fucking haiku. I can’t tell you what a day-maker that was, as I have always wanted to inspire poetry, particularly poetry that contains the line “there is no hope for mankind”. Read LA Juice’s entire blog - if you value your very sanity.
This award has nothing to do with Bobby Liebling, unfortunately. I was hoping my prize would be that he comes to my house and asks me for money, and I don’t know, tries to brush my hair or something. No such luck.
I’m supposed to tag five other blogs for this honor, but as Juice pointed out, almost every blog I read has already received it. I’m so “end of the line”. So, I’m going to pass this great honor on to the following, and if they already received it, I’ll just go fuck myself.
You guys don’t have to feel compelled to do anything with this, but I am a completionist by nature and there was no way I was letting this shit slide. Sorry I didn’t write you a poem. My soul sings your names in its most intimate inner poetry daily, I assure you.
And now, today’s post.
My amazing powers over life and death are no secrets from you by now. That is why none of you have fucked with me yet. Eventually, some mortal fool will, and I will take his picture down from my wall, put it under my bed, and he will be no more.
Brittany Murphy never did anything to me.
If I am to be completely honest, I’m not even sure who she is. That’s her, right? Rollin’ with the homies? Unca Hank?
I didn’t have a picture of Brittany Murphy on my wall. I didn’t even know how to spell her first name. I looked it up for the purposes of this post, because I LOVE YOU, Simian Idiot reader(s). I love you enough to try, and care, and give you lots of kisses. Not real kisses.
On a particularly powerful day in 2009, when my magical skills of telekedeath were at their sharpest, I became annoyed by something. Namely, Luann would NEVER marry Lucky in a hundred years. She might let him put a baby in her belly behind Sugarfoot’s, but marriage? Not Luann. Not with THOSE knockers.
And I went on Facebook to declare this, because that is what I do.
I said, “Luann would never be caught dead marrying Lucky.” 3952092835 people responded, mostly accusing me of having some kind of retardation, because:
1. Who cares? and
2. Why are you thinking about this? Are you even watching “King of the Hill” right now? (no) and
3. WHO CARES?
Well guess what happened the next day. The voice of Luann, which was supplied by the lovely Brittany Murphy (pictured above? Who knows?) was as dead as a doornail, and everybody knew I did it. Comments continued rolling in, now accusing me of witchcraft.
I’m sorry, Brittany Murphy. I’m sure you were a very nice person.
Next up on “Celebrities I Have Killed”…Paul the Octopus. See you then.