There comes a time in one's life when the following thought occurs, "I would do
so much better for the E! Network than any of the Kardashians." Such
a powerful self affirmation should elicit an epiphone of sorts, not unlike this:
"I need to start a blog where I write about the emotional turbulence I face as a
member of our species' upper echelon. I'll discuss daily struggles I encounter
on my way through the carnage we call life. I have lots of opinions and to be
completely honest I'm literate as fuck. People will love me."
Forrest Gump said
"Life is like a box of chocolates," but I say that's bullshit. Life is like a
minefield, and if you don't watch where you're going you'll explode and end up
crying in your bed alone feeling like a pile of ground beef. At this point in my
life my bed is the only serious romantic partner I have. Despite my current
sexual inactivity, I somehow found the strength to fulfill my calling. Helping
the blogosphere decipher the difference between right and wrong, chic and not
chic, love and lust, etc. I'm like Oprah, except younger and less female. Also
my thyroid works fine.
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