Wednesday 15 July 2009
	Twitter, Brooke Shields and more.
	I'm at a casino in Tampa with a woman and with the woman is her best friend and with her best friend is a man. The four of us are seated at a booth in the casino and there is a woman standing on a stage in front of a microphone and she is saying something into the microphone and the lights are dim (but not too dim otherwise the hundreds of surveillance cameras won't be able to function properly) and the good to look at waitress has just brought us fresh drinks and while I'm drinking beer that's been poured into a glass by the good to look at waitress her best friend says: "Brooke Shields was really broken up." The man with her best friend agrees and he's nodding his head and already I'm wishing I was somewhere else.  The man is using his iPhone and while he's looking at the screen of the iPhone he says: "I just got another follower on Twitter." The woman talking about Brooke Shields taps on the screen of her iPhone and while she's holding it and tapping on it she says: "I've got 17 followers." She's aiming the screen of the iPhone at her boyfriend and when she's satisfied he's realized the full impact of what she's saying she aims the iPhone screen at my date and then (using a catlike wrist maneuver) points the iPhone screen at my face and while the iPhone screen is aimed squarely at me I say: "I don't care about your followers.  They truly would have to be followers to follow something like you anywhere." Oops.  Her boyfriend is looking at me now and his facial expression is changed and now he thinks he needs to defend the honor of his old lady. My date is smiling and it's a nervous kind of smile and while her lips are stretched into a crooked half smile she says: "He's kidding." I don't regret saying what I said.  I'm proud of myself, even.  In fact, if I don't prevail now I'll rape the both of them later and I'll dump them unconscious and unclothed alongside Interstate 4 (I-4). I say: "I'm not kidding." My date says:  "He's just playin'." The man with the changed expression says: "You said something offensive." He's role playing. He's not sure what was said that annoyed his bitch so he's simply issued a blanket statement to cover himself.  He's horribly obtuse and I kinda feel sorry for him but I'm in it now and I gotta follow through. Says his girlfriend: "He hurt me, honey."  Her obtuse idiot figures that if he can successfully take me down a few notches the chances are good he'll get some pussy later on. Says my date: "What is this, Norman?" I say: "I was offended when his old lady brought up Brooke Shields." The woman with the 17 followers says: "How was that offensive?" My date says: "C'mon guys." I say: "Brooke Shields is a whore.  Her mom understood that she was a whore and rightfully so sold Brooke's young pussy to the highest bidder.  Fast forward a few years and Brooke's young cunt is now atrophied and instead of selling her pussy and tits she's pushing toothpaste.  She's moved from selling the possibilities of one hole to selling the possibilities of yet another hole.  Because Brooke Shields has come to the understanding that she is talentless she's even resorted to seeking sympathy/attention with regards to Postpartum Depression.  Postpartum Depression isn't real.  Postpartum Depression is the pale realization that you are your mother.  You've pumped out a kid and now you've got to adjust the image of what you think you are all over again.  You've got responsibilities.  You're not that hot available thing that you (thought) you once were you're a has been or a once was and it's painful and some people (i.e., Brooke Shields) will go to any length to keep the attention coming like talk about how wonderful her relationship was with Michael Jackson and that charade was good for some press too like the Postpartum Depression but did Brooke Shields ever even one time send her dopey daughters to Neverland Ranch for an extended sleepover?  Fuck no."  Says my date: "That's enough, Norm." I say: "I can't remember seeing Brooke Shields on television defending Michael Jackson when he was charged with being a pedophile."   The woman with the 17 Twitter followers looks at her boyfriend and says: "Say something, stupid." I say: "You ain't gotta defend her, stupid.  If the two of you ever get married this woman will eventually slap half a dozen restraining orders on you.  Additionally, she'll take your home, have you repeatedly arrested, have your wages garnished, tell a judge that you beat her (and the kids you've yet to produce) and cost you thousands of dollars in legal fees and while it's happening she'll take you apart verbally and while she's taking you apart verbally she'll be tweeting her 17 loyal Twitter followers keeping them fully informed as to how fucked up and dangerous you are." Says my date: "He's kidding.  He's always been a kidder." NOTE: Please don't get me involved in your Twitter activities.  I have little interest in knowing what you're doing (unless you're thinking of me while you're hammering an enormous dildo into your vagina) and whatever I'm doing is equally dull and hardly worth tweeting about.  (A tweet from me to you would be pointless unless it would lead to you blowing me within a 24 hour period behind a White Castle restaurant). Additionally, I don't want to be your 'follower' and 'following' me will lead to nowhere.  In America we're taught that 'following' is bad and 'leading' is good.  If you eventually do something really good or really bad I'm pretty sure I'll read about it in an online newspaper and if it's something really good I'll dance a jig for you.  Until then, fuck off. EXTRA NOTE:  At 1:47 in the morning I excused myself from the table at the Seminole Hard Rock Cafe telling everyone I was going to the restroom only I never returned. UPDATE:  Brooke Shields plan worked perfectly.  Because of her increased exposure with regards to her gripping relationship with the now deceased Michael Jackson she has now graduated from a lowly bottom of the rung toothpaste television commercial to an eyelash television advertisement for Latisse.  Latisse is a prescription treatment for hypotrichosis which is a fancy medical term directed toward mostly fat, middle-aged chicks that can no longer grow eyelashes like their younger, fresher, big titted counterparts. A television ad for Latisse says: If Latisse comes into regular contact with the eye there is "potential for increased brown eye pigmentation, which is likely permanent."  Brooke Shields has made a fortune with her blue eyes and overall appearance are we to believe she'd actually risk putting Latisse anywhere near her baby blues when there is a potential of turning her moneymaking blue eyes brown?  She says she uses the stuff which has caused the growth of more, thicker lashes.  Ha! Thanks to Michael Jackson's death Brooke profited and because of their affiliation with Brooke and her increased exposure with regards to the death of Michael Jackson (they were best buds) Colgate Total profits continue to soar.  According to Latisse global peak sales of Latisse could exceed $500 million per year.       There is no such thing as hypotrichosis.  You're a balding old whore. PREVIOUS   HOME   NEXT Click Here To Subscribe To Norm's Essays