So. If you are…
…one of my followers on Twitter,
someone considering following me on Twitter,
or someone considering joining Twitter and then following me…
…I feel it’s only fair to let you know what you’ve gotten / what you’re getting yourself into. You see, sometimes, on Twitter, it starts out simple. Like a conversation with a fellow Twitterer named Kris (@PrettyAllTrue) about the innocent and vital-for-survival-of-human-species activity of typo correction. The beginning of the end might start out thusly:
Dearly beloved, that’s really all it takes to trigger a certain switch in my brain. That switch is labeled “Filters Off, Engines On, Shenanigans Go, BANGERANG.” Eyes widen and glaze over. The fingers twitch. The maniacal grin tugs at one corner of the mouth. And then this happens:
By now, the fingers are no longer typing. They are dive-bombing the keyboard. The maniacal grin spreads to cover the face as the kamikaze fingers drop payloads of ridiculousness into the computer:
Somebody, Please, Stop Me Whatever You Do, Don’t Stop Me
Further banter ensues, and I quip a we’ll-always-have-Paris-esque line about having my booty-gouty, and Kris giggles and calls that a comfort. I’m pretty far gone by now, and the image of a booty-gouty Snuggie pops into my head. It pushes me over the edge.
Why? Why, wherefore, and howso? Nobody knows. But the reasons don’t matter. The important thing is that there is now booty-gouty in the world. Can I get an amen? TESTIFY!
ODE TO THE BOOTY-GOUTY*
by Courtney Cantrell
If your booty is so gouty
you can’t hurry up the stairs,
if your booty’s kinda shaky
and is growing several hairs,
then join me in rejoicement
as we shout what is so true:
“WE LOVE YOU, BOOTY-GOUTY!
BOOTY-GOUTY, WE LOVE YOU!”
We don’t know where you came from
or really what you are.
From the way you drag behind you,
we assume the way was far.
But though you look bedraggled
and you’re missing some spare parts,
you keep our giggles going
while we wave away your farts.
(It’s like a poem in an un-children’s-book. I don’t understand why this is happening.)
How long will you stay with us?
Booty-gouty, we don’t know.
We can’t take you into school;
you’re no good for Tell & Show.
We’ll enjoy you while you last,
’til you have schlepped yourself away.
Thanks for sharing, Booty-gouty!
Thanks for brightening the day!
If anyone actually comments on this, you get the Brave Or Merciful Soul Of the Year Award.
*No alcohol was consumed in the making of this poem. I swear.