Am I the world’s greatest instance of nominative determinism? Or just another depressing statistic of the Crisis? Is it too much to ask not to be considered as either?
I won’t dwell on my predicament for the moment. No doubt as you continue reading – you are going to continue reading, right? – you’ll find out much, much more about that.
To get things in motion, I thought I’d offer a few responses to Andrew Marr’s recent comments. Specifically, I’d like to address the charges laid against me:
1) That I am socially inadequate
Well, okay, Andrew, it’s a strong opener. Whatever.
Well, you’re one to talk. I’m not. I was, once. That was this thing called puberty – it was all the rage with teens when I was growing up – and I make no apologies for it.
Thanks to Doxycycline I got through the whole experience pretty much without issue. Although I did get very sun-burned.
4) Slightly seedy
I am the paradigm of charm. Although I did admittedly have an ill-advised goatee at university. Which did make me look a bit like a paedophile.
Just. Plain. Wrong. I have a lustrous blond mane.
Look, I don’t claim to be the test-tube love child of Brad Pitt and George Clooney, but I’m not that bad. Cauliflower nose certainly seems a bit much. Although now you mention it, it is a bit pointy. And not really in proportion with the rest of my face.
Oh for God’s sake, Andrew, look what you’ve gone and done: now I’m paranoid about my nose.
7) Sitting in my mother’s basement
Um, we don’t have a basement, actually. I have my own room, thank you very much.
Fine, whatever, I admit this is basically just as bad. So I live at home? You’re the baby boomer, Andrew. You fucked up my employment prospects.
I wasn’t going to, but after all these insults I just might. FUCK YOU, ANDREW! I HATE YOU! ALSO I HATE LIBERALS!
Just kidding, Andy. I love you. And your big ears. I even have a red Che Guevara-style t-shirt with your face on it. I wear it in bed.
Attention, liberals: I do not retract my caps-locked hatred of your pansy kind.
Welcome to the blog. I’m Ian. I’m Loste. I sincerely hope you feel like getting lost with me.