posted on July 03, 2012 07:42
“WHAT? I won, really – little old me?”
Picture my ugly ass all Taylor Swift-like, looking around and feigning surprise after the 3rd consecutive awards show where I took home 8-gaudy fucking statues. There’s a fine line between arrogance and confidence and I straddle that bitch like my “Uncle Beer” liked me to do his knee back in the day. I’m not saying I expected to win this columnist gig, but that last load of literary spunk I dropped on the small of your collective backs, “Writing on Writing”, was a fucking masterpiece, if I do say so myself (link is HERE if you missed it).
I’d like to thank my loyal KMFP-eople who’ve been reading my demented shit for a few years now and threw their unrelenting support my way. I’d like to thank any new readers out there who commented, tweeted or emailed the little, Irish munchkin who runs this half-ass website, singing my praises. And I’d like to thank said munchkin for going against the grain, taking the jabs I’ve given him over the years in stride for what they are, and finally un-puckering that ass of his to throw some cash and additional exposure my way for the unadulterated brilliance I’ve brought to his portal, and pocketbook, for quite a while now.
I’d like to thank Chris Reed and Andy Portico for the challenge and competition, while thanking Andrew Ahr for quickly raising the rest of our chances approximately 8.33333%. Sorry dude, but if this thing were a horserace, you broke your leg right out of the gate and would’ve been named “Soon to be Glue”. Kudos for beating out a bunch of other folk for the final four, but it pains me to think of some of that shit McKernan had to wade through to arrive at some potential.
A special thanks to Jodi & Scott, for your disapproval and taking the time to share that as well. In regards to Jodi’s comment about my anonymous name, I have a regular career that I must somewhat look out for until your overwhelming support (I know you’re reading) brings undeniable fame and fortune my way. Not something you have to worry about when your job description is “Mommy”, sweetheart (One demographic pissed off).
Scott, not so sure about the “rules” you referenced, as I actually wrote in this goddamned thing and wasn’t aware there were too many. I guess you’re privy to some inside info to go along with your shitty taste. Sorry your dude wasn’t chosen, my friend.
Lastly, I’d like to thank Jesus Harold Christ for much joke fodder (there’s two), some awesomely off color t-shirts and something I say when I’m really at my wit’s end.
This column will come your way 4-times per week and, like the late Michael Jackson, touch on just about everything (three). Politics, sports, religion, the absolute charade that was the “moon landing” (four) or my disdain for 40-year old men walking around in designer jeans with douche-tooths in their ear (and that makes five!).
We’ll discuss my only possible belief in a higher power revolving around the flawless creation of the vagina and we’ll keep an eye on current events and hot topics such as Anderson Cooper’s admission of homosexuality and, along those same lines, water being wet.
My views are widespread, often abrasive and usually guaranteed to stir some emotion, either way, in that toneless gut of yours. Love me, hate me, masturbate to the “fifty shades” of me or hope to see me in person and beat the living shit out me. But read, folks.
Read because difference of opinion, belief, upbringing, culture and taste are beautiful things. Read because there are approximately 74-thousand bland ass websites, magazines and newspapers (they still have those) out there where you can get the same old “nod your head in agreement horseshit” that’s regurgitated by every college graduate whose parents dished out money for his Journalism degree, rent and drunken binges that would lead to that “is it salty” college experimentation phase he’d be coerced into at the frat house.
Read, enjoy, get pissed off and tell others. Tell others to read so they’ll be equally pissed off or tell them to read because it’s possibly something new and a bit exciting. Form posses to burn me at the stake or send emails that demand KMFP merchandise be shipped your way by the truckload. Feel free to comment, suggest some topics or curse the fact that I have working digits to operate a computer. I obviously hold no grudges…
It’s a movement my KMFP-eople. Skim the usual media outlets and sleep through the mundane, politically correct, “company line” offerings of their cloned keyboardists. Then, finish off that cup of whatever makes you go, discreetly go a knuckle deep in the ole’ balloon knot with your free hand, and click your way over to insideSTL.com with the other. There’s a new sheriff in town, and his name is KMFP.
Hide the women and children…KMFP-out!