So. What the fuck is up with Twitter? Really, whatinthefuck is up with those guys? I got back from my trip to find that my Followers dealie has swelled to twenty-seven faithful while I was gone. As you know, having twenty-seven Followers for me is like other people having 4,000.
I seem to attract Followers like honey to bees because they sign-up to follow me like lemmings. They swarm in by the thousands, suck my nectar, and then swarm away. Just like undercooked spaghetti, most of what hits the wall comes unstuck quickly. I guess that the rest of that analogy would be that the Followers who do stick with me would have over-cooked brains. Their gray matter so mushy that it splats when it hits, and then simply dries in place.
I have a buddy, Delroy, lived next to Streaker Jones and me in college. Delroy taught me the pasta-on-the-wall trick way back then and he was quite the teacher. I’m a good pasta cooker now because of the starter course Delroy gave me back then. Learning the basics allowed me to build my pasta-cooking knowledge base.
He cooked spaghetti for entertainment as well as a teaching tool, pitching it all over his house. That boy had strings of pasta stuck on every surface in the place. When asked why, old Delroy would say, “Science. Think about it.”
Anyway, one of my new followers is @Thank_Q and that would be Quincy from over to Thank Q for Common Sense. He’s the guy with the funny pod cast dealie that the T-cat was on awhile back and he does interesting shit and stuff. I have been too busy to read his bloggie with everything going on here to Moonerland, but he has now shamed me into getting involved by Following me.
His name is Quincy, right?
I wanted to send him a “Thank-You” Twitter-mail thingie when I discovered that he had discovered me. I clicked onto the “Send Message” button, and started typing. I composed a quick message and hit “Send”.
All I got in response was a message that said, “You are allowed 144 characters… you have 1,983 characters too many.”
“What the fuck?” was my honest response.
Really, whatinthefuck is up with that shit? If I’m allowed only 144 characters, then why in the hell do I even get to waste my time typing even 145 FUCKING characters? Why let me type a novel if I’m allowed but a single fucking sentence?
Obviously, nobody at Twitter Home Office has the ADHD, or even its little brother, ADD. If they did, this particular glitch in their programs would not exist. If I only get 144 characters, then only give me 144.
Computer geek fuckbrains. I need a Carta Blanca beer. But maybe I should have some coffee and breakfast first. Then I’ll take a cooler with us to go fishing. I promised the Squirt and Eighty-three, the cat, that we’d go fishing.
Next time I post, remind me to tell you about Eighty-three and the alligator.
Manana, y’all. And FUCK RICK PERRY!