Twitterly Dee, Twitterly Dumb; Sex Confounds

 

So. I think I finally have the Twitter Follower mystery solved. Finally. This dealie has been buggerating the ever loving shit out of me for months.

What’s been driving me nuts is how people sign up to follow me and then quickly disappear. Some silly shitball finds something they like about my stuff and takes the time, and puts the effort in as required to click the Follow button. Then in less than a week, they click the Unfollow button.

I’ll have dozens of Follower adds per week and the same numbers of Unfollowers. Defollowers, maybe. It can go up and down by hundreds per week.

OK, stop. For those of you who couldn’t give a shit about my Twitter problems, I have inserted this, *******Reenter Here*******, down there a few hundred words in the future. Escape all this Twitter talk. I would if I was (were?) you.

In the eighteen months I’ve had a twitter account, I have had more than 4,000 individual clickers to Follow @MoonerJohnson on Twitter, yet my effective average number of Followers remains pegged at plus-or-minus thirty. It has been driving me bonkers what with all the adds and subtracts.

I have examined this problem from a hundred different angles in an attempt to get a fix on what is happening. Today I thought I would contact some of the people who added, then retracted, from following me and did so quickly. You’re going to be interested in their responses.

OK, let’s back up a frame or two. “Why, Mooner,” you might ask, “do you even use Twitter? You hardly ever tweet.”

“Good question,” my stock answer begins, and finishes with, “I use Twitter to verify that I have properly added a posting to the bloggie.”

I have my webber set up to when I post a story to the bloggie, it automatically goes out as a Twitter tweet. Since I’m such a moron computerly, I can then go to Twitter and see if the posting posted and click the tweet and go to the actual posting as it appears on my webber. It’s like a backup edit program. Any other benefits I derive from Twitter are those of an accidental tourist. Which means that all of the followers I have and ever have had have been accidents.

Like blind boars, my Twitter followers trip over me somehow. My webber and bloggie expert, Dustin, asked me if I wanted him to add the tagger dealies for Twitter and Facebook and all that crap when he was working on stuff last week. I agreed but only if I could figure this shit out. So I told him to add the taggers and I started researching shit.

Here’s what I found. Indeed, most people stumble upon me on Twitter in the same ways as on the regular webber. They Google “camel toes” or “Fuck Rick Perry” or “is the Pope the Queen’s twin” or other stuff that might be on my site. With Twitter, it’s the hash tags or whatever you call that shit, or they follow because someone else on Twitter refers them to me.

Those are the reasons I was given by those Follow-Unfollowers. When asked why they left so quickly, the usual answer was, “I had no idea how________ you/your site is.”

You can fill in the blanks. Most heard answers were how: nasty, sacrilegious, inappropriate, evil, much you curse, liberal, homosexual, stupid your site is.

Most of the rest told me that they only followed me to get me to follow them—like a popularity contest. Seems many folks get their rocks off by having huge numbers of Followers. Even if they have nothing in common with me—we share no interests or ideas—they still want me listed as a Follower. They have no plans to read any fucking thing I post, and I wouldn’t read about how they just got home from work if there was a fucking gun stuck in my ear.

These Followers will Unfollow me when I don’t follow them quickly. I follow a few Tweetsters, but not many, and I read much of what they tweet.

******* Reenter Here*******

Anyway. That mystery is now solved. Which reminds me of something.

I was in my morning psycho therapy session this am, and the subject of sex came up. Surprise. While I have ten ex-wives, I have only had sex with one of them after we divorced. That would be Roshandra Washington-Johnson, my ex number five and an ebony beauty. If you’ve ever seen Roshandra down to the Austin City Council Chambers, you have a crystal clear understanding of why that is.

When Roshandra makes a booty call, brother, you answer the door!

Dr. Sam I. Am-Johnson is not only my therapist but also the first of my exes. She asked this morning why it is that I have never tried to have sex with her in all of these years since our divorce. Since I’m a man, I thought of this question as a request for action. But alas, it was a quest for information.

“I’m doing a study on unusual sexual patterning in men with multiple marriage histories,” she told me. “You would be a prime prospect to put in my Petri dish.”

Have you ever tasted agar? You know, that gelatinous goo scientists use in their Petri dishes. It’s a seaweed extract and tastes like that time I got really drunk down to Nuevo Laredo and woke up with a spider monkey’s foot in my mouth. The monkey was wearing a little vest in the colors of the Mexican flag and its toenails were painted bright red.

Streaker Jones and I went down there to meet some Mexican mushroom growers and they had this monkey that played a miniature accordion. He was dressed in the aforementioned vest, pantaloons and had an organ grinder monkey’s hat perched on top of his head. I remember waking up, spitting the monkey’s foot out of my mouth and wondering what happened to the rest of his clothes.

I don’t care much for monkeys and I really don’t care for the taste of monkey feet. I do like the taste of SAC Ellen’s toes though. She has these perfect little piggies, and my ADHD just grabbed controls of the train.

The answer to Sammie’s question eludes me. I have no idea why I stopped sexing eight of my nine ex-wives. Anna the Amazon is my third ex-wife and now is married to my sister, and I know why she’s off limits. Sister would kick my ass if I didn’t manage to maintain that border.

The remaining eight present a sex mystery for me. I would have sex with the lot of them if I was unattached and they were available and willing, I think. But I have been around each of them at one time or another wherein we were both unentangled romantically, and nothing happened sexually.

I hate when Dr. Sam I. Am does this shit to me. I think she intentionally poses this sort of question at me to fuck with my head. Psycho analysts tend to do that shit, and it pisses me off.

I’d love to attend one of Sammie’s sessions with her head shrinker. I should call him. I’ve got a few questions he can ask her that would really stir shit up.

Which reminds me. Remember when I told you that Yoda and I have been marking our territory by peeing along the border of our property? That’s the mainstay of my program to get the little Chihuahua and Whippet mixed puppy to stop crapping inside the house. He and the Squirt saw a program on the Animal Channel about canines and their pack mentality.

Marking territory is an important aspect of a dog’s sense of security and self worth. So we’ve been peeing all around the 3,000 acres here to the ranch for the last month. We finished yesterday afternoon as we arrived back at the fishing dock. We started there and moved clockwise, ending with the last hundred yards to the dock’s left.

We finished and sat on the dock drinking a Carta Blanca beer and thinking about our good job done, when a stray dog came out of the brush brakes on the dock’s right side. She was a beagle, named Zoe, and she was way lost from down to San Marcos. Yoda and I debated about whether or not we should sex the bitch, a usual requirement of the pack when a female dog invades the pack’s territory. Yoda felt she was a little old for his tastes and I’m in a committed relationship, so we called her owner and he came to get her last evening with her virtues intact.

This morning, Yoda and I are headed out to touch-up our territorial markings, starting at the fishing dock and moving clockwise. I wonder what it is about peeing outside that so wonderful. Me, I love to take a leak anywhere that doesn’t require me to waste water in my urine’s disposal.

But peeing in the Great Outdoors is the cat’s Pjs. Maybe one of you guys has an idea. So consider a purchase of my silly book, and I’ll see you manana, y’all.

Print Friendly

6 Responses to “Twitterly Dee, Twitterly Dumb; Sex Confounds”

  1. squatlo says:

    I started to skip over the Twitter Crap, then decided “What the hell…” ’cause I hate to abandon a post just ’cause it’s the same ol’ shit you were whining about every week since Twitter entered your life. But then I thought, “you know what?” and I dashed ahead for an update on “real” life later in the post. I don’t Twit or Tweet or Twat, and don’t really even know or care what it is. After my second divorce from Facebook I’ve avoided official “time-suck” sites like the plague. I guess it’s a great social networking tool for people who want that kind of attention, but to tell you the truth, I’m finding that I get way too much attention without blowing a horn and flashing spotlights on my ass.

    Marking your territory, eh? I hope you’re saving your night urinations in jugs for that purpose. Just hang hose in a container and tote it along with you when you patrol the grounds, ought to provide a few Carta Blanca’s worth of border fence for you.

    If I go outside the house to piss in this little neighborhood, two things would happen: someone would call the police, and that same someone would lock my happy ass out of the house. She doesn’t understand a man’s basic need to pee outside once in a while. I guess it’s a guy thing.

  2. chrisinphx says:

    I’m proud to say I have almost pulled the Facebook plug entirely and havent even seen twitter first hand. I dont understand the need some people have to document every moment of their day. And, there is now going to be an entire generation of kids and people whos entire lives are basically online for stangers to poke and sift through. Im still irritated 30 years later at the pic my mom had to snap of me at like 4 years old sitting on the toilet, now parents put that shit up on FB for everyone to see.

  3. mel says:

    I jumped the Twitter ship several months back. I just never got it.

    Sorry to hear about that mind fuck. Looking forward to mine in the morning.

  4. admin says:

    Squat. It must be a testosterone dealie, the primal need to pee outside. Remember when you were a kid and you would have contests? I still have contests with myself, or with the dogs. Like trying to pee without making any noise or making as much noise as I can.

    I might be sick.

    Chris. My concern is that these electronic connections are replacing the face-to-face connections that are the very backbone of a civilized society. When you have an eye-to-eye relationship with a person you not only make a deeper connection, you will find it harder to fuck that person for no good reason.

    If I can determine how to do it, I will post my own mother’s favorite photo of me–the one she shows to people. It’s both hilarious and pathetic.

  5. squatlo says:

    Mooner, I have to rephrase my Twitter Bashing comments a bit. If I were a world-famous, four-star review author-type who wanted broader exposure for my new book, I guess I would concern myself with the ways of the Twittersphere. You do what you have to do, right?

    But this “connectedness” we now share via our hand-held devices is disconnecting actual human contact. Over the Turkey Day hollerdaze my two adult chiddrens sat at opposite ends of the table along with my lovely wife’s adult child. The three of them were at one time ALL busy thumbing their messages to the world while we tried to carry on polite conversation. As soon as one device would be placed on the table to “rest up” it would immediately begin to vibrate and bounce around the table, signalling a response from someone thumbing their noses at THEIR parents’ house, no doubt. Or maybe the three of them were texting one another about how fucking boring it was to spend actual time with people who don’t TEXT their every thought. I don’t know.

    Want to see some real junkie withdrawal in action? You can take away their drugs, their coffee, their alcohol, their computers, and they’ll somehow survive. But put that hand-held phone, TamPod, iPhone, iPod, thumb-driven device out of reach and you’ll see some real skin-crawling withdrawal symptoms. They would lose their fucking minds in the time it takes to watch a Smart Phone commercial.

  6. admin says:

    Squat. All part of the decivilization process. Easy to fuck someone when you don’t have to look them in the eyes. My own kids are texters and I make them close things down at my table. At their table I’ve been told to mind my own business.

Leave a Reply