My good friend Shawn Riegsecker, whose unique brand of seductive enthusiasm should be patented, set a goal for me three months ago: I should have one quarter of the amount of comedian Rob Delaney’s followers on Twitter by the end of the year. After he fixed that target and I set up my Twitter account, he actually looked up how many followers Delaney has: three hundred thousand, which makes seventy-five thousand for me by 2013. “Hah!” Shawn said. “You’re fucked!”
Real men use BlackBerry.
I am currently at seventy-five followers, three zeros short. It will probably drop to seventy-four by the end of today once Twitter’s algorithmic bots sweep through and find out that @CoastalOptometry isn’t so enthralled by surreal, esoteric quips about atheism that it has followed me, but is in fact a spammer. This means I have to increase my base by over one hundred thousand percent in eight months, if my primary-school math still holds.
In light of certain recent spectacular celebrity re-falls, I thought I would waffle on again about narcissism. I’m saying ‘re-fall,’ but what is the opposite of a comeback, anyway? Can’t be a go-forward, sounds too positive. ‘Relapse’ presumes some sort of addiction or cancer or some other pathological illness, but I guess in the case of Donald Trump it has indeed been a relapse. In terms of how beleaguered he is in the pubic eye, what has happened in the past week is akin to his bankruptcy twenty years ago. Except this time the banking crooks on Wall Street won’t step in to refinance his image and allow him another comeback. No doubt he’ll engineer that himself: much as we would like him put out to pasture, I fear the old warhorse unfortunately has some irksome neighing yet to do.
Let me recap where we are with this for readers who were not around during the week I spanked Galliano and then followed it up with a post about narcissism, and who might fear having to wade back and read through reams of dense, convoluted Killough prose: