There was a loud, persistent rapping on my door. Fearing it might be a Jehovah’s Witness, I cautiously tip toed across the room and peeked through the opening in the drapes. It was even worse. There on my doorstep was my pesky alter ego with his silly hat and cape wanting another dumb conversation. He had been reading my blog and noticed that it is still doing poorly. So few followers and even fewer comments. I told him I swear the “Follow” button malfunctioned a long time ago. It’s also stuck where it says site views per hour in the last 24 hours. It keeps registering 0. He scoffed and poo pooed me like I was a habitual liar.
” Look,” he continued, “The problem is, your posts are boring.”
“No, they’re not!” I whined defensively. “You’re just jealous because you can’t write anything worth squat.”
My alter ego laughed so hard I thought his dentures would go flying across the room.
”Lemme give you some advice,” he said with an air of superiority. “You need to jazz up your posts. You know, give them some shock value. Plaster it with sex, blood and gore. Fill it with expletives like, F x% ox, 2%a^!”
I was horrified and had to cover my ears with both hands. “Stop!” I shouted. “Look, I don’t write to win any popularity contests or make any online friends. I’m not looking to be famous. Nor do I care if I never get Freshly Pressed. (I lied about the last one)
My alter ego looked at me suspiciously. “You’re lying,” he said. “I can tell. Your nose is twitching.”
He knows me so well, it’s scary. He continued with the tongue lashing.
“Then why the #%@* do you write?
“Because,” I sighed,.” I want to share the story of my life. Besides, it’s therapeutic.”
It was his turn to sigh and he outdid mine by 8 seconds.
But, your life is borrring!”
It is not!
It is so!
We were both exhausted and for once, speechless. I decided to stare into space for a while. Just when I thought a truce was imminent, my alter ego pipes back up.
”Look at your post about Christmas. Do you really think anyone gives a f#@% that your favorite toy was these stupid jalopies that went putt putt around a itty bitty track? Well, do you? Take your post about Sarah and how you was really too chicken to kiss her in the dark. Why’d you go and make us look bad for? Why didn’t you just write that you grabbed her under a full moon and the wolf in you came out? Now, that’s being a real man! And then there’s that childish post where you went trick-or-treating and was wearing your Bugs Bunny costume for 3 years in a row and some Methodist pastor gave you an apple with a razor blade in it. You could’ve said he had a vendetta against you and thought it was easier and cleaner than to send you a dead fish wrapped in newspaper. Or, you could’ve written that you swallowed the razor blade and had to be rushed to the hospital where you had an outer body experience. You not only saw Jesus, but your aunt Myrtle, whom you were sure was rotting in hell because she made you cry a lot when you were a baby and was just plain evil.”
I quickly put up my hand. “Wait!” I said. “That wasn’t aunt Myrtle. It was aunt Harriet. She was the one who was always stealing candy from me.“
My alter ego looked at me pathetically. I couldn’t tell if he was about to cry or give me money to make up for all that stolen candy.
“You know, there’s really no hope for you,” he said quietly. ” You haven’t got a prayer in the world. How the hell did I end up getting stuck with YOU?”
I was now getting very tired of playing this baby game. “Okay, mister,” I said. “tell me, what should I do about my blog.”
My alter ego lit up a fat cigar, threw the match on the ground and said he had a bus to catch. As he was running away, he shot me one last look. “How the @#&@ should I know?” he said. “I don’t write blogs!”