I don't 'like' anybody. I don't have a 'Pinterest'

I don't 'like' anybody. I don't have a 'Pinterest' in anything. I can't be bothered to 'retweet.' Please don't 'copy', 'forward', or 'Google' me. (Why doesn't anyone read my blog?)

This was the brief post that rocketed me into cyberblogsuperstardom. 12,497,378 hits. To compare, my essay on outdoor sculpture's effect on city traffic patterns got 19 hits.

I realized then I was trying too hard. From now on, I would strive for mediocrity in my writing & in my relationships. When people asked me how I was doing, I would say "so-so."

Likewise when a waiter came to my table at a restaurant and asked how my food/service was, I'd simply mumble expressionlessly, 'Meh.'' My mediocrity would gain notoriety and

great acclaim. Waitrons throughout the sector fought to interpret my gnomic musings on the temperature of tap water or gravy stains. "It's not good but it's also not bad," I'd say

while rubbing my inner thighs. That's where my laser blasters are. The Waitrons hesitated. They read the sonic vibrations of my last statement to allow the Impactor to review

The evidence against The Waitrons. Three years later, they were found guilty of all charges and were senyenced to the chain gang, laying new railroad tracks to replace stolen ones.

It was hard, grueling work for the gang. Out in the hot sun all day while their guards poked at them with their sticks and threatened them from the shade

of the cabana, where they lay on chaise lounges and texted taunts to us as we labored in the brutal heat. Or so they thought. Actually we had escaped by then. Five hours later they

listened to Stravinsky in the dim light cast by a cold October moon while the cat chased something in the next room.