I've been told that, as a minor local celebrity, I gotta have a blog. All the minor local celebrities have blogs, apparently. It's 'what influencers do'. As the latest in a long line of assholes who really don't need eyes on their boring-ass lives, I introduce my new blog:
This is me controlling the narrative, or something. I'm the beloved 'style icon' of the Splatlands who has been singlehandedly making everyone's fashion sense take a long walk off a short pier. I'm not sorry for it, because it wasn't my fucking fault. I didn't wake up at the asscrack of dawn, pull on the worst fucking outfit imaginable and set out to ruin our collective fashion sense. I did wake up at the asscrack of dawn and I did pull on the worst outfit you can think of, but I was trying to make some kind of bullshit social commentary on our materialistic nightmare economy. Or something. Mostly my mate just bet me two super sea snails I wouldn't.
You've all seen my bullshit on Squidstagram - I know you have. You wouldn't be here reading my pretentious ramblings if you hadn't/ (FYI - I don't have a fucking Squidstagram and I don't fucking want one.) I turn up trying to re-ignite the OG Turf wars and all you Inklings think I'm pulling off some brave new trend.
I'm not, BTW.
I just want to dress badly on purpose and now I have a fucking reputation and I'm in too deep to stop.
So welcome to this bullshit.
I don't know if I'll even keep writing this crap. Maybe it'll be a cool insightful behind-the-scenes into your latest freshest fashion hit. Maybe you'll finally realise I fucking suck and leave me alone.
1 There is not, in fact, any bullshit patent pending because copyright law is for posers.