|This is not Jesus Christ|
Now, some of you are probably thinking, "What the hell is he talking about?" Some of you might actually be scrolling back to yesterday's post to see what kind of controversial statements I made. And then some of you are probably going to think, "This idiot is delusional. He actually thinks people take him seriously." I will accept any and all criticism/mocking. I deserve it. It keeps me grounded.
The second thing on my mind this morning is a worry about a drop-off in readership. Yes, I keep track of how many people are reading Saint Marty on an hourly, daily, weekly, monthly, and yearly basis. It's part of my unhealthy preoccupation with being popular. I don't want to be the only girl not invited to the prom. Until last week, I've been averaging around 500 to 700 views a day for June. Suddenly, I'm lucky if I make it to 400. I can't account for the sudden decline in views.
I'm asking my faithful disciples (and my not so faithful disciples) to let me know what kinds of posts are their favorites. Perhaps I need to include more original poetry. Or discussion of literature. Or perhaps nude pictures of myself. (Wait a minute. I want to attract people to this blog, not send them fleeing for the nearest bottle of eye wash.) You tell me, and I'll try to do it. I'm a cheap date. You don't even have to get me drunk.
Now, I owe you a Carol dip this morning, since it is Monday. I've already written about the things that are on the forefront of my thoughts this early a.m. However, I do have one more pressing question:
Will NBC kick Ann Curry off the Today show?
And the answer from the great book of Dickens is:
To sit, staring at those fixed, glazed eyes, in silence for a moment, would play, Scrooge felt, the very deuce with him. There was something very awful, too, in the spectre's being provided with an infernal atmosphere of its own. Scrooge could not feel it himself, but this was clearly the case; for though the Ghost sat perfectly motionless, its hair, and skirts, and tassels, were stil agitated as by the hot vapour from an oven.
"You see this toothpick?" said Scrooge, returning quickly to the charge, for the reason just assigned; and wishing, though it were only for a second, to divert the version's stony gaze from himself.
There you have it, folks. A description of Jacob Marley's phantom. That means Ann Curry is history. She's a ghost, a spectre. She's dead on arrival. (That sort of depresses me, because Ann Curry is the nicest person on that program. Why can't nice people come out on top?)
Take it to the bank, folks. You heard it from Charles Dickens and Saint Marty first.