Dear Evil Discussor... If you had but one wish that could be fulfilled, what would said wish be?

There are very few things an Evil Discussor such as I need wish for. I have everything that my very Evil heart could possibly desire. I have Evil fame. I have Evil glory. I have Evil loads of money. I even have Evil Salad DressingTM (available at Whole Foods in Ranch and Balsamic Vinaigrette). And I have Evil you, don't I? What more can I ask for? The warm, comforting knowledge that I am wholeheartedly loved and adored by my ever-burgeoning fan base more and more each and every day. That's all I truly need. And you should know that I love and adore you right back in your fat faces. You do know that, right? Not that your faces are fat, but that I love you? Don't you? If I had but one wish, it would be to show this to you more. To make my all-consuming love for you known unequivocally. I really wish I could let it out from behind this monitor. Let it touch you. Sometimes I feel like the Phantom. The Phantom of the Blogera. Hidden behind this curtain-like computer, hiding, hideous. Half-man. Half-blogger. I swing from blog catwalk to blog catwalk, my bloggy cape blowing in the bloggy breeze. Using html as my mask, I, um, I... I can't keep up this analogy. It takes way too much effort.

Anyhow, I was talking about my love for you. The love hidden deep beneath my insanely svelte and taut exterior. This love that emits from my heart and mind, through my tappity tap typing fingertips, out through the very tippy tips, onto the teeny tiny keys, down some cables and wires, and maybe through some phone lines, up into a modem, out onto your desktop, and into your fuzzy heads. Or, better yet, off of the keys, around some cables, and in through your chest instead, heading right past your boobies, of course, sneaking a quick look, and landing straight in your hearts. I do like that love-route better.













It's one thing though to love you with my words. But words are cheap. Dirty. Useless. Meaningless. Throwaway. They mean nothing. Like, for example, the word moot. What the fuck does that mean? Or if I said, Fuck you, dicklies, I hate you and your doucheheaded ways, you fucking suck. See. I might have said it. But I didn't mean it. Or Get your stupid ugly fucking blog-filled heads out of your hairy asses and start doing something with your pathetic shit-stained lives. Again, I didn't totally mean exactly all of that. Just some letters strung together to form words strung together to form a sentence. And just barely. Nothing but words. And sometimes words just aren't enough. No, sometimes things need to be demonstrated with actions. With feelings. With touching. And gentle caresses. If I could but take my hands and shove them right into my computer screen, and reach through this very computer screen right now and have them come out of your computer screen, I would. And I would feel your face with my hands, a la Helen Keller. Imagine. Me caressing each of your supple cheeks, running my fingers over your ears and eyes, over your chins, gently circling your lips, maybe putting a knuckle up your nose, learning more and more about every inch of your very startled face.

Then I would use my hands to get some leverage, grab hold of the edge of your desk, and try to pluck the rest of my sweet self through, starting with my head and then continuing on with the rest of my beautiful body, eventually heaving my entire person out onto your desk and rolling effortlessly into a perfect sitting position in your lap, one arm draped over your shoulder, like a ventriloquist's dummy, somehow magically sporting a monocle and top hat. Then I'd exclaim, "Hiya, toots!" and out of the side of my mouth mumble, "Nyuk, nyuk, nyuk, nyuk" kind of like I imagine Sammy Davis Jr would. You'd be sufficiently freaked out by all this, of course. Not only by the fact that a man just emerged from your digi screen, but by the fact that that man is clearly challenged in some way and most likely dangerous. But I would soothe you with my calming voice, and probably, if you like, a cup of green tea, if you have any, the tea and my sweet dulcet tones alleviating any worry you might have about this man who just came through your computer screen, and plopped into your lap, and now refuses to leave your apartment before being served a meal.












Let me just leave you with just one last thought, dear reader. If I can but teach, or touch, or entertain, or touch the taint of but one young fan of mine a day, if I can inspire but one sweet reader to aspire to greatness, to reach for the sky, to achieve the impossible, or at least to blow off work for another 4 minutes and maybe scan through this crap over lunch before going back to pokerroom.net, then I have done my duty here on Earth. I have done what I was supposed to do. And all is right with the world after all. Except for that whole global warming thing. And terrorism. And fine, some other stuff too. Like maybe children being sold as sex slaves, genocides, egg salad with too much mayo, etc, etc. But that's about it. And, come on. We can just shut that other shit out, can't we? Things are going pretty well, right? We've got eachother, don't we? And that's a lot. For love. We'll give it a shot.


Yours,
E.D.