Dear Mike


Dear Mike,

What the fuck, dude? Didn’t we agree on this whole thing being anonymous?

Since the induction (I may or may not be using this word correctly) of this site Mike has been anonymously advertising the shit out of it. Mass e-mails were sent to friends and co-workers, many of whom I know for a fact could give a shit about our objective. There have been posts and comments and “likes” initiated on Facebook. I believe he even dropped a link to our site on punknews.org (do 14-year-old kids even read blogs?).

Facebook drop-

“Digging this site right now…still pretty new.

http://theoctopushamstring.wor​dpress.com/

Email sent to friends and coworkers-

https://theoctopushamstring.wordpress.com/

Not sure who these guys are, but they sound awesome. Forward it to everyone you know…just not to any employees of (omitted)”

My initial ploy was to create a safe and non-threatening canvas for us to display and dissect ourselves upon. I wanted to scour my bowels and smear the greasy, gelatinous gobs neatly on a wall where they could trickle and glide quietly as they rendered reflections of my subconscious. Thanks to Mike, however, my bleating will now be reduced to the trivial and mundane aspects of my life. I’d be just as well off posting comments on Facebook.

Fleeting like shadows at dusk are my desires to share with WordPress my feelings about my parents, circumcision, and olive oil (sigh). As much as I’d love to just give up right now I, for some reason, feel somewhat indebted to Mike. Maybe if lay down a post or two I can relieve myself of the guilt he’d eventually bestow upon me. This whole blog thing was my idea after all, right? There’s always that time when I really had a take a poo while driving on the 57 West, but couldn’t find a public restroom in time. And I still need a legitimate reason to interview the band Forcefield ON (I’ll elaborate on this later). God damn it.

For Mike,

Tyler

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