So get this: over the weekend, while you were playing in the sunshine with your children and puppies and kittens, I was unceremoniously booted off the contributor list on Burt Reynolds' Moustache.
The fact that I have never written a post or a comment on this blog is not the point here. And yes, it's true that I may have uttered horribly unkind things about the 'Stache in mixed company, but everyone knows that's just the hipster doofus in me, talkin' shit about the things I love most in order to appear much cooler than I actually am.
I demand a reasonable explanation for this surprise deportation, because I would argue that I am quite possibly the most important contributor to this blog, coming only second to Mr. Pistols At Dawn, editor-at-large. I designed the magnificent new Burt header, which is the first thing that every visitor sees and admires about this otherwise dull and lifeless piece of blogginess. It's worth mentioning that I did all this in exchange for the promise of sexual favours from Mr. At Dawn, which were withheld from me on a technicality: apparently this "Pistols At Dawn" fella is not a real person.
I was willing to live with this heinous act of perfidy in order to retain the immense prestige of being listed as a contributor to Burt Reynolds' Moustache. It was as if they had said to me: "You're not good enough to introduce to my parents, but it's cool if we sleep together so long as no one finds out about it." And believe it or not, I thought that was a pretty fair deal at the time. I didn't want any of my other blogs to know I was sleeping with them either.
But here I am, thrown aside almost immediately after using my mad creative skillz to orchestrate what might be the most radical rebranding of a blog that no one reads. It's enough of a tragedy that the 'Stache's editorial committee originally declined my phenomenal first version on the grounds of "moral decency":
[click to enlarge - it's cool, I know you wanna see "it"]
Fools! There is absolutely nothing moral or decent about Burt Reynolds! Or his Moustache, for that matter.
You are dead to me, 'Stacheholes.