This Is My Space. That's Your Space Over There.

Because I don't already have my pants down around my ankles in terms of anonymity, I added a MySpace link to my disturbing little profile in the top navigation menu. Feel free to click through and add me if you're a fan of the blog - or just watching in sick fascination like a school bus driving past a car accident. While we're on the subject, here is a list of things I promise you will NOT find on my MySpace profile:

1. A fucking annoying hip hop song that starts five minutes after the page loads and sends your coworkers jumping underneath their desks like Slick Rick just drove past the office.

2. Animated gifs of the Napoleon Dynamite dance (sorry Damaris).

3. Photos of me with my shirt off standing beside a mediocre car. I don't own a car, and my pale, gym-shy chest currently looks like the midsection of a narwhal.

4. A link to my band that sucks monkey cocks. Although, if I had a band, admittedly it would be called Monkey Cocks. MySpace has become this malestrom of mediocre talent that was never meant to see the light of day. "Dude, I did a search and can see that you like the Magnetic Fields. So I think you might like my band, Indifferent Potato. It's actually just a squirrel I found in my backyard being recorded as I rode over it with an electic lawnmower, but I think you'll get the vibe.

5. Pink on black anything.

So click on through and make yourself a new MySpace buddy. Some people wear their MS friends total like a badge on their sleeve. These people also usually spend Friday nights playing Unreal Tournament. Maybe we can join the same clan or something.