"And anyone can tell / You think you know me well / But you don't know me"
I am a fiercely loyal devotee of the wacktastic webcomic Wonderella, by Justin Pierce. About a year ago, my buddy Jay introduced me to Wonderella, noting the eerie similarity between me and this foul-mouthed, ebonics-spouting, Goddess-referencing, tiara-sporting asskicker with anger management issues. I thought it was just a passing resemblance until I saw this:
I was convinced that Justin Pierce had insider information on my life. He had either hidden webcams around my house, chatted up my drunken gossipy friends, or read my journal -- whatevs. J-Dawg was definitely stalking me. I was ready to file papers and see if I could get a cut of the millions of theoretical dollars he is earning from my likeness, but then I saw this:
She might cuss like a tiny sailor and invoke the Goddesses, but she also blew up my beloved Le Targét and willingly stepped foot inside Wal-Mart, the Great Evil. I would NEVER abandon my beloved bargain store and give my for real dollars to the most assholic of the giant corporate asshole megamarts.
You can keep your theoretical dollars, J-Dawg.You don't know me. Wonderella ain't but a pale imitation of my fine brown ass.
"You Don't Know Me" originally by Frank Sinatra, but I'm partial to Jann Arden's cover