Utterance No. 539

By the way, sometimes Tweetcaster does not post multi-part tweets for whatever reason. I’ll give it a couple of tries and then give up. My target audience gets them anyway by other channels.

I figure that no one’s buying their tickets anyway, so I’ll let my audience scrounge for my material.

It’s another one for the history books, my surveillance-based show that I’ve been putting on since late 2004. My audience is far larger than my twelve Twitter followers, most of whom are probably bot fronts for various law enforcement and intelligence organizations.

By the way, how’s my old friend from Harlem, the dude who magically wanted to be my friend and wanted me to transport a backpack full of cocaine across town? It’s kind of sad that my already few social prospects are further limited by my having to wonder, “Where’s the setup here” when someone speaks to me or wants to be my friend. And people call me weird or schizoid because I talk to no one and have no friends and go nowhere and do nothing. “Do you have friends, Chris?” “No. I hav–” “–Alrighty, then; you’re schizoid.” I took up stand-up so that I might have fun and meet people and collaborate with fellow comedians. Nope. I’m now more isolated than when I started. So much for doing quality work. I’ll just half-ass it next time. Dick jokes 24-7. A star is born.

I am not in your investigation. You are in my show. It has always been that way.

And if my delightful audience of shoplifters want to buy their tickets at some point like you’re supposed to, that’d be great. I’d be able to hire a crew and put on a proper show. Send a hundred bucks to Chris King, Grafton, Vermont 05146. Then tweet at me to check my mail, because otherwise I do not even open my mailbox. There’s never anything but overdue bills in it.

You know that my future audience members are going to hold you losers in total contempt, right? They are going to blame you for your theft of services which denied that future audience an enjoyment of a larger body of work of mine. They’ll say, “Wait a minute. Chris only did a handful of videos and all we have is this written shit? Wow, his audience must have been a bunch of fuckin’ trash.”

They were. Buy your tickets, trash.