Earlier this week, I had planned to share the story of how a hipster had the audacity to move in to the house next door and have a hipster cookout on the 4th of July. I also wanted to discuss the blobs found in the sewers of Cameron Village as well as Michael Jackson and the upcoming Who’s Bad? concert that will be held at Felson’s this Saturday. That was until Robin, the poster child for abortion, came on the blog and started making ridiculous comments. I’m sure you all are pretty annoyed with this girl by now. She’s taken the attention away from what I enjoy writing about the most, which is of course, me. I haven’t left a single response to her in the comments section of “Southern Belles” or “Robin Hoodwinked”. This is only the second, and the last, time that I will address Robin and the events of this week.
Robin, you’ve said a lot of things that I could respond to, if I actually gave a shit. My IT guy has been told to continue to let your comments through, so feel free to keep posting. However, this is the last response that I’ll make regarding you or any of your comments.
“At this point, I am honestly tired of playing with someone who has the mentality of a thirteen year old.” – You went on to post 20 more comments after making this statement.
“First of all, I can’t decide if you are a writer or video producer” – I’m not a writer or a producer, I’m a socialite (with a book deal on the way) who gets blackout while doing the same exact thing every weekend.
“But I still say your writing is extremely questionable. I think there are two of you posting here. One of you has the ability to write well and the other one doesn’t. Unless you have two personalities….maybe that is the case here.” – Again, I don’t ever respond to people in the comments section. The people who have been making an ass out of you are loyal readers, not me.
“Isn’t he the one who tracked down my IP address and called my girlfriend’s cable company in his attempt to locate the owner of the IP address?” – No. My IT guy did this to make sure you were from Raleigh (something I’m still unsure about). Also, he didn’t call your girlfriend’s cable company.
“BTW- Stop trying to hack our investment accounts. My girlfriend received a phone call today from her Financial Adviser in Raleigh AND the security department of her financial institution, confirming to her that someone has been attempting to obtain her personal/financial information.” – I can’t tell if you’re just making shit up now. I don’t need to “hack” your “investment accounts”. While my first trust fund is a bit low (due to a few bad investments with a guy named Victor), the second trust fund that kicks in when I turn 30 will more than take care of me (until I blow it all in a span of 2 years).
“I think you have purposefully created a satiric blog to get people’s attention, and you are then going to sell your t-shirts and other paraphernalia. CLEVER!” – I still don’t understand why you think I’m trying to sell t-shirts. It’s hard enough to make sure the few people who purchase them are true ITB residents. Do you think I want the kids in my sweatshop to have to sort through more orders for t-shirts to make sure the buyers are legit residents? Those kids can’t even read, and I sure as hell won’t teach them how to anytime soon. If they can read, they can learn. If they can learn, they’ll realize getting paid $0.38 a day is well below their country’s minimum wage of $2.46/hr. I’m not going to stoop to the level of the Eckerd’s (Rite Aid) at Cameron Village (and Five Points) that, for some unknown reason, sells Broughton apparel to anyone who can afford it. In fact, last week I had to spend $9,372.22 at Eckerd’s buying all the Broughton clothing they had in stock so commoners couldn’t purchase any and pretend they were alumni.
Speaking of Cameron Village, I would much rather be discussing the upcoming Who’s Bad? concert at Felson’s this Saturday. I’m a little emotional about this one. Growing up, I spent two weeks every year at Camp Neverland (after attending Camp Sea Gull) and became pretty close with Michael Jackson. Over the years, it became harder and harder to deal with the allegations of misconduct. I still can’t figure out why it’s so hard for everyone to understand that drinking “sleepy juice” before watching movies in bed then waking up the next afternoon having no recollection of the previous 12 hours was just one of the fun camp activities that Michael had planned for us. Sure, there were times when I’d wake up dressed in a Peter Pan costume in a different room than the one I had fallen asleep in, but Michael said that was just because the “dream fairy” had visited me during the night. What’s wrong with that? Michael was just preparing me for the future, knowing that later in life I would spend each weekend waking up in unfamiliar places without remembering what had happened the night before. Michael taught us everything we needed to know about financial management and we learned that being famous is the greatest thing that can ever happen to anyone. Sadly, the camp was shut down in 1994, but Michael and I continued to be pen pals, then AIM buddies, then GChat friends up until last year. It’s been tough dealing with his passing, but I guess if you can’t have the real thing, (although it’s debatable on how much of him was real) then you might as well enjoy Who’s Bad?.