Despite all the stupid little farm animals and cheesy “purple rose butterfly smiles” that come flying at me on Facebook, there are some things I have actually found quite useful on the site.
(Don’t get me wrong. Those cute little smiles YOU sent me were extra-special and not at all cheesy. I was referring to the other ones, of course.)
Take, for example, the whole “like” button on Facebook. (I know some of your are still petitioning for a “dislike” button as well. I feel your pain. All in due time, my friends.)
First of all, I had absolutely no idea everyone in the Facebook world wanted to know so badly what I like and dislike.
I mean, I know I’m something of a trendsetter in the fashion world, but is there really a target group out there looking to see whether or not I like Biblical Hebrew Lessons?
Up until fairly recently, I had absolutely no idea there was a Beluga Lake Monster living right here in our cosmic hamlet. (And can someone tell me how come Mercutio never gets any references? I think he and Jan Brady belong to a very special club.)
OK, the whole point of that long diatribe was to segue smoothly into the subject of the Beluga Lake Monster. Somehow, I got off on a bit of a tangent. So, since I’m going to spend the next few hundred words lamenting and waxing poetic about all that is el Monsturo de Beluga Lago; and, since it takes waaay to long to type Beluga Lake Monster in every time; and, since BLM sounds way too much like some kind of limited bowel movement, I think I’m gonna go the way of zen master Scranton Goldwater and refer to her as “the Bl’onster.”
This looming, lurking Lucifer of the Lake has already self-reported consuming a number of poor, unsuspecting tourists as they tentatively make their way through the fog across the bridge.
“I really try not to eat the locals, but sometimes I get so hungry … ,” she says in one Facebook post.
The Bl’onster goes on to describe an intricate underground network of “monster tunnels” that allow her to travel unseen to the Homer reservoir. There, she reportedly adds “psychotropic secretions” to the town’s water supply with the intention of “hypnotizing the misguided fools” of our town and “enslaving them to do my will.”
Perhaps we should dig a little further into just what makes the Bl’onster tick — and see what she might be hiding.
In her “Bio,” the Bl’onster claims to be a true daughter of the Loch Ness Monster who re-settled in Homer, but then refers to an “Aunt Nessie.” Which is it, Ms. Lake?
She claims to have graduated from Tokyo University School of Monstering with a Doctorate in Monstrosity, specializing in mass hypnosis, random destruction and eating people. Yet, a recent call to Tokyo University School of Monstering indicated that Ms. Lake lacked in a general understanding of “ogreism,” and spent much of her dissertation time hanging out with Elvis and nursing a bottle of Percocet.
And yet, she blames her idiopathic compulsion to feast on humans on an alleged “mutation” after consuming hydraulic fluid and old airplane batteries off the bottom of Beluga Lake.
And I suppose you have something against us driving all over your frozen face in the wintertime, too!
Oh, who am I trying to kid. I can’t help myself Bl’onster. That psychotically crazed look in your scum-crusted eyes. The soft caress of your slimy tentacle. Your religious beliefs in the way of the great Flying Spaghetti Monster. I struggle to resist …
And then … there it is. A quick scroll down your interests reveals what I know can only be true destiny: you, too, love Scottish Falsetto Sock Puppet Theatre.
I think I love you Bl’onster.
You had me at Scandanavian Death Metal.
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