With my knickers well and truly picked out of my hole I’ve found a new sense of gusto the last week. I could feel my mood lifting as the pandemic of Instagram lives began to lessen. I’d found it increasing unsettling that when there was clearly fuck all going on there was a group of covid cabaretiers that felt their message required the urgency of a live broadcast. The horrific moment when you click into an Instagram live by mistake as the only viewer and have to witness someone having a nervous breakdown. And it’s not an entertaining breakdown. You quickly realise you’ve been targeted for a gorilla warfare style therapy session but you can’t charge extortionate rates for your service.
The painful truth is I recognise the desperation all to well though. At this stage I’m thinking of claiming I was one of Jeffrey Epstein victims just to make myself seem somewhat relevant. I try to stay optimistic however- If Jake Carter girlfriend can carve out a television career for herself surely there’s a glimmer of hope for that likes of me. It must be so liberating to be asked to play the role of the talking head over and over again while defiantly offering no opinions, insights or humour. That’s the dream.
I’ve played the game completely wrong. I should have gone into straight acting. Then if I said something even mildly assuming there would be a parade thrown in Montrose for me- people cheering, holding banners saying things like ‘slaying it with somewhat whitty anidotes yasssssssssss’. Me waving to the muck, smug as fuck knowing a glossy spread in the Independent Lifestyle Magazine entitled ‘Not totally grotesque female made a funny’ was eminent. I mean I’ll do a dressing a blazer up or down segment on the Today Show if that’s what it takes ffs.
After watching Filthy Rich on Netflix I was left with many unanswered questions. One which kept swirling around my mind was how much did Jeffrey Epstein's head weigh. It looked incredible dense-like a gorilla. Not a majestic silver back gorilla, a manky diseased gorilla who went around just throwing his shit at everyone and wouldn't look out of place in an episode of Tiger King.
My one hope now is there is some sort of OJ style car chase involving Prince Andrew that goes on for days. Ending with Andrew simply emerging from his car weeping, waving a white hankie with one hand and presenting his mickey with the other . Of course sweating profusely and finally collapsing on the ground from exhaustion. Now that’s an Instagram live I could get behind.
But that’s me , I’m a real softy. This young lady did a duet with me on Tiktok because she was ‘triggered’ by my video, ‘If I was a Teacher predicting Leaving Cert Results’. I could have replied ‘Classic C3 behaviour-melt’, but I didn’t. I'm fully aware there’s an opportunity here for me to be a talking head on her forthcoming RTE player series- all going well. I'll have to strategically try and align myself with the melt, for the moment anyway.
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