You Can B Your Own NF
Hi, I'm Polter-Cow! You may remember me from such posts as Rob Explains the Greatest Dropped Plot Point of All Time and Stop! Or My Mom Will Renew!
I am here to remind you that I am not better than you. That I happen to correspond with a showrunner does not elevate me as a human being. I am just a guy, after all. I'm a decent writer who manages to twist out a particularly brilliant turn of phrase every hundred thousand words. My so-called wit generally comes from getting to the easy joke before anyone else does. I am sometimes abnormally proud of these easy jokes, however. Especially when they're bad puns. I do love a bad pun. My episode posts are moderately insightful and entertaining, but they're certainly not the best. Have you ever read magnolia888's episode posts? That's the way to do them.
What I do excel at, though, is caring about people, and I sometimes wonder about my capacity, given the sheer multitude of people I know in any sense. How much emotional energy does one person have? We denizens of the Internet come across hundreds of people with a variety of pain and stress and angst and trauma, and we choose to emp-nay, we cannot help but empathize with them. Sympathize with them. Give them a little piece of ourselves and say, "Here, take this, you need it more than I do."* But how do you delegate the size of those pieces and who gets them so you're not living on table scraps? What if you feel some of your loved ones deserve more than you seem to be giving them? Can you take out a loan? Why do I ask so many stupid questions?
This is an awkward segue. Bow before it and despair.
Lurkers, you need not be intimidated of me, for I am wee and scrawny and have a penchant for putting on tiaras. Don't be shy. If you want to say hello, feel free. If you want to remain in the shadows, make sure to get plenty of Vitamin D. I am not some sort of behemothal monarch bestowing the Mark of Kri of Coolness on those allowed to talk to me.
Now, you may be saying, "P-C, we know this! We're your flist, and you know we adore you and think you're awesome!" To which I say: not that awesome, thanks. I also say what comes in the paragraph below this.
Really, I just came up with the post title on the escalator down to BART (as a potential title for a hypothetical book on my adventures in fandom, which doesn't need to be written since it will be obsolete and redundant), and I was so impressed with my own cleverness that I needed an excuse to use it (c.f. "I'm So Vain, You Bet I Think This Meme Is About Me").
In addition, I needed an excuse to pimp vm-fic.com, the Veronica Mars Fanfic Archive, for all your fanfic needs. And aww! Currently, a special welcome to their newest member, schnappycat, who is very missed.
Everyone have a good day now. Except for you there, in the back.
You have an awesome day.
*Crap. Another hundred thousand words before I come up with something that good.
I am here to remind you that I am not better than you. That I happen to correspond with a showrunner does not elevate me as a human being. I am just a guy, after all. I'm a decent writer who manages to twist out a particularly brilliant turn of phrase every hundred thousand words. My so-called wit generally comes from getting to the easy joke before anyone else does. I am sometimes abnormally proud of these easy jokes, however. Especially when they're bad puns. I do love a bad pun. My episode posts are moderately insightful and entertaining, but they're certainly not the best. Have you ever read magnolia888's episode posts? That's the way to do them.
What I do excel at, though, is caring about people, and I sometimes wonder about my capacity, given the sheer multitude of people I know in any sense. How much emotional energy does one person have? We denizens of the Internet come across hundreds of people with a variety of pain and stress and angst and trauma, and we choose to emp-nay, we cannot help but empathize with them. Sympathize with them. Give them a little piece of ourselves and say, "Here, take this, you need it more than I do."* But how do you delegate the size of those pieces and who gets them so you're not living on table scraps? What if you feel some of your loved ones deserve more than you seem to be giving them? Can you take out a loan? Why do I ask so many stupid questions?
This is an awkward segue. Bow before it and despair.
Lurkers, you need not be intimidated of me, for I am wee and scrawny and have a penchant for putting on tiaras. Don't be shy. If you want to say hello, feel free. If you want to remain in the shadows, make sure to get plenty of Vitamin D. I am not some sort of behemothal monarch bestowing the Mark of Kri of Coolness on those allowed to talk to me.
Now, you may be saying, "P-C, we know this! We're your flist, and you know we adore you and think you're awesome!" To which I say: not that awesome, thanks. I also say what comes in the paragraph below this.
Really, I just came up with the post title on the escalator down to BART (as a potential title for a hypothetical book on my adventures in fandom, which doesn't need to be written since it will be obsolete and redundant), and I was so impressed with my own cleverness that I needed an excuse to use it (c.f. "I'm So Vain, You Bet I Think This Meme Is About Me").
In addition, I needed an excuse to pimp vm-fic.com, the Veronica Mars Fanfic Archive, for all your fanfic needs. And aww! Currently, a special welcome to their newest member, schnappycat, who is very missed.
Everyone have a good day now. Except for you there, in the back.
You have an awesome day.
*Crap. Another hundred thousand words before I come up with something that good.