An Open Letter to My Former Follower

Yesterday, I had 30 followers of this blog. Today, I have one fewer (or, as the Guardasil commercials are fond of saying, "One less.")

So, yeah...

I'm pretty sad about that.

Dear Former Follower:

I miss you.

I don't know why you left, but I'm guessing it was something I said.

I have a pretty big mouth, I realize that, but I never intended to hurt you, or make you cry, or, far worse, make you leave.

Where you went?

I don't even know who you are. I'm guessing you're not one of my male followers-- I can't afford to lose either of them. Who are you and why did you go away?

Did you get offended by yesterday's post about shallow, vapid 20somethings who blindly support cop-killers and other inane causes to piss off their parents, impress their liberal Facebook pals or because they have no moral compass to tell them what is right and what is wrong? Oh, my poor, lost, wayward follower-- are you a Mumia supporter? Well, you must have had some kind of inkling that this blog was not for you from the beginning. I mean, for a start, I speak in complete sentences.

Maybe you found the Dear Apron columns offensive. I can understand that. After all, they're all simmery with snark and shit, and that can just be too much for some sensitive people. Are you a sensitive person, former follower? Do you write Dear Abby letters devoid of irony? Hmm, well, maybe we're better off going our separate ways.

It's possible you didn't like the images to which I sometimes hyperlink. Yeah. Some of those just aren't very nice. Some are just.... questionable. Regardless of their quality or inherent value, I don't really hyperlink that much anymore. Maybe that's why you left. Jesus. There's no pleasing some people.

I suppose it's also possible that you just got tired of me obsessing over my personal inadequacies, my fears, my paranoias, my hypochondiasis, my mediocrity, my occupational foibles, my struggle for acceptance, my petty problems, my daliances in homeownership, my aberrant interests in slain police officers, airplane disasters, Gilbert & Sullivan operettas, vintage British television, antique hats and eyeglasses, typewriters, telephones, masturbation and Canadian folk music.

Well, I guess I can see that, too. Though it kinda hurts. Just a little bit.

I wish you would have emailed me before you left. You know, to tell me what the issue was. Not that I would have done anything about it necessarily, but at least I would have known why.

WHY?! JESUS FUCKING CHRIST! WHYYYY?!!! WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME, YOU FUCKING BITCH! YOU FUCKED WHORE?! WHAT THE FUCK! I FUCKING HATE YOU, CROTCHMOUTH! RECTUM-LICK FUCKWHORE! GO SUCK A DONKEYDICK, YOU STONE COLD BIATCH!!!!!!!!

Whoa.

Sorry. See? Just a teensy little email could have avoided all that.

Then again... maybe it was the profanity.....

Meh.

Fuck you.