Wednesday, August 28, 2013

Don't You Know Who I Am???

Hi World:

I've decided to be famous. What the heck, it's Wednesday.

No, I haven't suddenly become skilled, good looking or intelligent.  There's nothing about me that screams "A Star is Born".  Not gonna let it hold me back.  It didn't hold back those toothless guys from Duck Dynasty, or Honey Boo Boo's entire family, or any number of bored housewives.

I'm  pretty sure fame is attainable with the right PR agent.  In my case, it's going to have to be a super talented one because I really don't have a lot of time  to invest.  Some people know people who know the right people.  Others network and go to casting calls.  I don't know anyone and I'm way too lazy to network.

I've thought of a few different angles my PR agent should consider in developing my new, more interesting persona. First,  I enjoy interacting with the world via these Chicken files. That could be useful  My agent could spin me into some uber-cool, mysterious recluse blogger who in real life is talented, famous, wealthy and possibly the secret love child of Bob Dylan and an associate professor of romance languages from the University of Oklahoma..

The second card up my sleeve is that I'm nocturnal.   I know!  Nocturnal is so trending right now.  These days, I cover up my nocturnal behavior by never posting anything before dawn.  There are people out there who want to do bad things to me.  I try to throw them off my trail.  Can you picture it?  Nocturnal supernatural blogger living in exile.  That is so me.  You know, I may be from Prague.  That's a spicy  place to be from.

Finally, I am descended from a long line of farmers.  I'm not sure if you have noticed, but farmers will soon be replacing chefs as the new blue collar celebrities.  Right behind Red Necks.   I can't, personally, grow a dandelion, but it doesn't really matter.  The blood doesn't lie.  Put me in a house dress, give me a basket, and take a close up of my cankles; I wouldn't even need a fucking herb garden to get my own Food Network pilot.

So let's recap.  I want to be famous without leaving my house or engaging in work-like activities.  My three angles are:

1. Reclusive love child of Bob Dylan blogging anonymously
2. Nocturnal supernatural exile with ties to the House of Rosenberg
3. Descended from farming royalty, has the cankles to prove it,  looks damn fine in a house dress.

Yup, I think this is a solid plan.  Thanks for talking me through it.  Could you also get three hundred of your closest friends to follow me on twitter?  While you do that, I'll be busy constructing a more interesting Face Book page, planting mysterious references to Bob Dylan throughout my blog, shopping for a volcanic house dress ensemble and practicing my Czech accent.

Chicken out


  1. What are we, related?

    Except that whole being from New England part.

    Personally, I think you can do it. Be famous, that is. You'll need a rubber bikini and that Thicke guy's front side... No?

    Hmm. I'm outta ideas. But if you think of any, I want in!


  2. Hi Pearl-I think we might be. In fact, if you go far enough back in my blog, you'll see that I used to post about an imaginary friend I had named Pearl Annabelle Lafleur. When I found your blog, I said to myself, hot damn, she's real. She's not an elderly black woman from Texas, but that's ok. I think a Pearl who drinks G&T with her cats at open mic nights is equally qualified to ride shotgun. And regarding the rubber bikini....I've been biting my lip and erasing snarky remarks for the last couple days because I'm giving the girl a pass on this one. She's young, she showed bad taste, apparently, it happens. I feel kind of bad for her. Then again her Klout score just went up. Way up...nope. Still feeling a little sympathy. Thank God I wasn't at the VMAs in 1982 when I decided to wear my new super hot purple and black jump suit out on the town. Ah regrets. I have so many of them.


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