If you’re not a blogger, you might not know the first lesson of blogging: much like when the water starts to tremble before a T-Rex comes to eat your face, notification of an anonymous comment means shit’s about to go down.
Your blood pressure skyrockets, you feel like you’ve been kicked in the stomach, and you prepare for someone to let loose on you with the fanatical dedication of someone who vehemently believes that yelling at you in Arial Size 10 will solve everything that’s wrong in the world.
- How dare you brag about eating cheese when children are starving?- Your committed relationship with another man gives the Virgin Mary shingles.- Vegetarians are prejudiced against cows which – let us not forget – were SACRED once.- ‘Ben’ sounds like ‘Hen’ which makes me think of ‘Cock’ which offends and excites me.
You get the picture.
So yesterday when the dreaded ANONYMOUS popped up in my inbox, I assumed my day was over because, let’s be honest, driveby internet haterations give me the poops. That’s right. I said it, and I refuse to believe I’m the only one so think before you post – behind this shell of seemingly unbreakable perfection, I am, in fact, just an incredibly perfect human being who sometimes gets the poops when threatened.
It’s like a squid’s ink except it offers no form of defense whatsoever.
Ew. Sorry.
Luckily in this case, my fight-or-flight reaction could not have been more wrong. The rest of my day was NOT split between stress eating and stress pooping. It was a delightful anonymous comment that quite literally had a smile on my face for the rest of the day! BEHOLD THE ANONYMOUS COMMENT OF HYSTERICAL GLORY:
Anonymous? I just want to hug you. Seriously. Not only did you submit a question like I asked you to, you didn’t pick something ridiculous like, ‘how many strap-ons do you think you could get on a single human being of average height and weight?’ (63.) You actually took the chance to ask a very honest question – that will soon be answered on Special Pleading – that would help improve your quality of life:
But that’s not what had me smiling all day. It was that, unintentionally, you implied the following wonderfully, hilarious things:
1) Of all people I have access to, Ben is the one I consider to be an expert on woodsy sex.
2) I trust Ben’s sexpertise enough to comfortably ask him this question.
3) Sometimes, when I walk my dog, I wonder if Ben is in fact having sex in the woods nearby.
And best of all, you put me on the delirious track of planning out what my life would look like if I were a superhero tasked with protecting the masses from stumbling into uncomfortable moments with bears of the leather variety. I mean, do you help the guy wearing the ball-gag or do you nod politely and keep walking?
Thus I have landed on a new hobby – nay – a new era! One where dog walkers, geocachers and trail explorers can walk without fear of being caught in a lubey crossfire! An era free of smalltalk with hypermasculine big daddies in the middle of flogging your eighth grade gym teacher with a fallen Fir branch! An era where I get to wear capes and prance through the forest like I’ve always dreamed since noticing Little Red couldn’t pull that shit off in heels!
Welcome to my new quest of leading nature enthusiasts and nature sex enthusiasts into a happy coexistence! Artist rendering below (Allie is amazing) with comic book franchise and award-winning documentary to follow.
