Every now and again on Twitter, I’ll go through and follow and unfollow a bunch of people. If I unfollow you, don’t take it personally. Likewise, I don’t take it personally when someone unfollows me. Twitter’s dynamic, not static.

However, a little while ago someone contacted me and demanded to know, in a snarky, confrontational, borderline douche-y way why I had stopped following her. I didn’t really know what to tell her, except maybe I unfollowed her because she was the type of person who would contact me afterward demanding explanations in a snarky, confrontational, borderline douche-y way.

j/k.

But @snarkyconfrontationalborderlinedouchey got me thinking about some of my Twitter turn-offs. And then I drew some pictures with my dubious artistic skillz.

(I see some of you getting paranoid. Remember that I’m talking in terms of extremes and NOT YOU. We’ll have more fun that way.)

 

1) Spammer

 

The annoyance level of this one is high enough I felt I had to include it even though I probably wouldn’t be following you if you were a spammer, I’d block you from following me. You asshat.

 

2) Constant Promo

 

You GUYS. Constant promo is like spam’s baby nephew. Sure, tweet lines from your book. Tweet your release dates/publication news. Tweet your friend’s releases. But for god’s sake, engage beyond that, or you won’t be promo-ing effectively.

 

3) TMI

 

Hey, morning glory, I heard a story…Twitter is PUBLIC. *gasp*

There’s a fine line between being naughty/inappropriate and just excessively, constantly oversharing everything about your body/sex life. One can be cute and fun and funny, and the other can be uncomfortable.

I know it’s hard to resist. It hurts. You know what helps? I repress. Rai’s are real good at repression. Like the time I watched a certain scene in Jerry Maguire with my dad sitting next to me, or the time my mom tried to use a Meatloaf song to launch a discussion about the birds and the bees.

Mama Rai: “You know what he’s talking about, when he says he would do anything for love, but he won’t do that? Sex. He wouldn’t have premarital sex. Because you can die from it. If you aren’t married.”

I repressed! It works great. So the next time you feel the urge to put up an avi of your nipple, take all of that desire, shove it down deep, and write a sex scene with ping pong paddles. Trust me.

 

4) Chronic RTing

 

RTing is fun, isn’t it? But 40 inane RT’s without a break for any actual original content can get boring. RT responsibly.

 

5) Never Tweeter

 

Self-explanatory.

 

6) It’s not you. It’s me.

 

Ah. This covers probably about 99% of the users I unfollow. You may be super fun and have interesting things to say, but I need to let you go right now. I may let you go, and keep someone who hits all of the pet peeves I listed above, but for some reason I want them to hang around a little longer. Maybe the time for us getting together isn’t right at the moment. Maybe I’ll come back to you later, and we’ll feel that click. Maybe I’m burned out. Maybe I just need a change. It’s not you. Really. It’s me. Now baby, please don’t…here. I’ll get the check.

Alisha Runs Amok, Bad Paint, Random Junk Twitter destroys the world, Twitter Love

The turkey’s been eaten, your black eye’s healing from that deceptively angelic looking grandma beating your ass for the last Zhu Zhu pet on Black Friday, and your Christmas tree is bright and shiny in your living room. It’s officially holiday time!

In the big city, nothing says holidays quite like elaborately dressed department store windows. A few weeks ago, I came across this awesome one:

I wish I could have snagged a better shot of the whole giant thing so you could truly appreciate it. This is the conversation I imagine would take place upon seeing this window:

Girl: Mommy, mommy, it’s Barbie and Ken!
Mom: Wow, you’re right it is! It’s…huh.
Girl: What?
Mom: (tilting head) Um. Nothing.

See, despite the sheer brilliance in creating this ode to childhood (and holy cow, hats off to you, nameless decorator), something was bugging me about it. I just couldn’t put my finger on it. I passed it about ten more times, noticing something new each time that made me, with my warped imagination, smile.

And the following entirely fictional, adults only conversation resulted.

Barbie: …can you believe she had the nerve to say that to my face? And after all I did for Skipper, practically raising her as my own all these years. Working as a pediatrician so she’d have free healthcare. That stint as a vet so she could have horse riding lessons. Spending ’85 in that horrid peaches and cream ball gown so the Peach Mafia out of Savannah would leave us be. All those littlest pet shop creatures I let her keep. That thankless little biotch.

Barbie: And the worst part of it all is that Midge took her side! I was the bridesmaid in her wedding, and she couldn’t even stick up for me. You know what I think? I think she’s jealous. Brunettes just aren’t as popular as us blonde dolls. Don’t you agree, Snookie Wookie?

Barbie: Ken? Don’t you agree?

Ken: You really want to know what I think?
Barbie: Of course, snookums.
Ken: No you don’t. You never want to know what I think.
Barbie: Ken! Whatever gave you such an idea…
Ken: You! You gave me that idea! Of course I believe you don’t have any friends! I can barely stand to look at you!
Barbie: (gasps) How dare you?
Ken: How dare I what? How dare I finally open my mouth after decades of living amongst your insanity?
Barbie: I don’t even know what you’re talking about.
Ken: You don’t, huh? Why don’t we start with your deep seated narcissism? I could forgive the pictures of yourself everywhere. But honest to God, that chandelier…

Barbie: What’s wrong with it?
Ken: Are you shittin’ me, B? The way those dolls are hanging down like that…

Ken: Sometimes, when I’m walking under it, I feel a little shoe thump me on the head. It’s like they’re silently screaming for help.
Barbie: Oh pooh! Just because I like to decorate–
Ken: And what about the tree, B?
Barbie: …
Ken: Where are the ornaments?
Barbie: (mumbles)
Ken: What? I couldn’t hear you. Where are the fucking ornaments?
Barbie: On the ground.

Ken: That’s right. And why are they on the ground? I’ll tell you why. Because you had to rip them down before I came home to put up your decorations.

Ken: I mean, look at the way their arms are reaching out for mercy. Have you no pity, woman?
Barbie: I…I can’t help it, Ken. I just like to look at myself.
Ken: Then why did you stab that picture of yourself in the face???

Ken: That is some messed up shit right there.
Barbie: (sobbing on her knees amidst broken glass ornaments) I’m so sorry, Ken. So, so sorry. But to be fair, you’re the one who flaunts pictures of your mistress everywhere.

Ken: My…seriously? Fucking seriously? Barbie, that’s a picture of yourself from the 70′s in black face. I told you when you put it up that it was deeply offensive.
Barbie: Oh. Really?
Ken: I’m calling your psychiatrist. First though…
Barbie: You want to kiss me and carry me off to live in the Waikiki Dream Mansion?
Ken: No. I want to tell you that I hate the color pink.
Barbie: Fuck you. Fuck you and your hairless chesticles.
Ken: Come on. Pink socks? You may as well strip my manhood away completely.

Barbie: I don’t think it was the pink that stripped your manhood away, you bastard.
Ken: …Oh. Oh no you didn’t. No you di-n’t just throw that in my face.
Barbie: It’s been in my face for years, Flat-Crotch.
Ken: You know I can’t help what the manufacturers didn’t give me! That does it. I’m going to see you committed if it’s the last thing I do. (Picks up phone)
Barbie: (withdraws pink revolver from her pink clutch) Darling?

::single gunshot::

Barbie: (crooning to dolls in chandelier) You’ll never leave me, will you my pretties? You like pink. You like us. Never, ever leave…
Ken: That’s a toy gun from your stint as a cowgirl, B.
Barbie: Son of a bitch!

Fin.

Alisha Runs Amok, Awesomesauce, Random Junk Alisha Loves Her Camera, Alisha Runs Amok Abroad, Barbie Love, Parody

C’mon. You know you feel this way too when you get the whale…

It can’t just be me.

…

Right?

o_O

Bad Paint, Keith Uses Paint, Random Junk, Wicked Awesome bombs, Fail Whale, kill this tag

Awesomesauce, Bad Paint, Keith Uses Paint, Random Junk Chainsaw Unicorn, Keith Melton Paints

So @j_hussein dared me via Twitter to post a picture of myself online. Behold: 

Here’s her site, btw, where you can go inform her that even though she lost the bet, I won, so it all works out in the end.

http://insanehussein.com/blog/

Keith Uses Paint, Random Junk, Writer Stuff Artastic!, Fire-breathing Giant Squids, werebeaver

A few months back, something horrible happened.

Ann Aguirre vanished from Twitter without a trace.

Many of you may have heard the Official Government Story. According to the authorities, Ann’s Twitter account was hacked and deleted, thus condemning her to a life without 140 character snippets of conversation. How will she know the newest trending topic? How will she stay up to date on all the hourly life minutia of a gazillion different Twitter users?

I know. Tragic.

I set out to uncover the truth about Ann’s disappearance. Unfortunately, the Moira Rogers duo of Bree and Donna were completely useless, having fallen into the depths of despair over Ann’s unexpected disappearance. Both kept claiming that Ann Aguirre was inexplicably transported to Alabama to hang out with them and party hard. Clearly both had gone mad with grief.

(My attempts to contact Alisha Rai were also fruitless, as she is no longer speaking to me in sentences free of profanity. Vivian Arend claims that Canada was not involved in Ann’s disappearance. Robyn Bachar blamed the elves. Misty Evans put forth her suspicions that rogue KGB elements may have been involved.)

I was forced to set off for Mexico to find out what had happened to the author. Luckily, my Spanish language skills include the words naranja and tequila, so this gringo was all set for south of the border shenanigans.  

What I found shocked me to the core. I have included NEVER BEFORE SEEN VIDEO FOOTAGE of the events of the fateful night when Ann Aguirre disappeared forever.

  

 

 

 

See that folks? Ann Aguirre, abducted by aliens eager to read Razorland, and still she thinks about her readers and Twitter entourage first. That’s love, right there.

Don’t worry. I’m sure Ann will be freed eventually by the Mother Ship when it stops to play some funky music, Close Encounters-style. However, we must soldier on without her on Twitter…

…in fact, I have to go tweet about feeding my cat and follow up with a riveting 140 character rant about what I had for lunch. Carry on!

Technical Details: All art was done in Microsoft Paint for maximum choice of color palette and vibrancy.

The moon shifting position within the frames is not a bug, it’s a feature.

Some may wonder why Ann Aguirre was writing a novel in the middle of a cow pasture while sitting on a milking stool. Alas, since she is no longer on Twitter (perhaps not even in this solar system) she cannot be asked this intriguing question.

Razorland looks pretty damn awesome. It also looks as if some lucky reader could win a copy of it on Goodreads.

http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/7137327-razorland

No cows were harmed in the making of this blog post.

Keith Melton's Megalomaniacal Delusions, Keith Uses Paint, Random Junk alien abduction, ann aguirre, humor, Mexico looks like Ohio, Twitter destroys the world

Not A Constructive Way To Deal With Criticism:

 

 

 

 

Yep. Well adjusted, that’s me.

…

 

DISCLAIMER: I assume this is obvious, but Just In Case someone actually believes I will feed other people to zombies and/or giant squids for supplying criticism, valid or not, I assure you this is not the case. I don’t have a license to own zombies and I don’t have a place big enough to store a giant squid. I’m actually a Very Nice Person who never does anything bad. Ever. And my imaginary friends are even nicer, if that’s possible. So rest easy.

Bad Paint, Keith Melton's Megalomaniacal Delusions, Keith Uses Paint, Random Junk evil face of evil, Giant attack squid, humor, joy, Keith Melton is well adjusted, Keith Melton Paints, Zombies

I was going to use today to crush Keith Melton like the enemy he is, but I was reminded that love should come before war, and I love Alisha Rai. (This week.)

In honor of her latest print release, I am pleased to present to you the sister act (minus nuns) to my LOLcat Reviews:

THE ILLUSTRATED BLURB!

Want a chance to read Cabin Fever by Alisha Rai? Leave a comment telling her how TOTALLY AWESOME she is, and I’ll pick one winner next week to get a print copy of this latest Scribbling Ninja release!

Book Release, Bree For THE WIN, Illustrated Blurbs, Random Junk, Wicked Awesome alisha rai, hot men in cabins, i tag because i love, killing that tag will not save you from getting pwnd, sexual healing hands, witches rule wizards drool

First off, I regret things have come to this point. I really do.

 But after Bree of Moira Rogers fame posted on her blog a wildly unscientific poll: http://moirarogers.com/blog/archives/2570 and then said on Twitter that her poll was 8000X (eight THOUSAND TIMES) more scientific than Keith Melton, I had to reply.

So I release to the public this picture of Bree and a Giant Spider.

 

Now clearly the spider is harmless.  I mean, his legs aren’t even all the same length and he has a heart on his belly like a CareBear arachnid. But Bree so hates spiders she’s throwing down with a Browning Automatic Rifle in the spider’s grill when he just wants a hug. A hug.

Seems like an Epic Battle to me. (Although, in real life, Bree may be more prone to scream and run from spiders and let her husband shoot them instead).

Sorry, Bree. Had to do it. Especially after you called me out for making comments about the validity of sparkly vampires.

This stunning artwork was done in Microsoft Paint, the gutter program and laughing stock of all real digital artists. I made up Bree’s hairstyle because I couldn’t find a picture without her wearing a tiara.) I included the rifle just because I like to draw guns. And spiders. But tiaras…not so much.

Keith Melton

Bad Paint, Keith Destroys Bree Again, Keith Uses Paint, Random Junk Giant Love Spiders, M1918 Browning Automatic Rifle, Revenge

Hold the phone, ladies and gentlemen—we have some late entries to the Vampire Lumberjack contest. Now technically, these do not qualify for the prize, since they were submitted by Persons Completely Ineligible. I’ve decided to post them in the interest of sharing the magnitude of their poetic greatness with you.

The first comes to us from wunderkind Alisha Rai.

I’m A Little Vampire 

 

I’m a little vampire,

Sparkly and stout,

Here are my fangs,

Here is my trout,

When I get all hungry

You better watch out!

Lumberjack vamps have all the clout!

*** 

Let’s just turn our critical eye to her verse, shall we? We start off strong, but then the poem completely screws the pooch with the inclusion of the dread word “sparkly.” It has already been widely established here that vampires should only sparkle if they’re trapped in an industrial shredder with a bunch of glass shards and glitter. So there’s that. Moving on.

Next up we have a line about fangs. Fangs, always a popular (and some would say necessary) attribute with vampires. And then…cataclysmic failure. The mind boggles at the inclusion of a troutin the poem. However, after peeling back the dense layers and using out cryptic powers of interpretation, the term trout is used here by Alisha Rai as an obscure metaphor for male genitalia. This can be considered either flat out brilliant or blinking insane, your choice.

We reach the poem’s climax (no thanks to the trout) with the last three lines: bloodlust, gothic threats, and a bold boast which seems to salute the socio-political-economic significance of lumberjack vampires, but is cleverly played by Rai with an ironic undertone chipping away at the pillars of their so-called “clout.”

The next poem by Donna (the bad cop of the Moira Rogers detective team) was automatically disqualified with extreme prejudice due to its title: AN ODE TO LIZARDS with the questionable subtitle: A Gila Monster Love Story, and had absolutely nothing to do with either lumberjacks or vampires.

Our final hidden entry by Bree (the other bad cop of the Moira Rogers detective team) actually stuck to the subject at hand.

Lumberjackin’ Dirty 

 

They see me strollin’

They hatin’

Lumberjackin’

And tryin to catch me sawin’ dirty

Tryin to catch me fellin’ dirty

Tryin to catch me choppin’ dirty

Tryin to catch me swingin’ dirty

Tryin to catch me hackin’ dirty

My theme song so loud

I’m swingin’

They hopin’

Tryin’ to catch me choppin’ dirty

I been bitin’ and drinkin’ and fellin’ trees

Cuz a vampire can’t focus,

I gotta get to my shack ‘fore po-pos scope

This big ole axe handle hangin’ ‘tween my knees.

They tryin to catch me swingin’ dirty

They tryin to catch me choppin’ dirty

Misanthropic vampires, yo!

That’s how we muthachoppin’ roll, dogs.

 ***

As you can see, Bree’s entry is catchy. Very catchy, even if it does contain some questionable rhythm and rhymes. However, if you blast it from your speakers at any family gathering you’ll automatically endear yourself to all your Maine and/or Oregon timber industry connected relatives. Also, Bree earns points for not including anything related to sparkles or trout.

There you have it folks. Like TMZ, I bring you all the dirt—or in this case, all the hidden lumberjack vampire poetry which never should’ve seen the light of day.

Thank me later.

Keith Melton

Keith Melton's Megalomaniacal Delusions, Random Junk, Wicked Awesome Alisha Rai writes poetry, Bree gets down with her bad self, Donna loves lizards, vampire lumberjack