That’s right. Read that title over again. Again. One more time. Got it, now? I fucking rule. Of course, this is no surprise to you readers. How many other little blonde Micks can mock international law, escape molestation by a clown on Saint Patrick’s Day, and manage to rub elbows (among other body parts) at a Playboy Mansion Halloween extravaganza? None. You know none. Don’t even try to pretend you do. You’re just embarrassing us all.
2010 will be known for a lot of things: um, something about whales, maybe? There was a lot of bullshit surrounding the IPhone. Then, again, 2010 was the year when people, the world over, were smacked in the taint by the roughest recession since the years of Warner Brothers cartoons in movie theaters and cars were built to last. Come to think of it, 2010 sucked a major amount of yak ass. Companies downsized, business went broke, government lost its mind, and that Justin Bieber fucker was everywhere. 2010 was such a shitshake, even my own Da pined for the “good old days” of the Cold War.
There is one shining part of 2010 that must be remembered and recorded for the sake of future history. We don’t want our future history only talking about gun fights at Florida school board meetings or devoting an entire chapter in a text book to the cluster fuck that is BP. There was one brightly burning light that 2010 emitted during its waning hours filled with party goers blowing chow then trying to get into the pants of someone who just might end up being a distant cousin. What was this shining beacon of hope? Where was it? What did it mean? Calm the fuck down. I’ll tell you.
It was ME. That’s right world, ME. I joined FWTC in 2009. I did what I had to do to get on the ground floor of something that will never make a dime or win any journalism awards. That kind of shit is gold! After the arguing, death threats, and constant hazing I clawed my way to the top! I made it to “COLUMNIST. There’s no pay, no perks, and little in the way of publicity. But, Momma was determined to break the racial barrier and shoe horn a nutty little blonde Irish chick into the ranks of FWTC. Roode and Tresckow bitched and moaned about it. Roode didn’t want more chick shit on the site, being that Adel had that covered. Tresckow was convinced I would use the site as a soapbox to spread my anti-loyalist beliefs to the masses. (if hating Loyalists in Northern Ireland is wrong, I don’t want to be right). The point I heard time and time again was, “You’re not a writer. There’s a difference between doing funny things and WRITING about them.” Fuckers didn’t believe I could translate my drunken comedy of errors into an article. What BULLSHIT!
After a bit of whining and the occasional exercise I like to call, “Total War” (steel Roode’s tires, sign Tresckow up for a fuck ton of large and lovely women catalogs to be sent to his home, and harassing Adel every day by rearranging her furniture in innovative and surprising ways) they finally threw me a “guest writer” gig. It got a good amount of hits and FWTC decided to keep me on. Like I was some sort of lost fucking puppy. Like adding The REN would have done anything but make this piece of shit, dime-a-dozen blog rocket to the stars!
I had a bit of a handicap going for me; the other writers having a year head start and all. Adel, Roode, and Tresckow already found their niches and some “loyal” readers. That didn’t deter me. I jumped right in to hammer out some flaming awesomeness in 2009. Then, I decided that 2010 was going to be Momma’s year!
Interesting thing is that after I was two or three articles in, the site’s readership went up. On our Facebook Page it seemed that my articles were getting passed around a lot more than the others. What could that mean? Am I eons funnier than the other writers? Is it because I am witty and urbane? Perhaps it’s because I have been elevated to FWTC‘s sex symbol? Yes. Yes, to all of these. I’m fucking fantastic. The readers know it. Our sponsors know it. Future history knows it.
Perhaps, the best indicator that tells us 2010 was the year of the Ren are the readership stats. The boring side of any blog is, without a doubt, the admin side. That’s where our geeks look at all the statistics to see which article was the most popular in any given week or month; which author was the most popular, etc. Tresckow and Adel are the number crunchers; plowing through it to get the quarterly stats and come up with a game plan for the site’s sponsorships and whatnot. Well, as most sites are want to do at the end of the year, we wanted to connect all the dots and see just who among us was the most “popular.” Which one of us had the most read articles, who stayed on top the longest, blah blah blah. I have no interest in calculations. I’d rather drink the better part of a bottle of Shanahans and wake up with a stripper (a HOT stripper, please). I’m the sort of girl who just wants to hear the end result.
I tuned out just about everything Tresckow’s said about growing our sponsorship base, advertising, topic and writer expansion… JUST GET TO THE FUCKING END! Flipping to the next slide, a table was shown listing all our articles, writers, and topics in order of popularity and readership. I looked up, expecting Roode to start tap dancing; fucker always thinks he’s the one who puts butts in the seats. All I heard was, “Are you fucking kidding me?” bellowing from Roode’s mouth like the words were on fire. The top author of EVERY quarter of 2010 AND the number 1 author for the entire year was
I wasn’t ahead by a small amount either. No, baby, Momma holds a 60% lead over everyone else. ME! Fuck you, Roode! I’m putting butts in the seats now! Always bet on the tiny Irish dark horse. ALWAYS! She’ll ruin your shit every time. EVERY TIME!
So, what will 2011 bring for the NUMBER 1 writer on FWTC? I’m not sure. Maybe a series of video blogs instructing the viewer on the proper ways of peeling a potato. Or a pod cast where I can dispense my worldly wisdom of the most efficient and orgasm-tastic sexual positions. Oh, yeah. Bacon. Bacon must be a steady theme throughout 2011. Shit, maybe I’ll contract with cable and launch my own reality show. Well, “surreality” show”