Posts tagged art

I’ve got two words for you - Candice Cashmere. But before I tell you who she is, I want to gush a little about how wonderful I think Twitter is for spontaneous creative outbursts of the ridiculous. You send your little 140 character missive into space, and you are done with it. But the fun part is, that doesn’t mean everyone else is. People will send you their own versions of your joke, part twos of your joke, things that will make you laugh and occasionally wish their joke wasn’t funnier than yours. It’s a kind of surprise collaboration where you don’t get to choose the collaborator or the manner you collaborate in. You have inadvertently inspired someone. LIVE WITH IT. Of course, occasionally someone will get angry at your joke where you suggest that Jennifer Lopez sucks cock, musically and cock-wise, and tell you that you are the one, in fact, who sucks cocks, and you will be unable to dispute that claim. But in my two years of Twitter, the number of people who have tried to insult me and my cock-sucking are very few, and the number of people who want to play with me via Twitter is very high. 

Onto Candice Cashmere. On Friday, January 27th at 2:39, as I was drudging through another soul-shattering day at work, I tweeted this random thing: 

If even one of you was named Candice Cashmere my day would improve by like 1000%.

About five minutes later, I got an email that informed me that someone named Candice Cashmere was my newest follower. OH MY GOD I HAVE MADE A PERSON WITH A STRANGER AND NOT IN THE WAY I WAS ALWAYS AFRAID OF I thought to myself. Some beautiful bastard took my random thought and turned it into reality. I threw a penny into a well of weird, and my wish came true! PEOPLE ARE INCREDIBLE AND FUN AND MAYBE I WON’T DIE AT MY DESK AFTER ALL. I laughed out loud in my cubicle. I did the thing where you bounce on your squeaky chair and annoy everyone around you. I didn’t care. January 27th was Candice Cashmere’s birthday, and I would be damned if I let anyone ruin my daughter’s special day. 

About my daughter? Oh, she’s a disgusting pervy weirdo whose profile photo is a blow-up doll. She must take after her father because I find genitals distasteful. He’s letting his freak flag fly and that’s great. And the wonderful thing is, I don’t have to like Candice. I didn’t make her. But she wouldn’t exist without me, Twitter, or her dad, and that’s fun as hell.

Some of my favorite @CandiceCashmere gems:

We used to play Old MacDonald’s Farm in the living room growing up. Grandpa would make me and my cousins suck his utters while he grazed.

The Fog rated NC-17 (under my comforter right now)

I still don’t get why people in the olden days used to grow cotton on their farms and eat it.

I wish everyone their own Candice Cashmere.