So This Must Be What Winning Powerball is Like (Except you don’t pay taxes on being awesome)

February 24th, 2010 § 2

Internet,

Holy Moses! Holy Archemedes’ tail feathers! Great Oden’s Raven! Holy Jayson Werth’s Beard!! (there we go).  It has been mere days since I modestly released the Wielgus Mark and, like an incensed Bengal Tiger in musk, it has taken off and rabidly torn through the dense jungle of the World Wide Web.  The blogosphere is a-twittering with reckless abandon about the wonders and mysteries of the Wielgus Mark.  Oh Happy Day!  Oh Joyous Farce!  Wielgus Mark, you alone have brought the information super-highway to a crashing halt!  Revelers and newly deemed devotees together have pulled aside at the “:W scenic overlook” to soak in the glorious glow of the Wielgus Mark.  They drone on with their “Oooohs” and “Aaaaahs,” as the information super-highway creeps ever closer to 56K speed.  “I never knew Sarcasm could be so….so…. clear,” they drool.  Well, drink it in my friends, some say it’s the mountain air, but its simply just a little common sense, a thimble of genius, and a punctuation mark with a clearly defined meaning…  Nothing more than that (and a lot more than can be said for those weird brackets with the pointy things on them  {  } What the hell are they for?).

In the throes of it all I am bursting with modesty.  Exploding into International Internet Superstardom was always a realistic and achievable goal of mine – more of a daydream or passing thought than anything else (What do I really dream about you ask?  Growing facial hair, Eagles’ Super Bowls, full-contact curling, and convincing Giada De Laurentiis to make me dinner).  It’s easy enough to stay level-headed when its only children asking you for your autograph… but the Wielgus Mark has created a legend in its own right, one far surpassing anything our world has ever seen – or at least seen since Pre-What Women Want Mel Gibson.  How am I supposed to act like a normal schmuck when both Ke$ha and Taylor Swift have written songs about their love for me?  Of course I’m not (though, restraining orders will be coming shortly, ladies).  How am I supposed to go about a typical evening of cheap whiskey and blogging when Hayden Panetierri is flooding my mailbox with love letters?  How do I ignore that?  The answer is I don’t. I can’t. I just have to arm myself with military-grade tear gas because her boyfriend is massive.  All these milestones to stardom have been well and good, but I never knew I made it until I received this, from the gold standard of celebrity:

The hair America loves.  The face rumored to be blessed by God himself.  The orange glow we all wish we had.  And the Wielgus Mark on the six most expensive pieces of real estate in New Jersey not owned by Donald Trump.  The Situation!  You Sly Devil!

I’m shaking and shivering and breaking-out in fits of euphoric vertigo.  Such great fame was never meant to be handled by one man alone.  Danny Bonaduce, Gary Busey, William Hung, Verne Troyer, these are all great men who rose to superstardom only to come crashing down in a grotesque spiral of drugs and reality television stints.  But what does that mean?  Is fame actually the demon?  The drug where each progressive hit drives a man to higher highs but then, once fame expires, the crushing collapse begins with a hunger for more, delusions of the past, and an eventual hangover with the only exit seeming to be rebirth and a Born Again Christian membership card.  Or is Fate more Arthurian?  Could it be that those who are truly destined for greatness are the only ones capable of weathering this violent storm of fame and temptation?  But again, we are left to our own fac….

Internet?  You speak?  Wait, what?  Wielgus Mark?  The Wielgus Mark did what?  No it can’t be.  Why?  Surely, I have taught you to never sully the name of the Wielgus Mark in such a way….

Fans.  In a PR nightmare, scandal has rocked the halls of the Wielgus Mark offices (first floor bathroom).  Today, it has been rumored that the Wielgus Mark has been linked to a salacious affair with Tiger Woods.  Internet, I have warned the adoring fans that their imaginations and faith in the existence of good in the world will soon be crushed.  Let’s see this damning evidence and assume an inevitable Apocalypse:

Oh come on!  All that is, is a picture of the Wielgus Mark’s shapely, plastic surgery-enhanced, female body.  I know, I know, I liked the Wielgus Mark as a natural beauty too.  Sometimes fame just goes straight to the head and you know, these days you have all these emoticons and animated emoticons it’s very difficult to compete in the market.  I know really, there’s no such thing as talent any more, it’s a shame really.

But it’s a picture, not proof.  Wait, there are texts?!  You have texts?  Between Rachel Uchitel and Tiger?  Implicating the Wielgus Mark?  Ok….I’m over it.  I’m a sucker for the texts:

Tiger: Wat r u wearing?

Uchitel: Aviators

Tiger: Oh, that’s real sexy :W

Uchitel: So is your personality :W

Well, I guess it could be worse.  I mean, I don’t know about “PR Nightmare” per say.  It was nice to validate our fame, social status, and self-worth by being used by the best golfer in the world… and I’m sure Ms. Uchitel is very talented at things too (Win-Win?).  Unfortunately, this completely ruins a lot of the work our marketing team has been doing making inroads with families and the Christian-right.

Wait…

Oh, you know what, that makes perfect sense, Darwin.  Humans must have evolved from monkeys, there’s absolutely no other way to explain it :W

Good thinking, Wielgus Mark.  That will hold the savages at bay for a while.  Whew! PR catastrophe averted.

We Live Another Day,

:W

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