As many of you (my fans) might imagine, having and maintaining an important and popular weblog such as joemande.com can sometimes feel like a full time job. Every morning, before I watch TV and read the Drudge Report for inspiration, I have to log on to my website and sift through literally thousands of reader comments. I do this despite the fact I could totally get a robot do it for me. Easily. But I don’t; I insist on doing it myself. I believe the major reason I emerged as a true comedic force in New York City in 2007 was because my fans (who are the BEST, by the way) were able to sense my influence, and personally connect with me as a genius, as they read and responded to my website.

Sadly, I’ve come to suspect that many of my “readers” are frauds. Phonies. A bunch of fake-ass posers. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little devastated by this realization.

You may have to look closely, but see if you can tell what’s wrong with the comments I got this morning:

That’s right. Not only are they needlessly repetitive, but they also all have the same IP Address! Can you believe that? Here I am thinking I’m making this personal connection with a slew of new fans–people like Black Pussy Black Lesbian Porn Fat Black Pussy and Anal Sex Anal Bleaching Black Anal–only to discover that they’re all probably written by the same person. A very fat lesbian with a beautifully bleached black ass.

I’m worried that a few of my more dedicated commenters–people like: Big Asian Lactating Tit Boobs, super bowl party decorations, Granny MILF Mom and Son Sex, Impressive grease broadway tickets, and Gay Horse Fuck, might all be pretenders as well. I pray that my worries are eventually proven to be in vain, but let’s just say I’m not optimistic.

Sometimes I wish all of my fans could act like antonio banderas biography? Talk about a classy commenter.

Textbook form: short, positive, complimentary. You can really tell that that book loves reading my blog, not to mention enjoyes hit films.

The National Center for Health Statistics is reporting that American teens are having way less sex than ever before! And the ones who are having sex are doing it safely!

From CNN.com:

Experts couldn’t explain why teen blindness was on the rise. (Seriously, what is that picture? “Aaaah, I got a boner again. Let’s go look at the sun.”)

Hey, CNN and the National Center of Health Statistics, listen up: Teen sex surveys are the least trustworthy things in the universe. Every time I filled one out in high school, I ended up saying I was a pregnant 14 year-old Inuit/Filipino lesbian who had been with over 20 sexual partners (male and female), had six abortions, only used condoms for chewing gum like in the movie Coneheads, and contracted HIV by having anal sex with heroin needles.  

Because why tell the government you’re actually a 16 year-old Jewish virgin who sometimes drank from your Dad’s vodka in the downstairs freezer before staying up all night with all your other virgin friends playing Sega Dreamcast and making mean-spirited dioramas? That would be super lame.

As a lot of people know, my second favorite thing about living in New York (after Grey’s Papaya) is going to the annual Gay Pride Parade…with my girlfriend, thank you very much.

Unfortunately, I could not attend this year’s festivities because I was home, with my girlfriend, celebrating Father’s Day.

Such inconsiderate scheduling, and not just for me. I mean, gay dads exist. What’s a gay dad supposed to do when the parade is planned on Father’s Day? He probably wakes up, brushes his teeth, puts on the silly glasses and special leather g-string he laid out the night before, totally ready to jump on a float and writhe with other men for the whole afternoon. Then he walks downstairs to find his two children making him breakfast.

Children: Happy Father’s Day!
Gay Dad: Oh! Thank you, kids. That’s so sweet.
Children: We made you breakfast!
Gay Dad: Wow! Uhm…would you mind rolling it up in a tortilla or something? I actually have to go to this thing right now.
Children: But, we bought you a present.

Gay Dad opens the present. It’s a bottle of shampoo.

Gay Dad: Shampoo?
Children: Well, last year you kept saying how hard it was to get all the semen and glitter out of your hair.
Gay Dad: You are the best kids a gay dad could ask for.

They hug.

Gay Dad: But, seriously kids, I have to go grind with men on the back of a flatbed and pour Dasani on myself. I’ll catch up with you later, though. Kisses!

The end.

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