Watch Your Back, Ashton

Check your rear view mirror Ashton Kutcher.   You may have crossed the magic million follower mark on Twitter and already racked up a couple hundred thousand more, but little reported was the addition of my one-thousandth Twitter follower and twenty-five more after that.   Twenty-six now.   Twenty-seven.   Feeling the heat A.K?    I also notice you are following eighty people and I am not among them.   Your loss, buster.   You'll never know what airport I'm flying out of, or what the weather is like around my place.   You'd give up all of that just to keep me from having one more measly follower?  [I don't mean to imply that you or any of my followers are measly.  Although I suppose you could be if you did not have measles as a child.]

Anyhow.  I have you in my sights.  I'm not sure what you do, but I understand you are very popular from your work on That Seventies Show.  I'll tell you what, I was that Seventies show. I had actual pimples in the early Seventies.  I had friends who wore platform shoes with bib overalls.  I had tinted lenses in my glasses.  A girlfriend once sewed paisley corduroy into the seams of my bell bottoms.   And this wasn't something I left with the wardrobe department at the end of the day.  I went back to my dorm and slept in them.   I carry these and other humiliations with what passes for grace and dignity around my house.  You wouldn't know about that, but you could.  Make me your eighty-first and my world becomes your world.  Only without all the money and adoration.