I want something to go viral. My toes are adorned with a mysterious scaly pox that I really ought see a doctor about, but I’m pretty sure that’s fungal. I think we can all agree that I’m inherently entitled to the perpetual worship of a million frothing fans. Fans who’ll live for my debonair wit and heartbreaking pathos before I recruit them to fight in my zeitgeist-shifting green anarcho-socialist non-violent love revolution. I’m not necessarily saying that I’m more gifted or inspiring than the average schmo, only that I’m more gifted and inspiring than a lot of people who do possess the adoring legion that I need to achieve my megalomaniacal ends. For instance, why aren’t Sinead O’Connor and Amanda Palmer having lengthy open-letter debates about me, and whether the “Lil Elvis n The Truckstoppers” reference in my last blog was too obscure or yet another previously-unscaled height of my genius?