Guess what! J’s got goodies. And we talk celebrity infatuation.

For you. She’s got goodies for you. (The hordes of no one reading this post.)

I want to say she’s got POSTERS, SIGNED BY FLIGHT OF THE CONCHORD’S BRET AND JERMAINE! But that would be a lie, and apparently telling people lies is frowned upon, even if the ‘peoples’ in question are make believe. Make believe invisible people or not, it’d only be HALF a lie, wouldn’t it? Because Jess does have two Flight of the Conchords posters to give away, but they’re not signed.

Brett and Jermaine! *flail* Yeah nah.
You can go into a draw to win one poster by leaving us a comment or into a draw to win the other poster through our twitter account. Which so happens to be on the right…no, left side. Strong side. Left. Over there. Go clicky click the link over there and tweet us! Jawkward . . . . just realised  it is at the bottom.

Would you like them to be signed? I can find a signature online somewhere and do a print and paste jobbie for you. That is, print off the signature and paste it onto the poster. Yeah nah? That’s cool. I mean, it’s not like I used to do that with school textbooks and look like a total knob with Westlife ‘autographs’ all over my maths book. *cough* I WAS AN AWKWARD BROWN TEENAGER LEAVE ME ALONE!

But it’s cool to be infatuated with famous people, and I’m talking so infatuated with them that if asked to write a biography of one’s self, every other page would be dominated by thoughts of a famous person (or fictional character) one would want to be like or with or have in one’s house on display! (Not weird, not weird at all.) As a kid growing up I never had any posters on my wall, true fact, because if my mum walked in and saw a picture of some hot guy she’d ask ‘Who’s that?’ and before I finished responding with the name I would get a jandal to the face for being ‘cheeky and wanting a poifran.’ So secretly my school books were populated with hunky 90s icons, I’m talking- *senior moment, I actually can’t bring any to mind* all of them.

But what is it about these famous beautiful people that make us commoners drool? Is it the good looks? Because I’ve seen a few ‘ordinary’ people walking around whose pictures I wouldn’t mind having up on my wall. Is it the fame? The money? All of the above? You want in on their sexy world, you want to be seduced by it and not in a Fifty Shades of Grey kind of way, ew. The pull of wanting to be acknowledged by people you admire all day errday is so strong that you find yourself tweetin’ them (the lazy fan’s ‘letter writing’) and trying to get them to ‘tweet you back!’ It’s crazy, Bieber Fever is real, it is HERE and although I may not be afflicted, I can understand the mania. Girls are hyped. He’s here for a few days and the country is a hot mess for it.

But yes, famous people and fictional characters can get the people going. Get the masses stirring…get the kittens purring? More like hissing and distraught crying like a seal being clubbed by another seal. To the point where an observant, more worldly and slightly older, person can sit back and be entertained by an entertainer’s fan base. Bit awkward though innit? The idea that that kid saw more action in one week of his fourteen year old life (the year ‘Baby’ was released) than you did the entire span of your adolescent years. Famous people and their infatuants. Yeah, that’s a word that I just made up, AND WHAT?

*cough*

Now that we’ve arrived to our second edition of JawkwardLOL posts, Jessica has pointed out that I’m not very topical and in all honesty I really have no sense of direction, in writing and in life. When asked what I write I make a weird noise and then list off different forms of writing “Short stories- uh poems. Fiction…novels. Flash fiction…non-fiction, horror uhm-” and I start getting into genres. Before long the people I was talking to just drift away from me like I was a piece of fancily molded shrubbery. Rude.

It’s awkward trying to talk about yourself when you don’t even know what you’re doing,

“Yeah, I write.”

What? What do you write?

“Stuff.”

What…stuff?

“Words?”

Ah, fuck this.

“Wait! I write…stuff with words- yeah fuck it. I write porn.” (I don’t, by the way.)

Remember, you stay classy.

Which of course means- when you smile toothily at the opposite sex this week make sure there’s no liquid in your mouth.

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