Here’s my review of Da Pasquale:

It was Fine.

IN OTHER NEWS:

Twitter started up in July of 2006.

I have avoided it ever since.

Until a month or two ago.

I realized that, in order to promote Bun Boy, I needed to get out and whore myself out.

This involves smearing my name all over the internet, wherever I can. Desperately. Pathetically.

Like poo poo.

There are only a few reasons one would use Twitter. Here’s what I’ve come up with:

1. You’re a celebrity kissing ass or promoting a product so you can get free sh*t/money/your next gig.

2. You’re stalking a celebrity and think that by responding to their Tweets, this makes you two besties and part of their inner circle.

3. You’re an average Joe promoting your own dumb website or product.

4. You’re an average Joe there to read funny/crazy celebrity Tweets.

Twitter is a dizzying experience at first.

It’s a sea of jumbled letters, streams of consciousness, and Kardashian poses.

Unless you’re God or Gaga, no one is reading your Tweets. They become irrelevant 3 minutes after they’ve been posted.

Just like $1 million dollars in Bono’s bank account, even before FB’s stock plummeted.

I’ve fallen into the trap of thinking I can further Bun Boy by tweeting to celebrities.

I kind of can’t stop. It’s addicting. Like writing sentence long fan letters to people I don’t really care for.

They mostly never respond and if they do, it’s probably an assistant who has a free five minutes walking Kathy Griffin’s dog.

I once tweeted to Courtney Love telling her I had pierced my finger with a wine corkscrew.

No response.

I tweeted to Rosie O’Donnell a stupid line from an old movie of hers, thinking I was oh so clever.

No response.

Twitter has made me a sad, sad individual and I sure hope it, at least, gets Bun Boy some press.

Seeing that I’m now asking Real Housewives for restaurant recommendations…..

…no response.

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