In the spirit of the Prism scandal, I’d like to be disconcertingly intimate with you.
I may not have the resources of the NSA, but I have a much smaller public. As of yesterday, there are 54 of you. Don’t you feel special? While you can’t claim to be part of a groundswell, you’re a member of something far more precious: A tiny elite. A kind of family.
A close-knit, eminently spyable family. Er, spyable-on. Family.
Since I’ve got so few readers and access to the awesome power of the WordPress stats tool, I can basically monitor your every thought and action. The 11 of you who viewed Friday’s post? I was there with you. The 4 who clicked on yesterday’s picture of that guy covered in plastic bags? I saw.
Not to worry, though; I’m no Big Brother.
Yes, I can see your clicks and thus know your most closely guarded thoughts and feelings, but my monitoring is done with love. Think of me as a kind of magic nanny.
And like a 12-year-old with a masturbation problem, you can rest assured that I accept you. I’ve seen your deepest, most shameful truths and I still think you’re OK.*
*Except for you, #34. That is absolutely disgusting. Get out!