I must give credit where credit is due. So I bow down before Ashton Kutcher's teeth and salute the white panties of his wife, Demi Moore. Because I found both to be an inspiration.
I had no real interest in tweeting.
For many, many months, I had no idea how it was done or why. But then, slowly but surely, as a human being with eyeballs and ears, it became inevitable. I'd wake up and read in the newspaper or hear on the television about what Ashton Kutcher ate for breakfast that day or what time he was on his way to the airport or how desperately he needed to floss.
At first, I was dumbfounded. As a celebrity (in some circles—most definitely not my own house), I became concerned that now in order to maintain our individual showbiz places, every famous or infamous face would have to start typing details of what we were doing into our cell phones. Ashton Kutcher was telling the world on an almost minute-by-minute basis what he was doing. And if people out in the world at large were so enthralled and electrified by his flossing and food needs and travel plans, how the hell would they react when I started tweeting stuff like, "Watching SportsCenter right now"? Or a little later on in the same day when I twitted, "Watching SportsCenter again. Missed LeBron highlight first time around." Or even later that day when I twatted, "Anyone know what the tattoo on Lebron's left shoulder means?"
I'm a pretty boring guy. Compared to Ashton Kutcher, I live a really boring existence. Unless I'm with my wife. Who would KILL me if I twirted about her or released a twitpic of her bending over in a pair of white panties. And that's when it hit me. I'm a comedian at heart. Yeah, sure, I've been nominated for Emmys and Golden Globes, but I've never won one and I probably never will. I'm still convinced the only reason I even get nominated is because people somehow think Willem Dafoe is starring in a TV drama about NYC firefighters called Rescue Me.
But funny? I can do funny. I have 7,000 snarky, smart-assed and sarcastic remarks to make about what I see on the news every single day. So maybe I can't secretly photograph my wife with almost no clothing on and send it out into the stratosphere, and maybe people don't wanna know what I had for breakfast or what fancy nancy place I might be eating at or traveling to (usually Lombardi's Pizza and Worcester, Massachusetts—my hometown—by the way.) But there's always room for funny. And that's what I deem to do. Once or twice a day—hopefully—I'll have something to type into my phone that will make you smile or laugh out loud or accidentally snort your soda up into your sinuses. And I'll even throw in the occasional surprise announcement. Things like:
I'm Oprah's white Irish half-brother!
Gayle King gave me a very flirty look the last time I was on the show!
(Both outright lies but, hey, the truth doesn't seem to have hindered Kitty Kelley!)
My only worry about tweeting and modern technology is how it has crept into even the darkest corners of the absolute global village we live in. I mentioned in my best-selling book Why We Suck (how's that for a blatant plug) that my 82-year-old Irish immigrant mom had finally gotten her hands on a cell phone a couple of years ago and how that meant she could call her kids and grandchildren from anywhere at any time of the day or night. Which she does. So, if a caveman like me can get his fingers to fit onto a cell phone keypad and start delivering tweets and twits and twats every day, what's going to happen when my mom gets wind of this? Stuff like this I fear:
Denis did not learn that language in my house!
Denis needs to get a haircut and shave that stubble!
Has anyone seen Willem Dafoe on that wonderful show about firefighters?
So off I fly into the tweet-o-sphere. Starting today I make this promise: Every day I will try to think of a tweet that makes it worth your while to be on Twitter. I'll leave the daily celebrity details and daring semi-naked wife twitpics to Ashton and carry on with what I do best. Which will be stuff like this:
* Dr. Oz says having sex twice a week means you live three years longer. If masturbation counts, I'll be 18 by this August.
* Iranian cleric says promiscuous women may be reason for earthquakes. Can someone please put Snooki on a plane to Tehran?
* To celebrate Earth Day, I spent three hours picking up trash. Started to feel a little bit like Jesse James.
Adios amigos, see you on your cell phones.
Follow Denis on Twitter at @denisleary
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