You know, there are times in life when you feel incomplete. For example, you can't really say you're successful in comedy or music until you've had your first real stalker. Not just the occasional sad case who pesters you from afar via the internet - those are just wannabe stalkers who haven't got the determination to follow through - the sort who don't cook your pet rabbit, but just anonymously email recipes to you. No, what I'm talking about the 100% stone-bonkers certified types who send you homemade greetings cards drawn in their own blood, which say "If you don't say you love me I will kill myself" or, even worse, "If you don't say you love me I'll kill you", or even worse, just "I'll kill you". That's the sort of person who, when they talk about their smoking problem, means the burn-marks that pepper their forearms.
But, where am I to get hold of such a person? Normally, it would take years of gigs, showing your face in places most likely to attract the ever-so-slightly deranged, eventually leading to cooked pets, police protection, a nasty court case and, ultimately, the stalker's badge of pride, your very own personalised restraining order.
Of course, finding your very own stalker is hard if you're not a famous personality. Art attracts the insane, but fame attracts the truly deranged. It also attracts the likes of Jenny Elvers, but I reckon I can fend her off quite easily. Let's face it, she hasn't got the attention-span of the genuine, dyed-in-the-wool stalker type.
Fortunately, in these days of high-bandwidth internet, there is a way of cutting down the time taken to find these people - and it's called myspace.com . Just join up as a musician, stick a couple of songs and a photo up there - carefully avoiding any that call attention to your weight problem - and Robert is a close relative. Not only does myspace allow you to sift through potential stalkers by photo - hoo, boy! Look at the staring eyes on that one - but also by sexual deviancy - check out the 'swingers' if you don't know what I mean - and geographic proximity, although the real weirdos, so I'm told, will travel extraordinary distances just to post dog-shit through your letterbox.
Yes, I reckon it's just a matter of time for poor little Flopsy bunny.
And if you think I don't know what I'm talking about, just listen to this .
