I’m an Influencer, goddammit.

I’m an influencer, goddammit.

In fact, I’m such an influencer, I influenced you into reading this sentence. And it sucks.

Fuck, yeah.

I’m an influencer, goddammit, and if I say Campbell’s reduced-sodium tomato soup, you’re all-of-a-sudden looking for a spoon.

If I tell you that the new seven-part series on the life and times of Pauley Shore is a “must-see,” dagnabbit, you’re gonna see it.

Because I’m an influencer, goddammit.

While you’re rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, I’m changing the course of dozens of brands with a twitch of my hypersonic thumbs.

Look, bro, I have so many social media followers, some of them have actually looped around and started following themselves.

I’m so influential, I can recommend ice to eskimos.

I’m so influential, I can bring coals to Newcastle and make them love it.

I can sell Big Macs to vegetarians.

I can sell Donald Trump to the Hair Club for Men.

I’m an influencer, goddammitl.

I’ve got authenticity coming out the wazoo.

My online presence is as profitable as selling franks at the ballpark.

I’ve got sincerity I haven’t even used yet.

And take it from me,
once you can fake sincerity,

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you’ve got it made.