An Exclusive Behind-The-Scenes Look At Tremendous News

No followers.

Then I tweeted “someone please follow me”

Nothing.

Then I tweeted “boobs”

12 followers.

All spam bots.

Ann: Your blog is great. Do you tweet mainly to draw people to your blog?

I ache to sell out.

I yearn for it.

Most people say “I’ll never sell out”

Not me.

I want to sell out immediately. So I tweet to promote my no-name blog. I just want any attention so some super rich dude from Abu Dhabi will offer me 7.2 million dirhams for this blog. I feel like, for that price, he might want my super hot body as well.

Whatever it takes.

As soon as that happens, I’ll retire from Twitter and blogging and retreat to an island somewhere. I’ll import leprechauns from Ireland that will feed me grapes and climb trees to fetch fruit while enchanting me by singing “Blame It On The Rain” by Milli Vanilli.

You know.

Regular retirement shit.

Ann: DO you really live in your parents’ basement?

I do indeed.

In fact, I am sitting there right now watching ABC’s Cougar Town. I enjoy this show. I like cougars because they are less judgmental than girls my age.

Especially when they’re drunk.

And have myopia.

That’s what I look for.

Chicks with devastating eye conditions.

Ann: I’m still a Twitter rube (thanks for informing me that @shutupMeg, whom I was shyly following and admiring, is not a human being, but is instead, some kind of Robot. What exactly is a Twitter bot? Is that what they’re called?

Spam bots are the Twitter equivalent of that Nigerian banker who asks you for your bank account number because he wants you to take over an inheritance he can’t smuggle out of the country.

He’s the reason why I’ve had to change my PIN nine times.

Also?

Why I cry so much.

Ann: Did you know that the London Times is doing a Twitter fiction contest? I’m not sure if it’s still running but my friend is one of the judges.

Really? I’d love to know more about it. The Times Of London actually wrote about Tremendous News. I was shocked. I showed it to my mom who said “why didn’t they say how you don’t put your socks in the hamper and instead keep them rolled up in your bed? You’re 29. Are you ever going to get married? You keep looking for Miss Right, soon Miss Wrong won’t even want you.”

It was her proudest moment.

Ann: Who are your favorite people that you follow?

I really like following douchebag self-proclaimed “twitter experts” who have a model shot of themselves and think they’re important because they have 93 000 followers. They’ll lecture people on how to “RT with respect” and, I shit you not, how to “get to the meat of a tweet”.

Get the meat.

Out of a tweet.

Really.

But I hate them so much that I need to follow them.

I like following Evan Williams, the CEO of Twitter because he says “folks” a lot. I played a drinking game with myself the other night where I read the twitter blog and drank every time I saw the word “folks”.

I know.

I have very few friends.

I like Alyssa Milano and Nia Vardalos. I feel bad for them because I barrage them each day on Twitter until they finally pay me any attention. I’m like a shithead kid with major neglect issues.  Also, anyone with the word “dobernerd” in their bio is a self-proclaimed fan of Tremendous News. They make reality a little less crippling.

Also?

Dave Coulier from TV’s Full House.

Ann: What kind of tweets do you find most annoying?

I actually find my own tweets to be the most annoying. I like them when I tweet them, but I’m a maniac. After I press send, I sit there and analyze what I just wrote. I want to ‘recall’ my own tweet because I don’t find them good enough. Then I see them RTed and get annoyed at myself.

If I could never tweet again, I think all of Twitter would be happy.

As you can see, I have major personal problems.

Also, I find any tweets about lolcats to be devastating.

Look, I don’t mind cats. But lolcats?

Who’s lolling?

Who’s lolling?

—

Thanks to Ann Leary for the interview.  You can follow her on twitter here.

Tell her I sent you.

And make sure you get the meat.

Out of her tweet.