My name is Martin Erdmann. For legal reasons please keep the following excerpt of my diary in a safe place:
Dear Diary
Today I got a strange message. A company by the name of “Not Too Young” asked me to play at their event. Immediately I got the disagreeable feeling that something’s shady about them. They seem to cover their evil tracks by organizing dancing gatherings for the elderly. The whole thing sounds clearly like a money laundry scheme in which I have no intentions to get involved in.
I demanded to know where they got my address from. “We know everything about you”, they replied. “Even your dirty, little browser history. So you better do what we asked for.” They got me. The world must never know with which shameful requests I harass the noble search engines of the world wide web.
For example: “Hi Google, why are all my friends never picking up my calls and what are they writing about in this secret message group they strongly deny exists? Are they planning a surprise party for me?”
Or: “Dear Altavista, how do I confess my true feelings to the love of my life to whom I talked to for about 10 seconds in front of a bar at 2 am 6 years ago and never met again since?”
And don’t forget about: “Beloved Yahoo, do birds just exist in my imagination? And is this a good topic to bring up at my job interview next Tuesday?”
All that is way too embarrassing, dear diary. Why can’t I just use the internet to look at porn like a normal person? There’s no way out. I have to play at the Not Too Young Weekender. Life has become a nightmare. I don’t know if I can go on like this. Anyway, see you tomorrow! XOXO
My current Top 5
Just insert five tunes here of which you are terribly tired to listen to, but since they cost a lot of money you have to dance to them anyway because it’s the highest law in the soul jungle.