It seems there’s been a grievous oversight on my part. I did not realize that fans were so incredibly eager for my personal biography that they would have to desperately attempt to dig up and post information about me to assuage their incessant hunger for more of my beauteous self.
Look, I know I’m fabulous and lovable and adored by all. I understand the need to get as much of me as you can. But it is important that you know me. The real me. Well, I’m ready to open up and provide some much needed details. And for the sake of accuracy, and to put some dear hearts out of their misery, I also need to provide some corrections to the misinformation people have posted in an attempt to over-saturate themselves in my awesomeness.
Yes. My name is absolutely Kat Kennedy and that is not at all a pseudonym that I created for the express purpose of creating a reviewing identity. My parents were John F. Kennedy’s Ghost and Captain Red-hand Katerina Kennedy (her maiden name was Kennedy too but I have been assured that my parents weren’t entirely blood related. Or pirates – but I’m not sure they’re being completely honest about the pirate thing).
The photo listed on my profile is not actually my photo. I’m sorry. It’s a lie. That’s just a random photo I found on the net because I was ashamed of my heritage. I didn’t want people to suspect what I’ve secretly believed. But it’s time to come clean. This is my real photo:
I’m sorry to have deceived you on this point, my audience. But the truth would only come out eventually.
I drink often:
This is a gross misconception. I don’t drink often – and to suggest it is a downright lie. I am always drunk. But only for medical reasons. Due, to what I suspect is my pirate heritage, I am allergic to anything that is not alcoholic. This means that anything I eat must be soaked in alcohol, infused in alcohol or dipped in an alcoholic sauce in order to cancel out any kind of allergic reaction. All my drinks must be alcoholic as well since plain water sends me into anaphylactic shock.
I neglect my children:
Categorically not true. I take great care of my children. They are the most important part of my life.
Of course, I am a busy, independent woman with a passion for blogging which does take up a small fraction of my day (average 16 hours).
However, like all concerned mothers, I have ensured the best environment to nurture my children as they grow and develop physically, mentally and spiritually.
This is why I spent an inordinate amount of money on the all purpose, child-rearing human-containment unit:
This cage is state of the art and I highly recommend it for all blogger parents. My version has an excellent water feeder, a comfy base and I allow them one toy for the sixteen wonderful hours they get to spend in there every day while Mamma has her internet time. I let them use my World’s Greatest Mum mug to run across the bars as part of their strict musical lessons, their free time and whenever I don’t need it to consume ale. The bars are the perfect width apart to stick my fingers through in order to comfort them the few times they are distressed. Which almost never happens now.
Authors do not like me:
Not true. I have many, many author friends. Authors and I get along like a house on fire that is screaming out in pain. We love spending long hours together. Many authors have come to me to weep silently on my shoulder after I review their books and at least 30% of the authors I interact with have never tried to kill me. But why believe me when you can read for yourself? What some of my author friends have to say about me:
I attack Authors:
Also not true. I am nothing if not completely professional and kind to authors. I would never threaten, insult or inappropriately proposition an author.
I’m so flattered that people want to spread their love of me with the world – and because of them, I WILL keep doing what I’m doing. Not just for me. Not just for the authors. Not just for the readers. But for those who believe in a free internet. An internet where you can give your opinion and tell everyone else to shove it. An internet where a little girl, born and raised on the crumbled remains of Tortuga could grow and flourish and live out her dream. An internet where someone can be a drunken, negligent half-pirate, half-ghostpolitician wench (not me) and still make something of herself.
Keep winning, internet.