Manor festo

I am famous--and rightly so. But I deserve more. More, MORE, MORE! I'm named after a household, so, damn it, I should be a household name!  It's not just a matter of desiring fame; I DEMAND it!!!

That's where everyone else comes in.

I can't think of a single reason you shouldn't be as intensely devoted to me as I am. And when I look out there at all those seeking leadership, inspiration, an idol and/or just a bit of fun, it becomes crystal clear the time is right for massive global Manormania. Simply put, I want to spearhead the largest cult on the planet...and insist you belong.

The way it works is quite elementary: just put Stately Wayne Manor on the top of your list for everything. Any time there's a ballot to be filled in, an audience phone-in opportunity, a poll or survey conducted, a test question you're drawing a blank on: "Stately” is the answer.

You can nominate a celeb for those milk mustache print ads by dialing 1-800-WHYMILK. Get on the horn daily and rave about Mr. Manor. Time magazine is looking for a "Man Of The Century"; go over to their site and cast a few thousand votes for me before the big end-of-2099 rush. So what if I can't play the instrument? That's no reason I shouldn't get voted Best Saxophone Player in the upcoming Downbeat, Playboy and Creem polls.

As far as I'm concerned--which is all that matters--no one has meant as much to me as me. Thus, the selection of me as "Man Of The Century” is a given. With my talent, I could practice the sax for, oh, about six days, then give a concert that'll make the entire audience forget Kenny G. And for that, I'd also deserve a Nobel!

Fellow creative people, I expect you to do your part. Why write a song about a flighty chick who's going to dump you eventually--thereby making the tune a painful experience the rest of your life--when you can instead compose a tribute to me, a person you'll always be welcome to adore?

You've just put on a dazzling display of your craft and now you are cornered by a nosy  reporter you don't particularly like, facing the same old inane questions. What to do? Rant on about how your brush stroke, composition, personal philosophy, whatever is indelibly influenced by Stately Wayne Manor. The hack will be delighted you gave him a name he can correctly spell and you'll get the satisfaction of duping the dope.

Negative publicity is cool, too. Blame me for e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g. Caught doing something criminal with a very high profile? Forget Jodie Foster, finger Stately as your motivation. Don't let heavy metal, adult entertainment, drugs, a "bad crowd” or any of the usual scapegoats take the fall after you have performed a headline-grabbing act--let the "authorities” find a shrine to Stately when they search your bedroom.

I can understand how depressing it must be not being me; however, unless I specifically instruct you to do so, I don't recommend suicide. Devoting your entire existence to Manormania is a FAR better alternative. But should you insist on deleting yourself, I implore you to follow these easy steps: (a) leave all your valuables to me; (b) turn off the screensaver starter; and (c) do the deed with this web sit visible before you. That way my name is bound to wind up within the first three paragraphs of the news stories.

Every single aspect of Manormania revolves around one key precept: I don't care. Maybe you're throwing my moniker around as some sort of protest against who-knows-what. Or perhaps you think I'm a complete jackass and you wish to complain vociferously about my blasphemous arrogance, misuse of the medium and so forth. Think this concept is so stoopit and silly, you're going along with my wishes as a goofy lark? Worshipping me primarily to scare the snot out of Mom and Dad? Fantastic! As long as you drop my name, I don't care how or why.

The most beautiful aspect of the "I don't care” principle is that it translates to zero bias. "Normal” or not, anyone is welcome to be a Manormaniac. Misfits, the sick, minors, criminals, deviants, addicts, the impaired, members of every other discriminated-against minority are all encouraged to accept me as their Messiah. (Particularly nymphomaniacs.) A biker or banker, a doper or doctor, a lefty or lawyer--I don't care where you stand with the outside world. Stately Wayne Manor is an equal opportunity idol.

What it all boils down to is: I don't care about your status because I don't care about you.  Let's face it, can you really expect the universe's most self-absorbed being to be concerned about anyone else? Come on, don't be so silly. Reread the name of this site, for Stately's sake. It's not called "SWM's Site To Feign Interest In You," now is it? So, quit your pouting and get back to the important task of worshipping me.

I'm sure that last paragraph threw many for a loop. Granted, it's a rough blow to take when you first learn your love affair with me will be unrequited. But rather than petulantly reply "I don't care," we'll segue into the next section...

Truth in packaging--Of all the rock stars, actors, world leaders, religious figures, authors, sports heroes and similar celebs who accept public adoration, how many of them have ever been honest enough to come forth with the REAL truth--they couldn't give a hamster's heiney about you personally? Answer: zero. Yeah, they'll pretend your concerns are theirs; meanwhile, they are actually thinking "What a bunch of schmucks."

I too put myself above the unwashed masses...BUT AT LEAST I'M HONEST ABOUT IT. No transparent false modesty nor nauseating coyness here. With me you know exactly where you stand--or, better yet, kneel. Aren't you tired of being conned? (Bonus: By being positioned below me, you always have someone to whom you can look up!)

Why worship me above all others?  They give you a phony alter-ego;  I present you with a genuine ego altar!!!

Accessibility--This isn't about popularity; I'm demanding fame. I don't say "Like me, I'm a nice guy"--because I'm not. Still, that doesn't mean I lack class. More importantly, I'm accessible.

Even though I don't care, I will always acknowledge devotees who fawn over me, either privately or in public. I don't care if you want me to be the guest of honor at your party; nonetheless, I will allow you to shake my hand after you are done genuflecting. You want to stake me to a veal parm, you're on. Ghandi would have given you the thumbs down. If you're flyin’ and buyin', I'll toss back Buds with you on Bourbon Street during Mardi Gras. Contact the Vatican and see what happens when you make the same offer.

Here though is where I one-up every other deity. Not only will I gladly give you my autograph (!), it's yours FREE OF CHARGE!!! Okay, so maybe I don't exude the deep spirituality of Buddha, Jesus, Moses and their ilk; but let's see you cop one of those guys’ signatures with less than a quarter in your pocket!

I'm not solely targeting religion here. Pick any non-secular person who rates idol worship. Be he or she Michael Jordan, Arthur C. Clarke, Pavarotti, Martha Stewart, Queen Elizabeth, Al Unser, Beethoven, L. Ron Hubbard, Barbra Streisand: You've got about as much chance of easily getting their signatures for no dough as Richard Simmons does of becoming the new editor of Hustler. (Have you seen what Elvis is charging these days?)

Huge savings--If you belong to one of those fancy-schmanzy religions or other cults, you are undoubtedly coughing up a fairly respectable chunk of change per annum. Dump those chumps; I'll accept HALF of what you're currently kicking in coffers. You read that right: By converting to Manormania, you put fifty percent of your previous donation figure right back in your own pocket!

Look at this another way. With my amazing half-price program, you are now giving yourself the same moolah as you are tossing toward your deity. (Likewise, the more you give me, the more you give yourself.) Thanks to the bountiful savings presented by Manormania, you can at last afford that dream pilgrimage to my birthplace or any like extravagance once considered purely a fantasy. That is, at least until the inevitable shoddily made, exorbitantly overpriced Manor merchandise is marketed.

Everyone else is doing it.--See that hit counter? That is the figure after it has rolled over at 100 million...for the fifth time! "Because everyone else is doing it” is the most recurrent excuse/rationale/guilt-shaker in the history of the modern world--so why stop using it now? Remember, you shouldn't change horses in the middle of leading a candle burning at both ends to water...especially in a glass house.

Live longer--If you become a Manormaniac, I promise you won't be slowly dismembered with a rusty old hacksaw, tongue yanked out to serve as a brush for scrawling "Helter Skelter” on the wall in your blood...at least not by my hands, anyway. As for the rest of you, well, all bets are off. Bear in mind, we now know where you live.

In summary...Use any justification you prefer--including those not listed--for becoming a Manormaniac. As long as I become more and more famous, I don't care what inspires you. You have to admit, though, "The apathetic 'Discount Deity’ who gives free autographs and promises not to kill me” has a certain ring to it.