Jane Fetall and Dian Fettey recently made their way to the slopes of the K&P mountains for a once-in-a-lifetime chance to encounter Fetlebrities in the wild. They tracked this unique primate species from the lush hills of The Fresh and Pervy dessert to the paved pathways of Troll Central Station. The two legendary explorers discovered seven new Fetlebrity species.
The first breed they identified was the ShitHowDidIBecomeAFetlebrity. If you watch carefully, you’ll see this mystified female hiding behind her own post. Embarrassed and in denial, her job is to remind her clan that she didn’t ask for this shit so just fuck off okay?
Dian was lucky enough to snap a photograph of a Typo-Loving Silverback throwing berry seeds and advice at everyone who walked past his nest of spelling errors. How did this primate come to represent universal Fetlifers? Nobody knows, but Jane Fetall believes it might have something to do with the Kool-Aid that the K&P ravine offers up in gallons.
No species knows the effects of this pollutant better than The Smut Writer Who Can’t Even Syntax, who bathes in a river of clichés each morning before breakfast. Vast stores of throbbing nouns wash up on the coast constantly, giving The Smut Writer enough fodder for at least five new pieces of almost-identical erotica daily. His cave is currently littered with unused ellipses, but they won’t go to waste. By dawn, every period will have its place, largely fueled by a lethal case of adjectivitis.
Now we visit the tundra, where this “FuckYouI’mNotAFetlebrity” is lurking wondering if she should uncheck her trend button. Crouched in the foliage of her own refutation, a pedigreed female is pretending nobody reads a thing she writes so just quit it with this Fetlebrity business.
“We saw about two troops of Misogynists on the planes of Spectators Only Not Participants today,” says Fettenborough. “Their female followers were as abundant as they were inexplicable, but I’m guessing it has something to do with some seriously hawt torso avatars.”
Now we move to the savannah, where the Fetlebrity Whiner prowls, waiting to pounce on the next dudebro. They say this far-too-verbose primate can’t stop writing the same posts over and over again in different words. To control the chaos, islanders are setting up Nutella traps in the hope that they can get this primate to shut the fuck up for just one day for godsakes.
After hiking up the steep gorges of Fetlebritydom, our explorers were forced to go read some Hemingway to negate the effects of reading K&P posts. They went to sleep to the guttural cries of One True Sentence and, by morning, had entirely recovered from their excursion.