Is it laziness or is it DANGER?
For reasons beyond my control, I failed to post yesterday.
Honestly, though, I don’t feel OBLIGED to post every single
day. I’m not charging money to visit this site, you know,
and if you don’t find anything new or remotely interesting
here I’m sure there are thousands of other blog out there
that would appreciate a visit from you. Not that I don’t
appreciate your attention. I do. I love every single one
of my readers with a passion that borders on the inappro-
priate. I want to give you all slobbery kisses and suavely
touch your butts as we slow dance to Jodeci at a seventh-
grade Sadie Hawkins evening. Yet I also want you people
to have no illusions about me: I’m not a very reliable
blogger. Come to me for fresh content every single day and
you will be disappointed. I will do my best, but I make no
promises...
Yesterday was particularly galling, because I had written
a post of such sheer brilliance, of such awesome insight and
clarity that just the simple act of placing it upon the world
wide web wouldincrease the average American lifespan,
cure clinical depression, and bring about the utter destruction
of the Republican Party. It was that good. Unfortunately, my
computer ate it and you’re stuck with this dreck instead.
But it wouldn’t have been so bad if my computer had just
been content to destroy my post. No, no: my computer is in
league with a certain covert Satanist/Stalinist army that
operates out of Pierre, South Dakota. Every time I come
close to revealing the Glorious Truth to you, my loyal reader-
ship, my old, clunky Hewlitt-Packard desktop sends a secret
message to their coven/commune summoning them to my
home, where they beat me with sticks, carve pentagrams into
my walls, and force me to confess my deviations from party
orthodoxy. I hate it when they do this, and I wish they’d
stop, but they’re a powerful band and I hear rumors that
they actually control a lot of the UPN’s programming schedule.
So they’re not to be trifled with, I’m afraid. I was reminded of
that last night as they cavorted through my home, tossing
around my precious china, bad-mouthing kittens and estab-
lishing the worker’s state.
It’s a problem I’d like to avoid as much as possible, so from
here on out I’m not going to even bother with the Glorious
Truth anymore. I’m going to stick with what I know best:
dusty old Jazz albums, frivolous nonsense, and interesting
facts about contemporary grammar. Won’t that be exciting?
You bet it will!
Honestly, though, I don’t feel OBLIGED to post every single
day. I’m not charging money to visit this site, you know,
and if you don’t find anything new or remotely interesting
here I’m sure there are thousands of other blog out there
that would appreciate a visit from you. Not that I don’t
appreciate your attention. I do. I love every single one
of my readers with a passion that borders on the inappro-
priate. I want to give you all slobbery kisses and suavely
touch your butts as we slow dance to Jodeci at a seventh-
grade Sadie Hawkins evening. Yet I also want you people
to have no illusions about me: I’m not a very reliable
blogger. Come to me for fresh content every single day and
you will be disappointed. I will do my best, but I make no
promises...
Yesterday was particularly galling, because I had written
a post of such sheer brilliance, of such awesome insight and
clarity that just the simple act of placing it upon the world
wide web wouldincrease the average American lifespan,
cure clinical depression, and bring about the utter destruction
of the Republican Party. It was that good. Unfortunately, my
computer ate it and you’re stuck with this dreck instead.
But it wouldn’t have been so bad if my computer had just
been content to destroy my post. No, no: my computer is in
league with a certain covert Satanist/Stalinist army that
operates out of Pierre, South Dakota. Every time I come
close to revealing the Glorious Truth to you, my loyal reader-
ship, my old, clunky Hewlitt-Packard desktop sends a secret
message to their coven/commune summoning them to my
home, where they beat me with sticks, carve pentagrams into
my walls, and force me to confess my deviations from party
orthodoxy. I hate it when they do this, and I wish they’d
stop, but they’re a powerful band and I hear rumors that
they actually control a lot of the UPN’s programming schedule.
So they’re not to be trifled with, I’m afraid. I was reminded of
that last night as they cavorted through my home, tossing
around my precious china, bad-mouthing kittens and estab-
lishing the worker’s state.
It’s a problem I’d like to avoid as much as possible, so from
here on out I’m not going to even bother with the Glorious
Truth anymore. I’m going to stick with what I know best:
dusty old Jazz albums, frivolous nonsense, and interesting
facts about contemporary grammar. Won’t that be exciting?
You bet it will!
