I would like to open this blog with a topic that reigns in all our minds with a deleterious effect, stamping our souls into the dirt and making life one of hollowness and constant tragedy. I think you know what I’m talking about. What? No, not genocide. I’m talking about the word “blog.”
Say it with me. Blog. Blog blog blog blog. It’s stupid, stupid, and also stupid. We all know it’s stupid. Nothing that sounds like “blob” can achieve any level of coolness. [Edit: Bogs and grog actually have some potential in this area, especially if they’re combined.] But what do we still call them? Blogs. And like a blob, the more we ignore this menace and hope it will just go away, the more it feasts and the bigger it becomes. It will soon be unstoppable.
Listen: This is my very first blog — even though I’ve thought about starting one for years. Why did it take me so long? Because I didn’t want to admit to having something called a “blog.” That’s seriously the only reason; just like people who don’t smoke pot because of its legal status (I’m sure they’re out there somewhere), I felt that if I was ever caught with a blog, my conscience would get 5-10 without possibility of parole. I might have gotten behind “weblog.” Weblog sounds kind of cool, kind of distinctive. “Captain’s weblog: today I wrestled a tree from the mutant tree planet and won.” That sounds completely legitimate. But “Captain’s blog”? Please. “Captain’s blog: today Joey asked me out to prom. And Brittany’s a bitch.” It’s just not cool. And if anyone ever calls me a “blogger,” I’mma cut ’em.
To avoid sounding like the cantankerous old man I will eventually become, I’ll just leave it at this. Stamp out the enemy. Stop saying “blog.”
I bet you can’t guess why I chose WordPress over Blogspot.
Anyway, I have a **** now, and I’ll have to live with it. If you don’t know who I am (odds are, at the time of this writing, 6,900,572,660:1), let me tell you: I am a writer. Obviously. I recently completed my first novel (a spy/comedy/science fiction/parody/action thriller titled I Know You Are, But What Am I? — yes, I’m serious), am currently working on a large number of projects, and have recently started trying to publish some of my short stories, many of which have to do with such mind-bending concepts as: what it would be like if the Flintstones were real, what might happen if pirates couldn’t agree on how to pronounce “Caribbean,” and how fonts would interact if they had personalities of their own. The age-old questions, answered at last. Your money, please!
It is through this **** that I hope to post updates, considerations, and other bits of high-level refuse that scatter among the detritus of my brain in the process of not doing any actual work. With any luck, having a **** won’t be so bad, and I won’t feel the need to censor the damn word.