Wow, yesterday's attempt at being funny slash profound was a load of horse pooper, wasn't it? I don't know what the fuck I was sniffing at that time. I think I wrote a word every half hour. While little bits of asbestos drifted from the unsafe ceiling above. I'm serious, who the fuck was I trying to impress? Ezra Pound? Wallace Stevens? Betsy Mae in Accounting? My department doesn't even have an Accounting section! I don't know what part of my department Betsy Mae works for!
Like most people, I blog in the nude. This makes writing in my blog at work very uncomfortable, since, like most American & Canadian businesses, my work requires that I be at least partially clothed for the entire work day. ("Fig Leaf Fridays" being a relatively new development. Usually that's most popular in the Swimsuit Section of the Department.) Add to all of this the fact that I am not supposed to blog at work (except when I ghost-write my boss's blog), & you can imagine the looks I get from my co-workers when I begin to disrobe in my cubicle! One of these days I'll either get in a lot of trouble or I'll catch cold. Damn they keep these offices frosty!
What I really need to do, though, is just apologize. No one should have to trudge through the treacly, tragic stabs of ha ha that I attempt on a more or less daily basis here. Luckily, nearly no one does. Most likely, if you're reading this, you're my mother wondering what I am saying behind her back, or you're a spider crawling the web looking for poor bastards to sell viagra to make their newly-extended penises work. Which reminds me. I need to answer an email from a cute Russian girl who found my name in a chat room...
While blogging has become a serious pasttime in this United Snakes, it's more & more the less & less affluent who spend oodles & oodles of time downloading porn & music from Russian Federation websites that somehow slip right past expensive corporate firewalls with tacky corporate firewallpaper. I know that my (very) hypothetical audience is essentially finding their way here looking for Amazon Dot Com promotional codes & the lastest nipple slip from the latest nymphette. I have only those illusions that enable me to walk out the door every morning with my handgun on safety - the rest of the time, I look quizzically at graphs & make sure that the court-mandated pills I take to keep my dogs loving me are safely down the gullet. So, too, the blog is not so much required to be adventurous, but simply moded: an arm of the radio show, as the music is the radio show's heart.
Gah! I can't stop it! What the fuck am I writing! How long can this go on! Did you ever see such a fat, bloated tick of crapola stuck suckily to the side of a computer screen? Ye gods, I am a douche.
Also, self-pity & self-deprecation, while admirable in a much-lauded public servant or celebrity, is essentially the face of acceptable well-rehearsed modesty, while in a virtually unknown blogger, it's BOOOOOOOOORRRRINGGGGG.
It's true, actually. Bah.
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