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How To Blog. Lesson One: There Is No Lesson Two

April 8, 2008 12 Comments

Unsubstantiated rumor. Epithet hurled at people who mildly disagree with you. Specious argument. Disregard for manners. Balogna. Baloney.

Now insert cut-and-paste research to bolster crabby worldview cadged from monomaniac manipulators, if plain fibbing is unavailable. Charts are best:

Remember, hyperlinks to pointless unedited text are great, but really long strings of URL gibberish that make reader’s browser display funny because they run off the page are always better. When in doubt, it’s best to just paste thousands of words in one big undifferentiated paragraph right in there like a texty skyscraper of unanswerable intellectual doom. Otherwise no one might read it.

Possessive it’s. Possessive it’s. Possessive it’s.
Contraction for it is: its.

Arguement.
Arguement.
Arguement.
Arguement.
Arguement.
Arguement.

Point out spelling is for loosers, you spelling Nazi! I learned critical thinking at Community College! All you can do is spell.

Big bowl of que cue and queue in a mixed salad with bile.

Pie Chart!

Just yell Strawman! over and over. Not sure why.

I hate hate. I hate the hating haters who don’t hate hate like me. Kill the hating haters! Sterilize the hating haters, then kill them and desecrate their graves and dig them up and hate them for hating like that.

One word for you: Hitler!

There are too many people. Something something Darwin. Something something border fence. Al Gore is fat. Rush Limbaugh is fat.

Apocalypse now. Apocalypse then.

You drink the Kool-Ade. I drink from the fountain of truth and wisdom. And Mountain Dew and Red Bull.

Don’t forget: Drop dead! is way too generous a sentiment for anyone you don’t like. They must perish in a conflagration.

Picture of cat, with non-sequitur slogan rendered in mangled syntax, spelling, and in an unattractive font.
Ascribe superpowers and imbecility to the same public personage for the same action. Point out that you’re forced to take Paxil, Prozac, Valium, Xanax, Ativan, Effexor, Zoloft, Zyprexa, Seroquel, Strattera, Ritalin, and Adderall because everybody else is so crazy and neurotic. Then fire up an enormous medical cheeba blunt to calm down.

***Place quote from “The Big Lebowski” here where quote from Ralph Waldo Emerson used to go***

Remind everyone of your threat to move to Canada if the political Zeitgeist doesn’t shape up. Divide yourselves equally between people who will flee to Canada because it’s full of pacifist diversity-minded hippies, or because you’re going to get a job in the 1890s style oil boom economy where people go to the saloon after work with a six shooter on their belt. Never leave your cubicle or your couch, though.

For no particular reason, and with no particular point in mind, finish up the whole thing with:

Sad.

Two Posts In One Day!

April 7, 2008 4 Comments

My friend Gerard at American Digest has a handy diagram of his desk on his page today, which in a fit of inspiration he stole from someone else. I’m not sure if Gerard is a raconteur or not. I never met the fellow.

I always like to imagine my friends are all raconteurs. See, I’m an international man of mystery, so I’m sort of obligated to surround myself with raconteurs. There is always a danger in this world of trying to associate yourself with the proper sort of raconteur, but ending up, sadly, with mere wags.

Now, I realize that this is the Intertunnel, so for all I know Gerard is actually a four-hundred pound Korean woman who cleans herself with a rag on a stick, collects Potsy Webber bobble-head dolls, knits big loud afghans to donate to the American Friends Service Commitee, eats only Pringles, and drinks Jolt/Red Bull/Zarex/Rohypnol Smashes all day and night while posting 2200 word rants about her sewer rates in the comments at Perez Hilton. Anything’s possible.

But I hope he really is a raconteur. I need to maintain a certain tone in my Intertunnel arrangements.

At any rate, I’ve prepared a sort of “How To” map of my affairs, just to help you people along that don’t know how to handle yourself in the Go-Go world of big-time Internet Celebrities like me. And Gerard. I think.

The Internet. They Gotta Lotta Nice People There. A-Hau-Hau-Hau-Hau

April 7, 2008 14 Comments

Sippican Cottage! Now with bonus points for perhaps obscure title reference!

[Editor’s Note: Pastor Jeff, who is a very pleasant fellow, ain’t he, has suggested that we re-run this item in lieu of participating in on of those there mimetic thingies what for occasionally sweeps this here web with all sorts of whoopin’ and a-hollerin’ and a-linkin’ and a-postin’ and whatnot. OK]
{Author’s Note: The editor watched Rio Bravo last night and he’s got Walter Brennan on the brain. But we do like Pastor Jeff and welcome any opportunity to avoid working, so here you go. And there is no editor, and it’s not my birthday.}

Today, I’m forty eight years old. I don’t care.

I’ve cheated death a few times. I’ve had good fortune, and I’ve been royally screwed. I’ve had money, and I’ve had none. I’ve gone hungry for a little while.

I’ve been simultaneously propositioned by one woman while being assaulted by another– both strangers. I’ve signed a few thousand autographs. I’ve been recognized on the street by passersby, confusing my companion. I’ve gone unrecognized on occasion by my own relatives.

I blinded everyone in my chemistry class in high school. I counterfeited money in shop class for a lark. I was nicknamed “The Phantom” by that chemistry teacher, because I was constantly truant. I was a National Merit Scholar.

I’ve performed dangerous backbreaking labor. I’ve been paid to teach frisbee.

I’ve been a welder in the desert. I’ve had pretty secretaries bring me coffee.

I’ve saved a few people’s lives. I’ve seen a man murdered.

I’ve worked for charities. I’ve committed vandalism. I’ve been robbed a half dozen times. I’ve stolen things.

I’ve been thought a clown. I’ve been considered dreadfully serious.

Half of the employees at my last job called me Mr. Rogers. The other half called me the Prince of Darkness. They were all correct.

I’ve been picked on like a sissy. I’ve knocked a man senseless–that struck me first– with one blow.

I’m very polite. I have a terrifying apoplectic temper.

I’ve worked with people for four years and never said a word about myself, despite the fact I talk all the time.

I made a joke, in a foreign language, in a foreign country, and people laughed. I’ve been booed, loudly, before.

There was a stretch of my life, lasting one third of it, where I was profoundly unhappy all the time. I doubt anyone knew that.

If I could live a thousand years, I wouldn’t change a goddamn thing, if it meant one fewer minute of sitting at a table I made, in a house that I built, across the table from the wife I won, watching the children we made smear their dinner on their faces.

Got Happy? No? Get Happy!

April 5, 2008 6 Comments

I am not officially out of the music business right now, as I am forced by my friends to perform two or three times a year. But “in” the music business now is kind of an exaggeration, too. I’m not sure where the instrument I generally play is located, exactly. It might be in my house.

If I was in a band right now, this would be it. I’m concerned however, that I might have to tone down my hairstyle and fashion sense or they wouldn’t let me in.

Abso-fargin-lutely genius here, and one more for our collection of outre covers of this chestnut:

Month: April 2008

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sippicancottage

A Man Who Has Nothing In Particular To Recommend Him Discusses All Sorts of Subjects at Random as Though He Knew Everything.

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