If I paid attention to what anyone said during my long and illustrious career as a professional blogger, I’d be dead, in jail, or maybe both. One of the wonderful things about blogging is having dicks read your work and then actively work against it — because in their minds — they’re doing something worthwhile.
Case in point, my recent foray into SOXS. It was a monstrous loss and it happened in the public forum. I was out there in crucifixion position asking for water, yet the commenters of the blog chose to toss popped corn at me and to hope that I’d die instead of opting to help me down. When I escaped the cross by removing the nails with my teeth, these same gents chose to take my place on the cross, in an effort to show me how great it could be up there, a natural tanning salon of sorts, instead of helping me with the gashes and the meat hanging off from what was once my left arm.
But see this is a Burdian’s Ass paradox, and the people now affixed to the cross will soon realize their dilemma. Who are they in fact betting against? Is The Fly even real? Did I ever take a SOXS position, or perhaps I only said I did in order to engender a popular response? Was their decision based upon a logical plane or muddied by the emotional fixation with proving I was wrong twice, first time in and the next time out? Moreover, do they think that I am an evil, black-hearted man, a cloth from their own wardrobe — thinking I want to see them lose too?
A man named Bob drops dead from a deadly dose of purple hammed burger. Phil watched the whole thing and was glad it happened. At the funeral, amidst a caravan of black cars, Phil shows up with a food truck selling nothing but purple hammed burgers. Bob’s mother asks Phil, ‘why come here and sell purple hammed burgers when you know my son died from them?’ Phil responds, ‘because Bob didn’t die from the purple hammed burgers — he died from eating too much.’
Bob’s brother pops his head in the truck and says ‘yeah, but you’re still an asshole, right?’Comments »