Be careful what you ask for. Here is an excruciatingly long and equally tedious post, chock full of crap that I've written on autopilot. So enjoy!
Though I was delighted by the wild explosion of comments for my last post, I was a little disappointed that some of my blogging friends haven't stopped by to leave a comment. That's okay though. I realize that sometimes people get overwhelmed with their own lives, and that I can - and unfortunately do - slip out of the top-3 on your priority lists. I recently nudged a tad closer to the darker/bluer side of blogging, and this "change in course' may no longer be in alignment with some of your tastes. That's okay too.
You see, I knew as early as my second post (The Great Bowling Analogy) that I would have to take risks with my blog. Ones that might alienate and lose readers, yet hopefully capture new audience members, ultimately helping my overall circle of blog buddies to grow. What can I say? I'm a whore! It's much more gratifying to post for dozens of lurkers than for a handful. Ditto for commenters. So even though I miss those of you who no longer comment or choose to visit, I've got to be me. As disgusting as that sounds.
And while I'm on my soapbox, it's no fun to consistently comment on other blogs just to not to have those bloggers reciprocate. It's even less gratifying to have one's comments consistently go unacknowledged. So unless a blogger is just doing it for a gaggle of friends, and is uninterested in meeting new people, he or she should take heed.
I'd been considering a separate blog (or even two more) in order to segregate my posts according to content. But I came to realize that I have my hands full with this blog, and maintaining another blog just to hang onto 4 or 5 viewers is not a luxury time-wise that I can afford. So for the present, this is it.
Then I sold my soul to this Clown. What can I say? With "Jughead Goober Cokehead Mo-Fo" still in the White House, it remains a "Buyer's Market" for souls.
I am now a proud(?) affiliate of his Mighty Blog Network. Apparently among other perks I'm entitled to any virgins remaining in heaven after the rest have been allocated to Al Queda nutjobs.
But there is a problem. I have a deep dark secret. One that will eventually defy any of my futile attempts to conceal it. A secret SO heinous, so sinister, and so reprehensible, that even THIS man would recoil in disgust and refuse to discuss it on camera.
So I am therefore doomed to a fate of never being featured in any of his shows. No "American Justice" or "Cold Case Files" for me. Not even as a victim. For if Bill Kurtis were to even utter my name, the resultant self-loathing would prevent him from ever smiling again. This was his reaction when only the first 2-syllables of my name were mentioned.
So what is this horrible secret? Was it my narcotics-induced fling with Courtney Love? A relationship so twisted and bizarre, perhaps, that it was I who was considered the more pyschotic one?
No, it was much worse than that.
Was it that I fell in with another* (* I mean BESIDES my current crew of commenters) bad crowd? One that still held a candle for Charlie Manson and also one that sadistically assigned Lynette "Squeaky" Fromme to be my life partner?
No, unfortunately it didn't have that glorious, spiritual edge to it. My crime was way more revolting.
Well then, what could it be? Did I become involved with one of these shady ladies of ill-repute?
Even though I do have many "Chicken Foot' tattoos winding their way throughout my barnyard of a body (which, so I've heard, Rev-Ree is into), no, it's not that either.
"Well Puerileuwaite, you recently mentioned being voted "Creepiest Trenchcoat Guy" by "Bad Touch" magazine. Have you been consorting with this guy?"
No. I haven't seen him since our last matinee in Florida together. By the way, if he offers you popcorn, but insists on keeping the bucket stationary on his lap, consider that a big, red flag.
Is my deep, dark secret that I arranged play dates or sleepovers for Jacko?
No. So you can just "Beat It" with this crackpot theory.
Was it my clandestine trips to Boulder, Colorado and Thailand with John Mark Carr, alleged slayer of JonBenet, and possible illegitimate son of the actor who plays Eric's dad on "That 70's Show"?
No. Although I DO recommend seeing Thailand. It's very affordable and the temples are absolutely stunning. Plus you can buy Lotto tickets RIGHT IN THE BAR.
"Oh! I know! You married your 13-year old cousin."
Though my talent and boyish yet still rebellious good looks have often been compared with Jerry Lee Lewis, the answer is no. It's not that either. Although the Girl Scouts never come to my door anymore to sell me cookies, for some reason.
"Okay, was it you who killed JFK?"
Although I HAVE been named by Oliver Stone as a possible member of the alleged conspiracy, no. You're way off.
"Is it that you know: not only did John Wilkes Booth escape, but he was in fact, your Great-Grandfather?"
Lay off the Lincoln Logs, pal. Although the resemblance is uncanny, I do own a Ford, and have been to the theatre, there is no truth to this persistent rumor.
Well, am I a souless serial killer, slaughtering teenagers as a form of symbolic punishment for underage fornication and negligent babysitting?
Unfortunately, no. But what a tremendous service to the community I would be providing if this were the case.
Was I an accomplice to this monster's awful path of destruction? Or - even worse - a blog buddy to his pen-pal CrashTest Comic?
While CrashTestComic is a member of my blogging circle - a reality that I am both grateful for, and embarrassed about - this is not my (most) traumatic secret. At least, not the one this post is about.
"Okay! Enough already! Puerileuwaite, if we all take an oath that we couldn't possibly: think less of your character; be more disgusted by your existence, or continue to curse your name on an hourly basis - will you PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS DECENT tell us your horrible secret?!?!"
Okay, I can't go on prolonging the inevitable. Hate me if you must. Ditch me if that's what you need to do. Just go then. Don't look back. You see, my deep, dark secret is that I finally watched ALL of the "Harry Potter" movies. And, get this: I ENJOYED them. There! I said it. I feel like dirt. And yet, I don't mind, entirely. Actually I kinda like it.
So what if this means that I must now lurk in the shadows? Hiding during daylight hours. Venturing out only after midnight. Throw stones if you must. But first consider that you too have questionable tastes. You can lie to me, but you can't run from the truth. Perhaps you enjoyed the original "Star Trek" a wee bit too much. Maybe you fantasized about Frodo from "Lord of the Rings". Is it possible that you identified a tad too closely with Gollum? Quick: name 10-Star Wars characters. I bet every one of you nerdy S.O.B.'s can do it. And some of you with your O.C.D. wouldn't stop at 10. You sicken me.
So there. I feel better already. Oh, and I'm gay.
By Your Side...
17 hours ago