Support My Poops

While this blog never intended to either have the audience it does today or an audience at all, I appreciate the fact that people read it. Moreover, it bewilders me. What the fuck? Since when does anyone pay attention and/or care about anything I do? Wow. All these compliments on my writing... They can't all be some conspiritorial inside joke, can they? Does it actually mean I'm good at writing, or is this all pity or joking? I started this shit on a whim, a flight of whimsy, a lark. I love that people like it; I'm just shocked, really. No one read my comic when it was on the internet. No one listens to the music I have on the internet. People avert their eyes from me in the real world. If I were to get hit by a bus, the most recognition I'd get is the movement of the windshield wiper. But here, in the non-existant world of people I can only assume exist, I am loved and respected and popular and hit on. I'm not going to let it go to my head, because I'm probably deluding myself as to how much eveybody actually likes me. But it still is nice to think that something I've done is being appreciated and enjoyed by outside parties.

Which, sort of, brings me to my point. Though this blog began simply, and continues to serve the purpose of, alleviating my boredom to at least a moderate extent, another side goal (also on a lark. This is all about larks, people. Larks rule. Go on 'em) was to become one of the "Blogs of Notice" they have on the little side bar on the front page. I hate blogs and I hate Blogger and this is why I'd be perfect for this little sidebar. I'm getting noticed, just not be you asshole upper fucks in the administration. Unfortunantly, only movie stars and people traveling to foriegn countries get to be on the special little sidebar. Well fuck that. I think it's time for an angry young college student with nothing better to do than point out how much he hates insignificant things to step up to the ranks of sidebar fame. Come on, Blogger. I'm better than all the blogs ever, and you know it. Shit, it went to my head already. Dammit.

So I think I need to have some sort of stupid interesting quirk involved with my writings to validate. Like, maybe I'm a chef in some wacky restaurant chain, or maybe I'm working on some new movie that's coming out which coincidentally is owned by the same company that owns Blogger, or perhaps I'm in Belgium and everything is strange and different and I just need to tell everyone, or maybe I'm realizing that parenthood is an exciting new adventure and boy was I unprepared for the cute and sometimes difficult aspects of raising a child, or could be I'm an intern at some major company and I have slightly off-color views on some subjects, or mayhaps I'm someone who's pretending to be the family dog who somehow gained the ability to type coherently despite the lack of fingers or coherence with technology. Problem is, this blog has no underlying theme like being new to veganism or having cancer. My underlying theme is being bored. And pissed. And horny. And pissed. These are not popular themes for the front page; these are not things the good folks at Blogger want to portray for themselves. But I'm suggesting that perhaps it is a misrepresentation to put Blogs where people are coherent and good-natured on the front page. Most of the Blogs I read are riddled with grammatical and spelling errors, about people who's lives are both not important and not interesting, and are basically simplistic pieces of shit. The Blog of Notice section seems like an ill-fated attempt to make it seem like Blogger doesn't actually blow chunks. Chunks of what is yet to be determined, but be certain they will be lodged together in a chunk-like formation. Which is all the more reason to feature me in the sidebar: Let David Duchovny take a break and let my acid brand of vigorous cantankorisms take over. I don't know who's dick I have to fenagle to get myself amongst the ranks of Dunkin' Donuts employees with a blog, but consider it considered.

That half of the post was written earlier, then Blogger got a bitchy attitude. It didn't like what I was writing, apparantly, and had to shut it down. Well, bullfuggly, I say. They appear to have this newfangled "Recover Lost Post" function, seeing as how most of people's posts have been "F@#6ucking Blogger!" followed by a series of sailor speak. It's a nice gesture; we'll see how well it works. Somehow I have a sneaking suspicion Blogger will get just as much hatred from the underlings as it always has. Nobody on the Blogs of Notice ever complains about Blogger; maybe that's the key here. They want the conformists. The normies. Maybe I don't actually want to join these ranks, but rather be a crazy rouge working outside the system with his own set of rules! Back off, jag-butter, or I'll write something nasty about you and follow it up with a Photoshop picture of you saying "I'm a butt!"

So many Blogs of Notice I don't really understand why they've been noticed. I have my own set of Blogs of Notice; the one's I read. I read one's that seem like they have something interesting to say. If I stumble upon someone on a blog hop that seems coherent, I read on, and if they're coherent to the point of saying something enjoyable, I consider it noticed and add it to my little mental sidebar. Mainly I seek out the good writers. There's something very different between when good writers write about stupid shit and when bad writers write about stupid shit.

"so ok sven came up 2 me and was all sayin stuf bout how heeand dis girl like were talkiing... wtf???? whtvr....,,. so wejust watched sometv or whtvr... omg, then my mom like calleed and said some stuf bout 'hwo late werer u out last nigth? and im like god mom im like 16 i cnan tak care of myslef... god, i hate my parents!"

VS:

"Sven enters the room. My heart beat more quickly as he proceeded to tell me of his news. The woman. Sven was talking with this woman. I questioned the situation in my mind, four times over as a matter of fact. But to me this was nothing. There was television watching to be done. But don't think of it as though I held such great importance in this event. Oh, sweet Lord above from the center of Valhaala, the phone began to ring suddenly. There, a phone cord away, was the overbearing presence of my mother. She questioned my curfew habits, one acquisition followed another. I could not sit idly by and let my responsible edge be questioned with such voracity. I bellowed to her the years I had spent upon this Earth and that this time and experience had shown me independence. I would soon be a patron of the streets like my brethren. Mother, Father... Why?"

Alright, never mind. Stupid shit is stupid shit, looks like, which is why I'm so hesitant to just post things here when the masses clamor. I feel like I need something to write about. This post is what you get when I try to post without anything to say. Let me know if you like it, or hey, if you notice it, and maybe it'll move me to get over my anxiety about trying to please all of you. It's like Bill Cosby said: "If you try to please everyone, you will please no one; oh and by the way, I hate black people under the age of 30." You can't argue with that, he wears interesting sweaters for God's sake.

I had a very brief but somewhat meaningful moment of hesitation in whether or not I should capitalize God or not. My final decision came down to capitalizing, because I need some shift key practice. You can't just pick up how to use that key, people. It doesn't just happen. You don't just wake up one morning and scream to the heavens "I now have access to capital letters and the symbols above the main symbols!". No sir. It takes practice and effort, and it don't come easy. Or cheap.

Come on, Blogger, what's not to be of notice here?