If it weren’t for blog posts, I’d have no posts at all.
Well, shit, here I am again. Late, as usual, and with little time to think of something clever to say. It’s like high school all over again, when you get up the nerve to call that special someone for a date, and then blank when you hear ‘Hello?‘ At that point, you’re on the clock, almost out of time already, and you’d better come up with something good, fast. And no, ‘Hey. Whatcha doin’?‘ is not ‘witty banter’.
(For the record, my brain usually didn’t thaw quickly enough to even get that much out. It’d start to grind into action at around, ‘Who is this, anyway?‘, perk up a little more at, ‘Hello? If you’re just gonna sit there and breathe, I’m gonna hang up, whoever you are.‘, and finally get lubed up and ready just in time to hear, ‘Tsk. I oughta call the cops. Perv. *click*‘ But damn, could I sweet-talk the pants off the dial tone then. You ain’t had phone sex till you chatted up the sweet, sweet not-there sounds of a young girl’s private line, men. Nothin’ says lovin’ like, ‘BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP‘. You just gotta make sure you get in and out before her old man picks up the phone to make another call, brother. ‘Cause he knows where you live. Trust me.)
So, where was I? Oh, right, nowhere in particular. Fan-frickin’-tabulous.
Well, let’s see. What trouble can we get into tonight? Maybe a little bit of blog-talk. (C’mon. It’s like pillow-talk, only grittier. Like steamed oysters. It’ll be fun; you’ll like it.) So, as a way to amuse myself (that doesn’t involve cream pies or battery acid, for once), I’ve decided to put a cap on my ‘blogroll’.
(No, those of you bloggy neophytes, my ‘blogroll’ is not the flabby hunk of flesh that I’m cultivating by spending so much time at the keyboard in writing this crap. Maybe it should be, but it’s not. Decidedly not. Though, whatever that’s called, I think I need a cap on it, as well. Or a tent, or something. But that’s gross, so I’m gonna back slowly away… and move on…)
Anyway, for those of you unfamiliar with the term, the ‘blogroll’ is the list of links to other blogs that we bloggers plop on a sidebar or an auxiliary page, and it typically points to blogs that are admired, or revered, or blatantly plagiarized, by the blog’s author. The blogroll serves as a handy (and delicious!) way for the blog’s author and audience to check out similar stuff out there on the internet. (And more importantly, to get those other blogs to see the referrals in their logs and link back in sympathy. Don’t think I’m above a little sympathy anything, folks. Links, beers, cash, lap dances — it’s all good. Though if you have a — *ahem* — ‘blog roll’ of your own, I think I’ll skip the lap dance. Thanks just the same.)
So — careening wildly towards the point — I’ve decided that my life just isn’t damned complicated enough, and that I should put a cap on my list of links to other
cool (sorry, this is the web) kewl blogs. I decided that I shall never have more than twenty lucky(?) blogs in my roll at one time. Only the tops of the pops, the creams of the crops, and the bitches with mad props for me, my fancy friends. And for you, too, of course. Since my blogroll is out there for all to see, you — yes, you! — can benefit from my diligent and scientific analysis. I pick only the ripest, juiciest blogs, then distill them into a fine paste of their inherent humor, wit, and snarkiness. I crystallize that, make a refreshing Tang-y concoction from it, and drink it down. Only those blogs that don’t come hurtling back up my gullet in a spew of sugary crap, or a spasm of concentrated bitterness, or a Technicolor yawn of seething political pissiness, will make it to my list. And if a new brew wants in the game, it’s gotta knock off an incumbent. It’s Survival of the Bloggiest, in all its hair-pulling, eye-scratching, genitalia-biting frenzy. No blog is safe, and there’s always a new blog coming up through the ranks, looking to make the Big Time™. So have a look — but be quick about it! Your favorite may not be there tomorrow, after all. But if it does get booted, I’ll guarantee that it’ll be replaced with something better, and funnier, and jaw-droppingly super.
(Or a blog full of naked breasts. Or this, which is always in contention. Only the finest, folks. Only the finest.)
All right, I think I milked that for all it was worth, and then kept squeezin’, anyway. (Is there a saying in there somewhere, by the way? A ‘don’t beat a dead horse’ sort of warning? ‘Don’t squeeze a dry teat, son.‘ No? No, I suppose not. Ah, well. ‘You can’t get milk from a dead boob, I guess.‘ Nothin’? Rats.)
Well, I suppose I’ll quit while I’m behind, then. I’ve got my second day of being whipped into employable shape tomorrow, and I don’t want to miss that. Today was the ‘Ridicule Your Resume and Your Job Prospects‘ day. My guess is that tomorrow is the ‘confidence building’ day, so they’ll build us back up and get us ready to merge back into proper society. On the other hand, this company was hired to talk to us by our now-former employer, so it’s entirely possible that they’re going to have some fun with us, now that we’ve signed our no-lawsuit exit documents. If we get into the room tomorrow and they turn the fire hoses loose on us, I’ll know it’s the latter. Maybe I’ll wear my raincoat tomorrow, just in case. And if I’m wrong, I can always get some jollies by flashing the woman giving the seminar. That could backfire rather easily, though — she’s paid to critique, and may give me more feedback on my ‘prospects’ than I’ve bargained for:
‘Your, ah, ‘skill section’ appears to be rather short, Charlie, and I doubt you’ve had much working experience. None of your references remember you at all, with the exception of a Ms. Rosy Palmer, who found your work ‘sloppy’ and ‘uninspired’. You may want to refrain from showcasing your, um, talents, to recruiters until you can — *cough* — beef up your ‘resources’ and ‘education’ a bit more. Or ideally, a lot more. And no, I won’t be needing your contact information, thank you.
Which will be a drag, no doubt. But even in that light, I think I can find some positive spin for my resume. I’ve been, er, ‘self-employed’, so to speak, for a very long time, after all, and I’ve learned how to be an effective self-starter. I manage with a firm hand sometimes, but I definitely know how to get the most from my headcount. I can work independently, if need be, but I prefer being a team player. And I’m always eager to stimulate my co-workers with an infusion of incentives…
All right, that’s enough. I’m stopping right here before my headcount starts rising through the ranks and I have to perform a restructuring. Nothing that would necessitate a severance package, mind you. (*shudder*) I just don’t want to be a victim of inflation and see the bubble burst all over again. Um, so to speak. I did say I was stopping, right? Right. G’night, then.
P.S. Please remind me not to blog without a topic in future… see what you end up with? And now I’m all… itchy. Maybe I’ll slip into bed and see if I can negotiate a merger. Rawr! Or even a hostile takeover. Who can afford to be picky in this economy?
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