Original humor & comedy articles daily weblog

This Is Not How I Thought I’d Join the Century Club

Got blog?

This is my one hundredth post here at the old blog.

(Well, okay, it’s really my two hundred and first, if you count the 100 Things Posts About Me that I recently finished. And maybe those should count. Still, this is the one hundredth post on the main site, and so I’m happy to commemorate the occasion. Hey, any excuse for drinking beer and getting naked on a Thursday night will do. Am I right, kids, or am I right? You know what I’m sayin’.)

Anyway, I’m not really sure how to mark this occasion, so what I thought I’d do is belatedly lay down some ground rules around here. Basically, I want to let you know — now that it’s already painfully obvious — what you can expect from me in this space. So let’s see how far that takes us.

First, I’m going to write something every day. A particular post may not actually make it live until the next day (like, oh, I don’t know — this one), but when that happens, I’ll post a second one on that day to make up for the boo-boo. Obviously, if I’m ever able to take a vacation again, then I may have to make an exception. On the other hand, I don’t know whether I could survive a weeks’ worth of this crap stuck in my head without writing it down — I’d probably start bleeding from the ears after two or three days. My week at home over Christmas break will be a good test.

(Of course, a week with the family over the holidays usually makes me bleed from somewhere, anyway, so I’m not sure whether I’ll be able to notice any difference.)

Also, there’s the issue of content. This is not a sex blog, nor a porn blog, nor a dirty-talking netsex blog.

(Though I do reserve the right to have sex, watch porn, and type sweet horny nothings while I still own the blog; I’m just not gonna do any of that while I’m writing it.)

I suppose I should elaborate on that just a bit — it’s quite possible that I’ll mention sex (or porn stars, or marital aids, or anatomically-correct sheep-shaped blow-up dolls), but you’re not going to hear about sex that I’m having. For one thing, you don’t really want to see that. And for another, I’m not sure that my wife reads this stuff, but I did give her the URL, so she might. And the last thing I need is to have her kick my ass because I let slip that we did the L’il Bo Peep routine and blew up the Mr. Fluffers doll for the occasion. Which, um, of course, uh, we didn’t. So far as you know. Moving on.

I’m also not going to talk about politics. There are approximately seventeen billion political blogs out there, *wah*‘ing about this, or *boohoo*‘ing about that, but usually trying to oh-so-cleverly point out that the dickheads on the other side of the aisle are a bunch of morons. Well, frankly, I’ve got no interest, and so you won’t see that shit here. If I wanted to deal with that kind of ‘he said, she said‘, finger-pointing cliquery, I’d go back to junior high school. So if that’s your thing, I’m afraid this isn’t the blog for you.

(The good news is that just about every other blog is the blog for you, so go ahead. Knock yourself out.)

Let’s see, what else? Okay, two things about the tagline. You know, the ‘Nothing but…‘ dealie at the top of the page. First of all, believe it. Meaning, a lot of the stuff I write about ‘never actually happened‘. Of course, frighteningly enough, it’s almost always based on something that did happen, which is often much worse, and far more embarrassing in one way or another. And don’t even get me started on the shit I haven’t told you.

(Man, if I could only afford that therapy.)

So high-fidelity realism isn’t really my bag, either. (The 100 Things posts are a bit closer to the truth — since they’re really about me — but I have been known to take the occasional liberty there, as well. So if you don’t want your liberties pilfered, you’d better watch your back.

Also, I’ll come up with a new tagline for every post. It’ll be in italics, just below that post’s title. It’ll have nothing to do with the post — it’s just there so I don’t wear myself out changing the damned tagline every three days because I have the delusion that I’m getting cleverer. Instead of the other way around, that is. Sure, it puts more pressure on me to come up with one for every damned post, but at the time, that seemed like the lesser of two evils. One hundred taglines later, I’m not so sure. I think I’m just a moron, no matter which way you slice it.

(But an organized moron, and that’s at least something. See, after about twenty taglines, I started writing them down, so I wouldn’t accidentally reuse one. Which I’ve almost done a couple of times, so I’m glad I have the list. Not that anyone would notice — or care, even if they did — but I thought you should know. It’s just that kind of unnecessarily anal nitpicky perfectionism that I bring to (both of) you readers, each and every day. I suspect it’s also what keeps me from being successful, sticking with a career, or learning how to dress myself. But I’m willing to make that sacrifice, for you. Never say I don’t suffer for my art.)

Okay, I guess that’s about it. Really, in the end, my goal around here is to write things that make me giggle. And on a good day, things that make me imagine that other people would giggle at them, too. Preferably while they’re drinking a Coke at work, causing them to spew fizzy brown crap out their nose and onto their monitor just as the boss walks by. Really. If I can get just one person fired for inappropriate guffawing while reading my blog, then I’ve done my job. I just pray that one person doesn’t turn out to be me.

So, that’s my hundredth post. Thanks for reading it. And a million thanks (that’s a hundred times a hundred times a hundred, you know) for those of you who stop by on a regular basis, and comment, and link me, and keep coming back for more punishment. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.

(Okay, stop. Hold on, I’m gonna cry. Hold on — don’t look at me!)

Okay, I’m back. And I do thank you. I’ll show you my undying gratitude in the only way I know how — I’ll come back tomorrow (okay, later today, in this case) and write to you again about things that may or may not have happened, and try to get you fired for reverse-snorting cola all over your desk. Really, it’s the only way I can repay you.

Well, okay, there is one other way… but I think Mr. Fluffers needs a rest tonight. Don’t you?