With the end of the year fast approaching, Christmas just a mere 2 days away and my holiday break from work just beginning I wanted to take just a second to say thanks to all the folks who read the garbled clutter that springs forth from my keyboard now and again. I will be super busy the next 11 days and........ hell who am I kidding I'll be around.
THANKS! (there that's done)
I know most of it (writing) is comparable to Aunt Edna's fruitcake (which unlike this has a little flavor) but hey I have fun with it. I suppose writing is like singing in the shower (or the car) it sounds good to you and that's where it ends. I laugh at my stuff, sometimes cry and usually force myself into a vomitus projection of huckaboos and huffgaws and sit with heavy anticipation of the comments that are sure to come spewing forth from the genius that has just emerged on my screen. Surely this must be the work of a mad, verbal scientist because I do not know this guy. This masterpiece all but screams, "Read me, it may change your life".
I wait. Patiently. I make sure to only touch the e-mail icon on mydumb smart phone no more than three times every 15 minutes. Which is 900 seconds if you were counting it out. I wasn't timing myself I just like to count to 900 and take a break every three hundred seconds.
A day goes by and then the phone vibrates. An email has arrived. Excited like a fat kid who has juct come across and overturned Little Debbie Truck I touch the screen, all senses on point and anxiously awaiting only to discover that Taste of Home magazine is just reminding me that my subscription is about to expire. Damn, no comments.
Two more days past and my only emails are those from the huffgaw corporation warning me to please ask for consent before mentioning their product and another from Yahoo informing me that Diez des Puntos wants to be my friend and has sent me a chat message. Even though I have turned him/her down in the past I am beginning to think I might just accept.
Finally on the 5th day the phone buzzes. I have a comment folks. Yep and it is from an unknown blogger friend. "Oh yeah", I say to myself, not unlike the Kool-Aid man (although my walls are still intact)
Finger hits screen, jabbing the button ferociously like when your in an elevator and you see a person approaching that looks like a cross between Lady GaGa, Boy George and Steve Irkel.
I do not blink, I do not breathe. Eyes watering and about to pass out I read the comment, devouring it as Tori Spelling does man seed (whoa that was weird) and find out that the magical way to weight loss is from a plant known as Hurticod.
I think back and yes I mentioned the word plant in my blog. That was all it took. Now the post has become forlorn, dusty and reeks of shades of dirty gray. It has diminished itself from masterpiece to spam landing zone. Ouch! That hurts. Hurticod? WTF is that?
If I'm gonna hurt a cod that little sucker is gonna be deep fried with some tartar sauce and a cold beer. How the hell is that weight loss?
Damn spammers anyways.
Keeping it imaginary as always,
-Bushman
THANKS! (there that's done)
I know most of it (writing) is comparable to Aunt Edna's fruitcake (which unlike this has a little flavor) but hey I have fun with it. I suppose writing is like singing in the shower (or the car) it sounds good to you and that's where it ends. I laugh at my stuff, sometimes cry and usually force myself into a vomitus projection of huckaboos and huffgaws and sit with heavy anticipation of the comments that are sure to come spewing forth from the genius that has just emerged on my screen. Surely this must be the work of a mad, verbal scientist because I do not know this guy. This masterpiece all but screams, "Read me, it may change your life".
I wait. Patiently. I make sure to only touch the e-mail icon on my
A day goes by and then the phone vibrates. An email has arrived. Excited like a fat kid who has juct come across and overturned Little Debbie Truck I touch the screen, all senses on point and anxiously awaiting only to discover that Taste of Home magazine is just reminding me that my subscription is about to expire. Damn, no comments.
Two more days past and my only emails are those from the huffgaw corporation warning me to please ask for consent before mentioning their product and another from Yahoo informing me that Diez des Puntos wants to be my friend and has sent me a chat message. Even though I have turned him/her down in the past I am beginning to think I might just accept.
Finally on the 5th day the phone buzzes. I have a comment folks. Yep and it is from an unknown blogger friend. "Oh yeah", I say to myself, not unlike the Kool-Aid man (although my walls are still intact)
Finger hits screen, jabbing the button ferociously like when your in an elevator and you see a person approaching that looks like a cross between Lady GaGa, Boy George and Steve Irkel.
I do not blink, I do not breathe. Eyes watering and about to pass out I read the comment, devouring it as Tori Spelling does man seed (whoa that was weird) and find out that the magical way to weight loss is from a plant known as Hurticod.
I think back and yes I mentioned the word plant in my blog. That was all it took. Now the post has become forlorn, dusty and reeks of shades of dirty gray. It has diminished itself from masterpiece to spam landing zone. Ouch! That hurts. Hurticod? WTF is that?
If I'm gonna hurt a cod that little sucker is gonna be deep fried with some tartar sauce and a cold beer. How the hell is that weight loss?
Damn spammers anyways.
Keeping it imaginary as always,
-Bushman
So I'm not the only one compulsive about checking comments? Good to know.
ReplyDeleteMerry Christmas! I don't know any magical weight loss tricks to add here...