“Bloggylaggin.” Sounds like the name of a flabby leprechaun.
Be afraid! (If you’re wondering what I mean, go here.)
Today I didn’t put up a blog post all the way until right now, which is 4:30 p.m. PST. (Possibly Stupendous Turnips? Potentially Sensitive Tummy? Periodically Stuttering Transvestite? Positively Stupid Trend? Probably Should Terminate?)
You know why? Because I had to take on work!
That’s right. Someone out there—a Quite Famous Author—is now paying me to run through her book, and Fix It Up.
I blame you. You had a chance to fork over a bill or two so I wouldn’t have to take on Actual Jobs. We could have been pals with pay. I could have today spent the many minutes hours that I usually do, and come up with yet another blog post so mind-bogglingly amusing, so piercingly insightful, so bombastically delicious that reading it would have caused you to chuck up something disgusting onto your keyboard. But that didn’t happen, did it?
No. And why not?!
Because I have to pay my rent mortgage, that’s why! (Why is there a “t” in that word? I hate Daniel Webster.)
You had your chance, man. You blew it. It’s not my problem.
NOW (well, for the next five days, cuz it’s a Rush Job) I’ll just have to blog whenever I can. And now I’ll blog about any stupid thing, too. Too bad for you. The good stuff is gone, man! Gone! Now I might just have to blog my grocery shopping list. My griefs against my next-door neighbor for as long as I continue to let him live. Pictures of the dustballs growing on the floor behind our dining room curtains that I’m actually starting to throw food to.
Cuz I don’t care anymore, man. I can’t. I have to work!
This is your fault.
And you’ll pay for it.
Oh, you’ll pay.