It was very kind of so many of you to email and comment asking me to write a new entry. It's been a shamefully long time since my last post, and I know you deserve better than that. I picture you these last ten days, listlessly navigating the internet looking for something to read in the absence of a current post from me, and it makes me sad for you, to think of you falling into internet sinkholes like Anonymous Coworker or Assclownopolis. I haven't felt like dragging myself to the computer and writing lately, and unfortunately, it's you who pays the price by having to read whatever mind-numbing scraps of would-be "entertainment" you can scrounge from lesser blogs. I want to rescue you; I do.
But then again, I have to ask myself: Why should I put forth my blood, sweat and tears slaving away to create witty and enlightening reading material for you when certain other bloggers can't be bothered to get off their big, sweaty asses and do the same for the likes of me? Common Wombat, that lazy, good-for-nothing prick, has blogged exactly twice in the past six months. And sure, I regularly complain that his blog has always been filled with nothing but excruciatingly detailed descriptions of the products of his overworked bowels, but in a rare moment of weakness I'll just admit it now: For some reason, I still find the utter nonsense he writes to be strangely compelling. I can't explain exactly why this is--maybe it's just so I can compare it to the greatness of my own blog content and feel vastly superior, or maybe it's because it's fascinating in the same way it's fascinating to stare at the homeless, the mentally ill and Mighty Dyckerson's family--because we just can't believe there are people out there who live that way.
If either of the two of us should have a greater excuse to take time off from blogging, it's me, not that soulless asswipe. After all, I'm the one who's 7 months pregnant and requires the use of a crane just to haul myself off the couch to tell my 2-year-old to stop putting his face in the dog's water bowl or stop repeatedly bludgeoning the refrigerator with a pair of maracas. Meanwhile, Wombat, that childless, work-from-home shithead, spends his days as free from obligation as he is from the burden of common sense.
Well, I've had enough of this unfair workload. I hereby vow not to blog again until that loafing Communist douchebag drags himself away from daytime soap operas and Maury Povich reruns and pukes up a blog entry. So if you've got any complaints about my poor productivity, go yell at him about it. The ball is in his filthy, roach-infested court. Leave a comment on his barren wasteland of a blog and explain to him that even though you have no interest whatsoever in hearing anything he has to say, it's an ugly means to the beautiful end of getting me to say something here in the fertile sunflower field of my own blog. I'm sure he'll understand.
Excuse me! Some of us post 3 or 4 times a week! Just found your blog-- I'll be visiting often.
Ms. Babble clearly has a thing for Mr. Wombat. You can cut the sexual tension here with a plastic butter knife. Why don't you crazy kids just rent a room and get it over with already?
Dyckerson: Why don't we get a room? Because my good friend Karla is clearly batshit crazy. And I don't mean in a "fun in that sack" kind of way. I mean it in a "Glen Close boiling your rabbit making your life a living hell" sort of way. No way am I poking that beehive with a stick. That's not a metaphor either. Karla's vagina is full of bees.
That being said, I will admit there is a certain appeal to a woman whose gut is almost as big as mine. Hmmmm. Now you've got me thinking... Maybe I should act now before she pops that kid out.
Karla: I foresee this plan of yours backfiring, and my inbox getting swamped with requests that I never ever return to blogging. You've made it far too easy for the people out there with actual taste to kill two birds with one stone.
Wait you WANT Wombat to post? Your hormones must be going nuts.
You make us wait all of this time time for a post and this is what we get? Can you let the 2 year old or the dog write posts in the future?
Everything you do, you do it for me.
It's good to see you back....
Each post is like a peek through the tiny round window into the padded room where the walls are covered with feces and the inmate is rambling wildly, with no concern for personal hygiene or much of anything else, really.
But am I talking about you or Wombat?
CW is probably chilling on some dormant beach amidst bikini central via his newfound lottery winnings.
I think I feel insulted that you didn't mention me in your list of internet sinkholes. Or maybe relieved. I'm not sure.
Yeah, I'm not sure if it was good or bad that I remain unrecognized despite all the unsolicited porn and hate mail I've been sending you. What, you don't like snuff films?
And just think: I am one of the few who know how pretty you are under all that horse puckey. (Trans.: We do not need Common Wombat; we need you.)
A-HEM! I'm right here, you know...
Well, it's been another week without anything...
There. I hope you're happy.
I sometimes post three times a day, but that's because I have no life. I'm relieved other people have lives. God bless you all. (You can take the God part out if you want. I don't care either way.)
The title of this post reminds me of the Republicans.
Hey! I did my part! Quit giving birth and blog already!
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