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.