Archive for June, 2010

I say again: there are no pictures of Miley Cyrus minus her panties here. Nope.

But I’ll bet this post that has nothing whatsoever to do with naked Miley Cyrus brings in a whole new kind of readership.

Ha. I crack myself up.

For those not here for the allegedly-underwear-challenged Miley, just a stunning ol’ newsflash for you: a substantive post is actually coming. I mean one with no meta-narratives about blogging or strange digressions into the depths of irrelevancy.

Okay, I can promise the former, but not the latter. Stay tuned.

Oh, and since some of you traveled from afar just for the under-whelmingly quasi-talented equine-faced and very under-aged Ms. Cyrus, here’s a real picture of her and some really big boobs. Enjoy!

Because I really care about my readers.


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Blog Policy # 2: No changin’ boo-boos once its published. Unless, you know, they’re extra-special retahded boo-boos.

(Note: I don’t remember what Blog Policy # 1 is. But I’ll bet there was one. Or 12.)

So I’m lackadaisically skimming what I laughingly refer to as “content” on my blog, stuff I’ve written prior to today. (I’d put “written” in scare quotes, too, but c’mon, this self-deprecating shtick isn’t infinite, you know?)

And as I’m reading, I notice a whole bunch of errors just about leaping off the page and slapping me in the noggin.

Which frankly is just fine on a nonsensical blog about nonsense. Who cares that I wrote “too” when I mean “to?” Do you? How is your canoe? Sorry. OCD causes people to rhyme. Some of the time. Stop it now, I mean it! Does anybody want a peanut?

Ah, raise your hand if you caught that last allusion. Sigh. I miss Andre the Giant. On the plus side, Princess Buttercup finally divorced evil Prince What’s-his-dick so she’s available now.

Mr. Hand was right about you.

Even by my standards of complete non-focus, that was some Grade A top-choice USDA approved digression right there, folks. You’re welcome.

Speaking of “you’re” – here’s the problem I foresee in the future: as a writer, the language, the words, the grammar, the structure … it is more than just a tool of communication. It is everything. It is how you are perceived; it is, in a way, your physical and metaphysical presence. Judgments are made instantaneously about your competence and intelligence and character … all based on the perfection of your language.

This was true even before the magnificently historic rise of the Internet-tubes. But now all substantive discussions are shaded by sideways glances at the tools used to participate in the conversation.

In simpler terms – which I should probably stick with, so that all 2 of my readers can follow me here – on the Internet, no matter how brilliant you may be, some jackhole in Boise is going to counter your rhetorical genius by pointing out that “you’re” and “your” ain’t the same words, and since you used them wrong, your an idiot.

Ha. See what I did their? And there?

God, I’m funny.

But if I can squander my comedic genius for a moment, let me just reiterate that none of this is a problem on the current blog. However, future plans might actually include – you know – substance. Some of which might actually result in – you know – readers. And discussion. And maybe even controversy.

Unfortunately, on the Internet, ideas are always secondary to whatever appeals to the least common denominator in the readership, and “gotcha” games about punctuation are where the most common of the least common denominator crowd always likes to start. Becuz illiteracy is fun and stuff!

So here’s the quandary: no matter my obvious mastery of all things related to the written word, I will screw up. Because I’m not God. Or Mat Damon. I’m only human.

Two choices: 1) I could diligently check and recheck each post, correcting all errors; or 2) I could just leave it alone and cover my ass in advance with a post like this one!

All great writers become great during the editing process. But that requires work, and since much of this blog is an ode to the joys of laziness, that would sort of run contrary to our philosophy here at Words R Us.

But there’s also a serious point: errors, by pointing out our humanity and fallibility, remind each of us that our minds should be open to other ideas and perceptions; our imperfections remind us that perhaps we don’t know everything and see everything.

It also reminds us to be gentle with others. For example, I glance over at my “categories” for blog posts and notice that I spelled “heroes” without the “e.” Pardon my language here, but what the fuck? “Heros” isn’t a word. It’s not even a sandwich. It doesn’t even look right. So how’d I managed to screw that up so badly?

The answer is that I ain’t perfect. And sure, leaving mistakes leaves me wide open to the ever popular Internet Grammar-and-Spelling Gestapo … but that’s okay. Because picking on that stuff just means you’re an idiot. I mean your an idiot. Or something. (Confession: I’m as guilty as anyone of playing Punctuation Police while debating something. But I also know that its very, very lame. So there. Or their. Or they’re.)

So I leave my mistakes to maintain my humility.

That seems to me to be a very good thing. I mean let’s face it: after this blog goes global and I’m practically drowning in Dom Perignon and supermodels, I’ll need something to keep me humble. Right?

So the policy is simple: once it hits the news stand, its there forever, for all the world to see.

Because we all need Heros.

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A brief recap (which is, you know, sort of funny, since¬† “recap” implies prior substance):

I’m a writer. One who never rarely writes. Which is probably a good thing. Because if I actually wrote, people would realize I can’t write. This way, I can convince myself that my prodigious talents lie untapped in giant oily pools of brilliance, and if BP would only come along and drill me the whole world would see the truth!

As always, I now must digress: first, that last sentence up there is so full of muddled accidentally Freudian innuendo that I find myself both embarrassed and proud; second, there is some uncomfortable truth about myself (and about a lot of folks, I suspect) in that strange little burble: specifically, that I avoid working at things specifically to hide from the possible unpleasant truth that maybe no matter how hard I worked, I’d fail.

Interesting. If I had a shrink, I’d share that tidbit.

Of course, maybe I’m just terminally lazy.

Regardless, as I’ve covered extensively in prior 100% substance-free posts which I’m now recapping, I started blogging primarily to write about my current military exploits. Which have been almost infinitely entertaining, enlightening, and amusing … if only I’d actually, you know, written about them.

That changes today. I swear. No more procrastination.

So here I am in Iraq. Iraq sucks. And I promise to write all about it. Seriously. If you don’t stop laughing at me, I swear to God I’ll …


Update: so although I just embarked on this rigorously enforced New Year’s Eve Resolution to blog daily (hush, you. I know it’s June 20th. It’s the Chinese New Year today, isn’t it?¬† No? Just go with it, people) and I have to point out that – thanks to the wonderful country of Iraq, in which the infrastructure resembles decades-old moldy boogers stuck under a schoolkid’s chair – I’ll be losing my Internet connection in about a week … and Allah knows when I’ll be getting it back up again.

Oops, more Freudian stuff inserted into my post.

Ha. Inserted. See what I did there?

Just wanted to note this in advance, because terminal laziness is always much more effective as a life strategy when you plan ahead.

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