Bloggy McBlog Blog

Time was a man could have a cup of coffee at Starbucks without having to worry about people talking about him and giggling behind his back. Used to be you could have a cup of coffee and JUST BE LEFT ALONE in order to DRINK YOUR COFFEE IN PEACE! There didn’t used to be neo-nazi sex-girls in black and red spandex repeating quotes from Nitche over and over again in appalingly well pronounced Hoche Douche in the back of every coffee shop. A cup of coffee also used to only be $3.50.

I don’t know about you, but I prefer to add my own sugar and milk. They never get the proportions quite right if they do it for you. And if a cup of coffee isn’t just right that’s an opportunity for a perfect cup of coffee that you’ve missed and is gone forever! You can’t get it back. It’s over. You’re one cup of coffee closer to DEATH and you had a cup of coffee that wasn’t just how you like it. Maybe it had too much sugar in it. Maybe it’s not so weird to want two and a HALF sugars in your coffee. Maybe that’s not so strange. Maybe you shouldn’t make fun of people who ask for that if you run a coffee shop. Maybe you should just make the coffee the way they ask!

And the people in the coffee shop. So many laptops. Some people have three or four. Standing waiting for a table with a laptop in each hand and one tucked under one arm and another held between their knees. So that when a table does become available they drop the one between their knees rushing to get it before some yoga-toned young mother with a stroller and a baby in the stroller gets to it, her breasts screaming “Look at us! Look at us! We’re producing nutrients!” And she sits there, her own laptop perched on the baby’s stomach while she changes it’s diaper and gives it a bottle full of chai, smiling up at the poor man, who has just somehow aquired six more laptops from somewhere. And he smiles back, because what else can you do? You can’t scream at her, you can’t scream “CAN’T YOU TELL I WAS HERE FIRST! I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR A TABLE AND YOU TOOK THIS ONE THAT I WAS LEGITIMATELY ENTITLED TO! IT’S UNFAIR! UNFAIR! I SHOUT TO THE GODS! UNFAIR!” Not in front of the baby. It would cry.

Even I bring my laptop to the coffee shop. But I have to. I have to keep working. I have to keep up with the Work. It’s getting hard. It’s weighing me down, but that’s what is expected of you when you are king of the bloggers.

Hurley, NY — I won’t reveal whether or not I have gotten phone calls from both of the MAJOR POLITICAL PARTIES inquiring about my availability as a presidential candidate. Needless to say if I did receive such a call I would say, “But I thought you already had a candidate lined up.”
“Yeah, well, that’s not working out so well, you know,” They would say.
“Well, I’m not interested in politics,” I would tell them.
“It’s not about politics, sir,” They would say. They would be so respectful, even though they were a mover and a shaker in the US Government and possibly past chairman of a SUBCOMMITTEE. “It’s about making America great again. About uniting a divided country.”
“Yeah,” I’d say. “And kicking those fat cats out of Washington. Who’s going to do that, those fat cats down in washington? I don’t think so… No offense.”
“None taken,” they’d say. “America needs you.”
YES, AMERICA NEEDS ME! BUT THE INTERNETS NEED ME MORE! Not just the US, but the world! I don’t have time to be PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES! When would I have time to blog. I don’t remember the current president blogging in a long time. What about the work? What would happen? It’s not good I tell them, but they beg and plead. The voters of America need someone they can trust. Someone who tells it like it is and keeps it real. They need Bloggy! As president!
But I can’t do it, I tell them again. There are tears in their eyes, I assume, though we’re on the phone, when they finally say they understand. They know how important the work I do is, not just to America, but to all the world. They offer me triple frequent flyer miles for all my travels on Air Force One and will even let me transfer my miles from my current airline frequent flier plan. They even offer me six complimentary upgrade vouchers so I can travel BUSINESS CLASS as president. SIX TIMES!!!! WITHOUT USING ANY OF MY MILES!!!! There are some blackout dates, but it’s a good offer. I’m tempted, I have to admit I am, but still, I think as I sit in my office, looking over the stacks of notes I’ve made for future posts, I have a responsibility to the INTERNETS!!!
They try to sweeten the pot. Passes to Six Flags, a company car, $4,000/night prostitutes, unlimited drink refills, but I tell them “No.” AND THAT’S MY FINAL ANSWER!!!!
I WILL NOT RUN FOR PRESIDENT.

New York, NY — I was sitting at my desk, piled high with research materials, telegrams from well wishers and supeneas, eating my favorite lunch, pizza con le pizze piccole in cima esso, the speciality of a newly opened pizzeria owned by a man from Delaware, when I realized a fundamental literary truth. Jokes with monkeys in them are just funnier than jokes with birds, especially pigeons. Jokes with elephants are good too. Bears and rabbits are good, but only together. Dogs are funny if they can talk. Horses aren’t funny. I made a chart. Someday I will show this chart to other people and it will REVOLUTIONIZE COMEDY THE WAY I HAVE REVOLUTIONIZED THE INTERNETS. People will know what kinds of animals to put in their jokes. They will not make the sort of mistakes they have made in the past. Allow me to illustrate my point.

Joke #1: How can you tell if there have been elephants in your refrigerator? Their footprints in the butter.
Joke #2: How can you tell if there have been rats in your refrigerator? Their footprints in the butter.

You see the difference? The first is an amusing joke you could share with a good friend over a grape soda or a cognac after dinner, chortle for a few moments together and then go back to your hum drum lives a little happier, the load on your metaphorical shoulders a little lighter. The second is just a horrible thing that sometimes actually happens.
Rats aren’t funny. Not normal rats. Damp rats are even less funny. But damp radioactive rats can be funny, but only in movies. For instance it would be funny to have a pretty young girl being chased through a sewer by a pack of damp radioactive rats. One of them leaps and tears her shirt off. She runs up some stairs and burst through a door and she’s running through a soup kitchen full of drunken homeless men and nuns with her woman parts bouncing up and down, followed by hundreds of damp radioactive rats. The nuns scream and run, the homeless men, most of whom are played in the movie by former child actors from TV, assume the rats are just hallucinations brought on by drinking Sterno mixed with Pinesol and Diet Sierra Mist. They shrug off advancing wall of wet rodents, ignoring the frantic buzzing of a geiger counter left behind by the mother superior. Then they rats are upon them, rending their flesh and giving them cancer all at once. But there is this pretty girl jiggling around half naked, so everyone laughs.
Steve Martin once said that comedy was the art of making people laugh without making them… something.. something… He was probably right.
People talk about comedy a lot. More than they should really.

New York, NY — Despite my posting yesterday, which was OFFICIALLY ON THE INTERNETS, someone used the search term “Underage Trailer Whore Meltdown” to find my site. Despite the fact that I specifically blogged NOT TO USE THOSE TERMS! What is wrong with the people who use on the internets? Why do they want to read things about trailer whores, especially ones that are not old enough? The whole trailer whores thing IS OUT OF CONTROL! Do not look at trailer whores on the internets. It is not good for you.
I met a man on the street very recently who had once been on the internets and had accidently gone to a site with pictures of that sort on it. He was a very sad and broken man. His face was sunken. “Sir,” he said to me, because he had not lost his sense of politeness along with the other things he had lost from the things he had seen, “Sir, if you get a chance to mention it in your blog, do tell people that dirty pictures are no joke. Tell them that mere arousal is not reason enough for the production of a work of erotica, the way that mere laughter is reason enough for comedy, despite what Susan Sontag may have said. Tell them that the moral and ethical dilemma involved is far more complex than they ultimately realize and involves both our interactions with others and the way we treat people with whom we have no defined relationship, but also how we view ourselves and our expectations from life. Tell them that sexual fantasy is a healthy expression of the human imagination, but pornography is the embracing of the sexual fantasies of others and can be the death of the imagination.” “No, I will not tell them that.” I said, “There will be no reason for me to bring the subject up. My blog is a family blog, friendly to everyone, and there is no chance that I will have to mention anything like that on my site. But thanks for the suggestion.”
How wrong I was. How very very wrong. So wrong. Wrong. I do have to talk about such things because Bloggy McBlog Blog, king of the bloggers, has been sullied by filth. I have been touched by indecency. And it is clearly the fault of one group and one group only. I have mentioned them before and I hate to have to use my power as a internets pundit to point the ACCUSING FINGER at them once again, but I feel I must. GOOGLE IS AT FAULT! They are the ones who index such words as Trailer, Whore and Meltdown. They are the ones that allow people to come to my site from such searches.
It is as if they were the maitre d’ of the internets and someone came to them, a hand subtly extended with a neatly folded dollar bill in it, and said “Please take me to some filth.” And they brought them HERE! TO MY SITE! I have no filth.
How would you feel if a busload of German tourists arrived at your front door one day, wearing shorts and hawaiian shirts, eating melting, drippy eskimo pies, tiny digital cameras hanging from straps around their wrists and asked to see a donkey having marital relations with a laz-e-boy recliner on your patio or in your den? It is the sort of thing that you worry about night and day and NOW IT HAS HAPPENED TO ME!
“Schnell! Schnell! Aus!!” I say to these metaphorical or possibly similary German tourists. “Kommen Sie nicht her, wenn Sie an den Eseln interessiert sind, die Stühle zuviel lieben! Dieses ist ein sauberer Platz! Es gibt KEINE Schlußteildirnen HIER. Es gibt kein Einschmelzen!!”
But to Google, I say shame! Shame! SHAME! You are no better than a tout! In fact you are much worse because when a person wants to see an underage trailer whore meltdown you show them my site AND THEY ARE BOUND TO BE DISAPPOINTED!

New York, NY — On Monday someone found Bloggy McBlog Blog by searching on Technorati.com for “Eroticism.” I feel so dirty now. Listen to me, Public, that is not the way to find Bloggy McBlog Blog! You must only find this site through clean FAMILY FRIENDLY, SAFE FOR WORK search terms. Do not find me through dirty word searches. I do not run a PORNOGRAPHY WEB SITE. Such a thing would be unthinkable.
Here are some word searches that, when used properly, will help you find Bloggy McBlog Blog:

• “Bloggy McBlog Blog”
• “Bloggy McBlog”
• “McBlog Blog”

That’s it! PLEASE DO NOT FIND MY SITE USING ANY OTHER SEARCH TERMS!” It is not meant to be found using search terms that are DIRTY or INACCURATE! That is no way to find my site, typing in terms like “Underage Trailer Whore Melt Down” or “Butts Up, Doc.” Those are terrible search terms.

New York, NY — According to my internets machine some one came to my site after doing a search on Google for the term “I Am Fat.” I am incensed. Either Google thinks that I am fat, which is not the case. Or they think my site is the sort of site that fat people would enjoy. That there is something about my site that would be particularly appealing to overweight people.
I really wanted to let this whole fat thing slide. I was done with it. I might have offended a couple of people with my comments about how enormous fat people got in my way at the mall, but I think I made it pretty clear later on that I DO NOT HATE FAT PEOPLE. But despite that, I DO NOT THINK MY SITE IS OF PARTICULAR INTEREST TO THE OBESE! I welcome them, along with everyone else, but why does Google, A BIG COMPANY, think that fat people would appreciate me more than anyone else? WHY, I ask you?
Could it be that Google, in fact, hates fat people. I think this is the case. They send these people to my site because they want them to be insulted by my posts. But Google, I have something to say to you, I DO NOT HATE FAT PEOPLE. I will not insult them. My site is for all peoples, skinny, fat, bald, pert-breasted, all people! I will not be your BAD COP and insult the fat people you send to me. I will not do your DIRTY DIRTY work and make people fee bad because YOU DO NOT LIKE THEM GOOGLE!
Don’t feel bad fat people. Google is not a nice search engine, clearly. You can search on Yahoo, or maybe you would enjoy asking Jeeves, who is himself slightly portly. And you are always welcome here, because Bloggy McBlog Blog is not just the king of the skinny bloggers, he is the king of all bloggers!

New York, NY — Some mornings it’s hard to get out of bed, the sheer effort that will be required of me that day — the blogging, the thinking, the typing, the trips to the bathroom — seems completely overwhelming. I don’t think I can handle it. I lie in bed, staring up at the feet going past my window and pray to whatever divine powers there are to help me get through another 24 hours of the WORK. Other mornings I’m not in bed when I wake up. That makes it easier. I’m still in my chair from the night before. Or on the kitchen floor. Once I was in the shower, but the water wasn’t on.
What do I do on those hard mornings? Those mornings when the struggle to begin the day seems equivalent to the landing at Normandy, France during WORLD WAR II when we fought against the Germans and WON? I do what I have to do. I pull myself up and I say to myself, “You have to do this. There are people out there staring at their RSS feeds waiting for you to blog. People with so little in their lives that they sit by their computers all day, looking for some tiny morsel of solace, some bit of wisdom or even mere ENTERTAINMENT to help them forget whatever it was that made them want to get a computer in the first place. I think of those people. Then I think of those people in their underwear. Then I think of some of those people in their underwear. And then I think of some of those people in the rest of those people’s underwear. It can go on like this all morning, but it’s worth it. IT ALLOWS ME TO CONTINUE THE WORK!
I’ve had a number of people ask me about Scotty. He seems to be doing better. I visited him in the hospital again. There were tubes going into his arm and up his nose and other places. The doctors thought they would probably be able to remove the tubes and said he should be more careful next time. He looked up at me in that way he has, “Mister,” he said, as he will do, “Mister, if I don’t make it, will you write about me in your blog?” “Aw, kid,” I said, “I’m writing about you in my blog right now.” “Wow, mister, does that mean I’m dead?” “I don’t think so,” I said, “but it’s hard to say, we might all be dead and this could be the afterlife. We might all be condemned to repeat this existence over and over again, with only minor variations until we finally get it right and achieve some sort of balance and are able to move on.” “Wow, mister, that’s really made me think.” “Take it easy kid, the doctors say you shouldn’t think too much, if your forehead gets wrinkled you could slip into another coma.” “Ok, mister,” he said, “I won’t think, not too much. I’ll just read your blog and not think about it. I’ll just read it and read it and read it. I don’t need to think! I have you!”
If only there were more sick kids like Scotty out there. Except maybe for the being bedridden. Most kids need to get up out of bed for a couple of hours a day or they get doughy.

New York, NY — They said it couldn’t be done. Not by anyone. Not even by me, they said. But I AM DOING IT! I have started ANOTHER BLOG! I have three blogs now. I am blogging three times as many times as MOST BLOGGERS! The strain is almost unbearable. I must work day and night to satisfy the insatiable maw of the blog reading public. I have no time for sleep, no time for fancy restaurant meals. Celebrities call and ask me to go out to dinner with them, so they can show off their supposed association with the King of the Bloggers. But I have no time for that. Just the other day Al Gore called, “Hey, Bloggy, I’m here at Nobu with the Olsen twins and the ghost of Jimmy Stewart, why don’t you come over and we’ll buy you dinner.” “No,” I said, “I can’t. I have to blog. I have not time for fancy restaurant meals.” He said, “I’m trying to stop global warming, which could, ultimately, wipe out all life on our planet, but even I have to stop and eat.” “Well, what I’m doing is too important for me to consider my own health and well being. I’ll just open another pack of pop-tarts and get back to work.” I didn’t mention that I also thought it might be a little awkward since I used to have a thing with one of the Olsen twins.
So I keep blogging. I have to wear a special blogging brace now, because of the strain. It’s not comfortable, or attractive, but I have to do whatever I can to keep going. I sit here in my darkened office, surrounded by reference materials, police scanners, yellow legal pads and dozens of carefully cross-referenced three ring binders. I shuffle through the mail every day for tips and insider information from my sources, but all I get is more “Final Notices” from the utility companies and magazine subscriptions that other bloggers sign me up for as a joke. They’re so petty.
Sometimes other bloggers will gather outside my small basement window and make hooting noises and call out “Bloggggggy, Bloggggggy!” Until finally I can’t stand it any more and I scream “WHAT!?!” And they say “Nothing.” And then they all laugh. But it’s not funny. They’re just distracting me from the WORK. They don’t want me to succeed. I’m setting the bar too high for them. If I show the world what one blogger can do, without the help of major corporate backing, they’ll all look like the pampered fat cats they really are. Do any of them have THREE blogs? Probably not too many of them? And how many of them will be starting a new blog every Monday for the rest of the year? NONE OF THEM! ONLY I WILL BE DOING THAT! Because I am Bloggy McBlog Blog. King of the bloggers.

New York, NY — My mind, pregnant with blogging possibilities now must labor to push out ANOTHER BLOG. Where will I get my ideas? How can I sustain this level of creative activity? Many people ask that. I tell them I don’t know. But as much as I feel I can’t go on, that same amount, or maybe just a little more, I feel I can’t stop. The next blog is in there, pushing at the backs of my eyeballs, standing on my inner ear, waiting for it’s moment. I can no more hold it back than I can hold back the laughter of children at the circus when all the clowns come pouring out of the clown car and the third or fourth clown along is dressed like a firefighter and he sprays the kids with a hose, but instead of water out comes confetti. And out of my hose come BLOG ENTRIES!

New York, NY — I’m not sure what the great bloggers of yesteryear blogged about. If I was blogging in Paris in the 1870s what would I blog about? The poor quality of the ruffles on this season’s new foppish men’s blouses? How little I liked to step into HORSE POO? What did these people blog about on their primitive wire and glass bloggeriphones? All that is LOST TO HISTORY. But I know what people blog about now. They blog about working in offices. They blog about how they work in a cubicle, and the person in the cubicle next to their cubicle has some sort of habit or makes some sort of sound or emits some sort of odor or something that is annoying or that that person is ACTUALLY HITLER! How many times have you read that on a blog, “My cubicle neighbor is really Hitler, I’m sure of it.”
Well, the sheer mathematics almost GUARANTEES that MOST IF NOT ALL of these people are not HITLER’S NEIGHBORS! If Hitler was alive he would be well past the AGE OF RETIREMENT for most US or European countries. And we can be sure that a man who so symbolizes evil incarnate would have an office. With a window. And a couch along one wall.
I’ve worked in offices, before I was king of the bloggers and didn’t need to WORK FOR A LIVING anymore. I used to sit in an uncomfortable chair and look at a computer and move the mouse around. Just like Dilbert. Only my tie did not have a perpetual erection as if it had seen a sexy handkerchief or table napkin or whatever would SEXUALLY AROUSE A TIE. And I did not perpetually have a cup of coffee in one hand as I walked around saying demeaning things to my coworkers and disrespecting my employer. No, I don’t drink coffee.
That’s right, Bloggy McBlog Blog does not drink coffee. It’s a subtle nuance to my character that you have now learned. I’m beginning to open up to you, to show you my soft underbelly that you might try to poke with a SHARP STICK. But I trust you. I trust that these little intimate details will make you feel more sympathetic. They will draw you in.
The office I worked in was very much like any other office. I sat in the desk next to grizzled veteran Fish, who complained constantly about his prostate and counted the days until retirement when he would inexplicably open an orphanage where 8 wacky teenagers would live. And then there was Wojciehowicz, the big lovable good looking brute, with out much brains, but plenty of heart. We all called him Wojo. He had a real way with the ladies. There was Yemana who was in Flower Drum Song. And our boss, wise, smart, patient Barney. He put up with so much and took it all with that charming semitic wit. People would come through with their nutty problems and we locked some of them in a large green cage that just happened to be there. The odd thing is that despite the fact that I worked there for years I don’t remember any part of the building besides that one room, and occasionally Barney’s office.
But those days are long gone. I no longer have to work for THE MAN to earn my bread. I am self-sufficent, I am Bloggy McBlog Blog, King of the Bloggers.