I’ve come to the gradual realization that Yahoo Answers is the electronic version of The Magic 8 Ball. In other words, it’s the biggest pile of shit ever plopped into a flaming paper bag and dropped onto your virtual doorstep since the dawn of the Internet.
Here’s how it works:
1.) User asks a question seeking a valid response.
2.) Question is then made available to a general population of experts, comprised mainly of YouTube trolls, single men over the age of forty, and juvenile hipsters. Answers are typically never longer than five words, and usually written in butchered English or hipster shorthand.
99.99% of the replies found on the site are also found written on dumpy bar bathroom stall doors in black Sharpie pen across the continent. Thanks to the contributions made by the single males over the age of forty group, .01% of the information found on the site is not entirely useless.
I’m still trying to figure out why it exists? It’s like a pipeline for fucking morons, and a few other Jeopardy rejects. Do these folks not have access to Google? With a half billion websites at our disposal, there’s bound to be a few pieces of information out there to meet your need, right?
Let’s look at an Example:
What is the correct title to use on a cover letter if a job posting doesn’t have a recipient name listed?
If a specific name is not listed on the job posting, an appropriate title would be: Dear Hiring Manager.
PlainGuy1972 **Single Male over 40 group.
PlainGuy1972 is clearly the outlier in this pack of apes. Let’s have a look at some of the other responses…
I don’t think dat it matterz cuz if you work hard and try at your job interview den you shouldn’t have to even write one. <3 <3 <3
L8erSk8er **Most likely a YouTube Troll…
Good luck finding a job. Company’s aren’t hiring because of the repressed economy, and too many jobs are moving overseas. I’m not sure how the U.S. is going to to compete with China’s economic growth in the coming decades. On top of that, I’ll never see a Social Security check. Thanks a lot, Obummer.
DamnYankee456 **Thanks for not giving two shits about my question…
MorpheusFTW **Over-analyzer. Definitely a Jeopardy reject. Matrix Junkie too. Matrix Junkie too. (See what I did there?)
I don’t think you needa cover letter for some places like where I got my job at Taco Bell. Dey jus need to know dat you know how to work. Lolz! K, bye!
MaloryBabez97 **There are aliens among us…
- 85% of Respondents would likely fail a standard 5th grade literacy test.
- 34% of Respondents probably don’t know how to spell the word literacy.
- 34% of Respondents speak fluent Hipster.
- 17% of Respondents pose a threat to your computer security.
- 17% of Respondents pose a threat to national security.
- 100% of this post is made up.
And that’s all I got.
Cheers to a happy May. April, you can kiss my skinny ass.
-Happy Blogging \m/
…so I’m sitting in this cafe, slumped over a piss-warm cup of dark roast coffee, casually tossing ashes into the tray at the end of the table. The lighting is inadequate where I’m seated, making it difficult to study the entrees on the menu.
I pick up on a one-sided conversation coming from the booth adjacent to me, involving a pig-headed suit and tie, yammering into a phone about a stock deal gone sour. The woman seated in front of the man appears emotionally detached, which is indicated by her body language. She ignores the man and blankly stares off at a young female clearing the surrounding tables.
I’m overcome with remorse for the woman and her situation, finding myself privately analyzing the dysfunctional correlation between the two. Clearly, she’s numb inside; another wandering soul, financially bound to some corporate meat head.
The murmur throughout the diner adds to the endless chatter taking place in my head, but the humming is abruptly halted when, without warning, an explosive discharge of profanities and pent-up rage erupts out of the woman.
The man immediately stands up and begins violently shouting back, exchanging threats with the fragile aggressor. The conflict quickly escalates, and I find myself growing increasingly discomforted by it. My gut screams of something horrible about to happen, yet I’m unable to flee. I can’t move. I’m stuck.
My instincts are validated when the women reaches into the cleavage of her blouse and draws a concealed pistol from it. My anxiety is now at a rolling boil. Her hands tremble as she extends the cold, steely weapon in front of the man’s face at point-blank range. Her lips quivering, tears streaming down the crevasses of her swollen face.
“You see this? I traded in my wedding band for it. I couldn’t stomach looking at it anymore. It was nothing but a constant reminder of what a cold-hearted pig you are. This…this right here? This is all you do: pretend to be some big-shot with your fancy suits and loud-talk. I’m sick of it. I’m sick and tired of you dragging me around like some kind of a god damn trophy. You don’t respect me. You don’t care about me. Today is the day that it ends, Norman. Today is the day that I make everything right. But before I do, I want you to know this: you’re a lousy, selfish, half-witted creep that ain’t even worth the cost of that napkin dispenser…“
The last thing that came out of her mouth:
“…Eat lead, Chowderhead.”
And that’s when I woke up…
A few weeks ago I was experiencing a blog identity crisis and announced that I would be undergoing a sex change. I mean a name change. Since then, amid all of your incredibly cool suggestions, and all of the dumbass names that I came up with myself, I still haven’t decided on one.
My indecisiveness leads me to believe one of two things: 1.) I’m not incorporating enough essential fatty oils into my diet, or 2.) I’m pregnant.
All that aside, I made a promise that I intend to keep and I’m gonna make good on it today. But I’m changing the rules up a bit; instead of blabbing on and on about one person, one winner, I’m about to throw a bunch of thick-skinned blogger buddies of mine onto the barbecue.
Congratulations. You’re all winners of the Name Adam’s Dumb Blog Contest!
Here’s how the whole thing’s gonna play out: I rip you to pieces, you cry for a few minutes, then you send me an anonymous death threat or a horse head, then we hug and makeup, and then you drop me a PayPal contribution for publicizing your blog! I just threw that last part in there. It’s not mandatory.
The Premise of the Roast:
I have a couple of really sharp computer geek friends that figured out a way to reverse the search term feed. I know who used what search terms to find my blog, and today I’m gonna let the dirty little kitty out of the bag. I’ll also try my best to address your long-forgotten queries. Of course I’m making all this shit up right now, but just play along.
So sit back, relax, crack a beer, throw some ABBA on the stereo, and soak up the sweet insults of the First Inaugural Roast.
Forgive me in advance.
It sounds like someone has been bumpin’ plugs with some dirty strange if you know what I’m sayin’. I don’t think those bumps are from your highly unfashionable, nylon runner shorts; you may well have caught your first raging case of gonorrhea. Well, you could easily be a repeat recipient of the crotch-critters, but who am I to judge? Merbear, head to your nearest clinic. Stat. And stay away from public restrooms in the meantime.
Blogger: Lady Anonymous: Blog Title: Alien Red Queen
Search Terms: “My boa constrictor makes a farting sound out of her mouth.”
You know, you always struck me as one of those chicks that shows up to some really elaborate wedding sporting shredded fishnets, combat boots, miscellaneous spiked-jewelry, and fucking purple hair. Queen of the damned. I can picture you all gothed-out, holding a one-sided debate with Ed the bartender about the current political climate in Sudan. Ed’s not listening. He’s staring at your eyeliner. And your hooters. Oh, and by the way, who buys a boa constrictor?
Which part is the fantasy here: the steamy sex scene with your interviewer, or actually finding an interview? I just consulted with my magic eight ball to determine the likelihood of either and here’s what it said: Fat Chance.
Blogger: Becca Blog Title: 25 to Fly
Search Terms: “My masterpiece liquor dispenser is broken how do you fix?”
I think the hair dye is starting to leach into your grey matter, darling. Anyone that can’t tell the difference between a hammer and a band saw should either call a handyman or toss it in the garbage. If you don’t heed my advice, you might not have any fingers left for me to put a ring onto.
Oh god, first Hasselhoff and now this tool? So Jen, if he did smoke, would that tarnish his otherwise flawless character? His whiny voice, corny hairdo, and the fact that he was kind of married to Helen Hunt doesn’t factor in? If he does smoke that would be the only cool thing about him (Don’t listen to me, kids. And stay in school). He strikes me as a Virginia Slims kinda guy anyways, which totally kills all that. You’re too uptight, Jen. Drink a fucking beer.
Blogger: Cathy Ulrich Blog Title: Large Self
Search terms: “Steven Segal Spine Punch.”
When Cathy’s not busy taking pictures of flowers and writing inspirational poetry, she’s reading up on how to perform violent Judo take-downs. I’m making a point to tread lightly here. If I say something stupid and we happen to cross paths in the future, chances are likely that I could end up in the back of a meat wagon with a dislocated head, courtesy of Dr. Ulrich. You look very lovely today, Cathy. Lovely indeed.
That’s a dump truck full of bullshit. You’re probably not aware of this, but we have a mutual friend, Amy. I know for a fact that you’ve been quarantined on drinking holiday weekends on more than one occasion. I also know about your lighter trick performance back in college. Video Proof: click here.
Blogger: Calahan Blog Title: B.L.O.G.
Search Terms: “One seated band wagon.”
Mike, your hair is definitely riding a one-seated band wagon. Ditch the mousse. Helmet hair hasn’t been in style since the 50’s. Neither has your blog. It’s gotta be difficult finding a jug of Drain-o in your homentown with you living in it. I can’t even imagine how many gallons a week it requires to keep your shower water from backing up because of all the fucking hair product you stuff into your plumbing. B.L.O.G: (B)uys (L)ots (O)f (G)el
Blogger: Madame Weebles Blog Title: Fear No Weebles
Search Terms: “Offended you are Yoda.”
Star Wars Nerds…
Don’t worry, Weebles, Yoda not I am. Or something like that. If it wasn’t for all of the nauseating publicity that you fan geeks get at these conventions with your themed weddings and Vader-humping get-ups, I wouldn’t even know what the hell a Yoda was…
Blogger: Edward Hotspur Blog Title: Edward Hotspur Search Terms: “I’m feeling verklempt.”
Oh stop crying, Eddie. This Romantic Monday stuff is elevating your estrogen levels. That makes me weepy. Listen, Ed, if you don’t start focusing more on testosterone-boosting activities like beer curling, hammer throwing, and chain saw woodcarving, you might start growing breasts soon. So bottoms up. Now go buy a chainsaw and start practicing. Start with something simple: a carving of Mt. Rushmore.
Blogger: Lillian Blog Title: High, High, Higher!
Search Terms: “there are already so many good blogs”
Keep practicing, Lillian. One day you’ll be this good. No I’m just kidding. That’ll never happen. Freshly Pressed twice you say? The WordPress editors were clearly drunk. Both days.
Blogger: “Yo.” Blog Title: Tales from the Motherland
Search Terms: “Blog straight from the gut bitches”
I know I wasn’t supposed to do this, and I won’t. However, I will say that your infatuation with the Adam and Becca show is now bordering on Glen Close in the movie, Fatal Attraction. Just a heads up, I’m filing a restraining order against you next Wednesday. Lawyer up, you nut.
Blogger: Pixie girl Blog Title: Exploring Pixie
Search Terms: ”Outdated Halloween Outfits.”
I see you took some time out of your grueling piano practice schedule, which probably consists of Chopsticks and the first five notes of the Sesame Street Theme Song, in order to update your wardrobe. There’s no doubt in my mind that you’re a Walmartian. Look, there goes Pixie Girl with her little fairy wings strapped to her back, floating aimlessly down the dairy isle in search of a loaf of bread. Clearly your school investments did jack shit to improve your financial situation. Or for that matter, your IQ.
Blogger: John Blog Title: Society Red
Search Terms: “I’m really lucky I took my hidden cam that day, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to shoot this hottie’s sexy big ass in grey butt pants.”
It’s clear now why you transitioned from construction worker to massage therapist: you’re a pervert. I’m starting to wonder if Society Red is a secret voyeur cult. I got my eye on you, Grandmaster John. I’m sure you got your eye on me too. And anyone wearing grey butt pants.
Blogger: Amber Blog Title: Lady lovely Blogger
Search Terms: “I’m warming my lips.”
Ok, I’m just gonna say it: I think you’re one of those anonymous hardcore sex bloggers. The gushy-poetry thing is just a fluffy diversion. Fess up. You’re a closet sex addict. And hey, since your lips are good and warm right now, why don’t you put them to good use? Wait, let me bend over first.
Blogger: Annonymous Hornball Blog Title: Fat Bottom Girl Said What
Search Terms: “Demonstrations on how to shave my pubis and cookie for my man.”
Where would you even find the time to shave your cookie? It seems like most of your free time is spent guzzling cheap beer and Facebook stalking all the guys that dumped your crazy ass after one date. The rest of your time is spent crying about it on WordPress. I was picturing an intimate dinner date with you just now and it went something like this: “Check please.”
Whew, that was fun!
You know, when I scroll through that list of mugshots, I don’t just see a collection of random people that willingly subjected themselves to public humiliation, I see a list of some of my absolute favorite blogger friends. Not only are all you people really good at your crafts, but you’re also good at inspiring, motivating, and encouraging others that share the same passion.
Speaking personally, at one point or another you’ve all helped prop me up during the dark times, flattered or complimented me when I sucked, encouraged me to keep writing when I wanted to quit, and inspired me when I didn’t have anything left in the tank.
Not only have you all played a part in the evolution of this dumb blog, but more importantly, you’ve inspired a very personal evolution. Nowhere else will I ever find this much heartfelt support for a silly pipe dream of mine. I can count the people on one hand in real life that support my writing. But here is different. I’d need a lot more hands. \m/
And lastly, I wanted to make honorable mention of one person in particular on the list: Jules, the author of the blog, McCrabass. Thank you for all your help outside the blogosphere. You’re an immense talent and a very gifted mind. Thanks for taking the time to point me in a direction. You have a big heart. I’m still your number one fan.
I wish I could have included everyone, but damn, this took a long time to put together. Thank you all again for being good sports. And thank you to everyone else not mentioned here that I interact with regularly. You’re all very much loved and appreciated. We’ll see where this whole thing goes.
Sorry for being a dick.
Thanks for your contributions:
- Jean, author of Wholey Jeans
- Tracy, author of, um, Tracy Fulks
- Sara, author of Laments and Lullabies
- Jenn, author of Jenn’s Midlife Crisis
- Vanessa-Jane, author of Vanessa-Jane Chapman
- Mystery Lady, author of Happy Zinny
- Mystery Lady #2, author of Words Fall From My Eyes
Feel free to test the thickness of my skin in the comment section.
- Happy Blogging \m/
- My Right to Bitch Facts and Fallacies (righttobitch.com)
- What Kind of Blogger Are You? 7 Different Blogger Types Explained. (zemanta.com)
- Bloggedy Blog Blog Blog (jessessential.com)
Alright, so dig this, I’m going on a solo flight in a couple of days and I’m wiggin’ out.
I’m not all that big on flying, so I’ve been spending a lot time in the fetal position, whimpering like a sissy. I thought this might be sort of therapeutic for me, ya know? Write it out, Adam, just write it out…
See, I’m not one of those people that’s afraid of crashing and dying. Honestly, I can think of much worse ways of expiring, like, for instance, being eaten by Hannibal Lecter. That would suck much more than a really brief, but really fun, roller coaster ride into the ocean.
Maybe I shouldn’t tempt fate…
What I am afraid of is all of the ridiculous scenarios that I create in my mind before I even set foot on the plane. Consequently, (I like that word) for the past week and a half I’ve been chain-smoking and building a collection of virtual self-help books, which now rivals the Library of Congress. At the moment, I’m working on a chapter in one of my anxiety miracle cure books called, “how to stop worrying about spraying projectile vomit all over the guy in the seat next to you.”
That would be one of those ridiculous scenarios. Not that it wouldn’t be possible I guess, but I haven’t tossed my cookies since I was an infant. That is of course if you don’t count that one time when I went to that Lebanese restaurant after a night of heavy drinking a few years back. But that was only like a violent vurp – not really full on hurl.
In any case, I realize now that not only do I have this longstanding phobia of just about everything, but a particularly bad phobia of all things vomit. God I hate that word. They actually have a name for it too: emetephobia. Gnarly!
Emetephobia, is what self-help guru’s refer to as an “Irrational fear.” I would have to agree, it is irrational, because chances are likely that I’m not really going to give two shits about the guy sitting next to me for a number of reasons:
1.). He might be an armrest-stealer.
2.) He might be a talker, which means kiss my Yatzy Addict Tournament goodbye.
3.) He could be a projectile vomiter, which would do absolutely nothing to help me rid myself of emetephobia.
I hope he’s just an armrest-stealer…
I’m rambling now. Shut up, man. Does this give me a free pass for slacking on reading everyone’s stuff? I’m acting like such an attention whore right now, I know. Please tell me to stick a sock in it and man up.
Oh, and I still don’t have a clue what I’m gonna name this blog, not that it’s all that important, but you know, The Artist Formerly Known as My Right to Bitch is gonna be a really hard one to plug to random strangers on the plane: “Hey, you should read my blog, it’s called…wait, do you have about five minutes to spare?”
Louisiana or bust…
- Vomiting Robot Pukes for Science (news.discovery.com)
- Larry the vomiting robot goes ‘viral’ while helping researchers study norovirus (thestar.com)
Look at me goin’ all Prince up in here…
This informal name blogging contest thingy is getting fun! Thank you so much for all your suggestions. Honestly, you guys are a clever brand. I’m in good company. Oh, and Calahan, stop being so damn funny.
I always wanted to do this. This post is like a magic trick explained – debunked. I’m blowing the mystique of David Blaine so to speak. Of course, I’m only assuming that you too think he has mystique. If not, disregard the comment.
Today is a continuation of this whole cleansing/purging ritual that I’ve succumbed to. I wanted to take this opportunity to present to you a list of fallacies about me and this page which you may or may not have mistaken for fact. If I were a famous musician this might be something you’d find in the “box set”. Some of it you may find shocking. Some of you might even hurl. So, grab a bucket and keep it close.
Behold, MY RIGHT TO BITCH unmasked:
MRTB Fallacy #1 I Loath Hypothetical Questions.
In two of my past posts, Hypothetically Speaking, and Still Speaking Hypothetically, I spewed off about how much I loath unanswerable questions. This a fabrication. I actually love ’em. Find as many as you can and I’ll find a disturbingly creative way to answer them.
MRTB Fallacy #2 I’m Not Into Small-Talk
In another post, 5 Creative Ways to Avoid Small Talk, I played the role of a social-phoebe. The truth is, I’ll talk to you until your ears bleed. There’s nothing in this world I love more than chillin’ out on a patio, in the middle of the summer, drinkin’ beers and yackin’ it up with good company. I’ll even pay. However, if The Bragger, Story Teller Steve, Religious Rick, or Political Pete show up, the party’s movin’ indoors, followed by a deadbolt. Oh, and I am Too Much Information Guy. But you knew that already…
MRTB Fallacy #3 I’m a Picky Halloween Candy-Eater
Back in October, Don’t Be a Halloweiner included a list of sucky candy not to pass out to trick-or-treaters. I told a white lie. There are three items on that list that I actually love: Mounds, Almond Joy bars, and Raisinettes. Whoppers still actually do suck. As a kid I never liked any of them, however. I think all kids are genetically hard-wired to hate those candies. That much is true, so don’t pass them out. Seriously, this is science talking. Never argue with science. Unless you’re catholic.
MRTB Fact # 1 The Fruitless Pursuit of an Anonymous Hacker is a True Story.
I do dumb shit like this all the time. I get riled up about something, then drive around trying to figure out a plan to right all the injustices of this world. I usually give up soon after departure, and head back with my tail between my legs. Then I end up sitting down someplace to chain smoke and mull it over.
Yes, you read that correctly. She’s kind of turdy most of the time, but the chick knows personal finance better than you. And me. Although, despite her financial wizardry, she’ll never be protected from future Fotoshopping efforts. Ever. It’s too easy. Speaking of, she’s also not really missing a tooth, but I think I mentioned that already. You gotta admit, it was a seamless Fotoshop-job.
Both times. I can already see the comments…
MRTB Fact # 4 I Love Reading Books
The problem is that I rarely finish any of them. I’m not that big on novels, however. I don’t think I’ve made it past the fourth chapter of any of the so called Classics. Go ahead, blast me. The problem is that I get sidetracked when people speak in fucking Olde English. I’m sure it’s a classic, however, I found the first forty pages or so to be extremely uninteresting and confusing. Plus, I would much rather make up my own stories. Side note: I have to credit my Grandma for teaching me how to story-tell. When we were little kids she’d always make up bedtime stories on the fly. They were all better than any of the crap I write.
MRTB Fact # 5 I Do Poetry and Short Screenplays
But you won’t find any of it here because it’s not for prying eyes! I’m not Spielberg or Edgar Allen Poe by any stretch, but I dabble in both from time to time. Scripting is actually the reason I started the whole blogging thing in the first place. See, a lot of people that write scripts (not me) are really fucking snooty. They act like they’re all carrying around the next Forest Gump Screenplay. Give me a break. I always wanted to make a Short Film, but it’s virtually impossible to network with people in the trade. Ah bite me. Now I write blog posts instead. It’s funner. More fun, I mean…
Anywhoozle, I feel better. If you have any deep, burning questions for me, ask now or forever hold your peace.
In the meantime, I’m gonna go grab another espresso. With some vodka in it.
- Happy Blogging, Rock Stars \m/
- Valentine’s Candy Messages for the Cynical Single Person (righttobitch.com)
- Failing at Fotoshop (righttobitch.com)
- Hypothetically speaking… (davesmythjr.wordpress.com)
What?! You’re pullin’ my leg! Say it isn’t so, Adam?!
I’m sorry. It’s true. After the week has concluded I will have purged every last ounce of negativity and whining out of my frantic fingertips, and My Right to Bitch will be no more. Bankruptcy has been declared. Liquidation has begun. The podium mic unplugged for the last time…
Ok, let’s not get all overdramatic about this. I’m not going anywhere. Yes, I’m a bit choked up about the decision, and it’s a bittersweet one, but it’s time for a rise in consciousness. Sort of. The direction of the vortex has been reversed, and new and exciting horizons are on the…uh, horizons. Wait, that sounded stupid. That doesn’t even make sense?
I’ll come back to it.
Here’s the deal: Daddy needs a new name for this domain. The catch? I’m not gonna be the one to pick it. That’s your job. I know, I know – like you give a rat’s ass about naming my blog, and probably wondering out loud, “what’s in it for me?”
Oh-Ho-Ho! I’ll tell you what’s in it for you!
The winner of the name my blog contest will win an all-expenses-paid trip, including airfare, hotel, and deluxe accommodations, for a 6 day, 7 night trip to Cancun, Mexico. You will be stayimg in a presidential suite at the fabulous Mayan Palace resort, furnished with a golden toilet and lots of chocolate and berries and stuff.
Hahahahahaha! Yeah right! Who do you think I am, fucking Oprah Winfrey?
Ok, for real this time: The winner of the name my blog contest, as it is will be officially known by, will earn a guest of honor spot, right here, where you will be Comedy Central-style Roasted by yours truly, and become part of the last ever My Right to Bitch rant. This will probably be in history books one day…
I’ll be experimenting all week long with some sucky titles that I had in mind already, as well as revisiting some memorable posts and interactions with a ton of faithful followers.
Keep in mind, we ain’t ditchin’ the parties around here, and my brand of humor ain’t part of the liquidation process either.
Here’s the new tag for a little bit of inspiration:
“Rooftop Keg Stands. Pyrotechnics. Unruly House Guests. An Occasional Orgy, and Rock and Roll. Grab a Cup. Five Bucks at the Door.”
So, put your thinking caps on and drop your best ideas in the comment section throughout the week..
I’m counting on you. Tick, tock…
- Happy Blogging \m/
This is the moment you were supposed to be waiting for, that is, until you got sidetracked with your experimental meatloaf surprise that turned into a house fire. I don’t even know what I’m talking about right now. I’ve been up late for the past two weeks. I’m sleep deprived and bordering on hallucinations. Despite all that, I’m jacked to the max.
This. Is. Killer.
Any over/under bets on YouTube page views after today? It’s gonna go viral, watch. It might even threaten to boot a couple unfortunate quacks off the Academy Award nomination deck. I’m serious. My guts are usually pretty dead-on.
Behold, Adam and Becca’s Valentine’s Day Bash:
Happy Valentine’s Day everyone. Enjoy your Sweetheart if you’re lucky enough to have one. <3
-Happy Blogging \m/
Geez, I take a couple days off and people start sending me emails asking if I’m dead or something. Relax, I’m alive, and I also have good news!
Despite the hiatus, there’s been no loafin’ around during the past week. I’ve been busy making plans for the biggest, baddest, hottest, virtual Valentine’s date of my life with the very lovely, and soon to be famous, Becca from 25 to Fly.
Was that a run on sentence?
Who cares. Eat it, grammar snobs. I got bigger things to worry about than indefinite pronouns and fucking subordinating conjunctions. I don’t even know what those two things are either. I looked them up online. They sounded cool…
Anyways, what was I talking about?
Oh yeah, back to the pitch! I promised that this was gonna be a big year, and I’m following through on that promise this Thursday, Valentine’s Day. For the first time in the brief history of My Right to Bitch, not only will I not have a single thing to bitch about, but I’ll also be dropping the first ever video log! You’ll finally get to check out the Heavy Metal Master of this domain in live, technicolor format! (Did you catch the third person usage, grammar snobs?)
Also, drop by tomorrow for an awesome guest post by the infamous Single Girl Blogging. If you’ve never heard of her then you’ve been living in your sock drawer. This chick is the Chelsea Lately of the blogging world (god that sounds dorky) and always a riot. I wonder if she’s got any good advice out there for all the single folks this Valentine’s Day? I guess you’ll just have to wait and see!
-Happy Blogging Rock Stars \m/
Yes boys and girls, you read that right. The Ring Leader of the wackiest circus show on earth popped in for a day long tour of the Motor City, and guess who the lucky shmuck was that had to babysit his ass?
It’s been a week and I’m still recovering…
I’m convinced there was no way of preparing for the unexpected visit. In less than twelve hours, the powdery little freakshow turned my hometown into a raging dumpster fire. See Exhibit A.
To find out more about all the ridiculous antics, outbursts, and clowning around, check out my guest post today on A Clown on Fire: http://clownonfire.wordpress.com/. It’s a goody.
Oh, and I just watched Bar Refaeli make out with the Godaddy nerd For the first time. Wow does money talk…
-Happy Blogging \m/
I’m so excited right now. I can barely contain myself.
Originally, I wasn’t even gonna post anything for the New Year, and then I thought: how could I pass on the perfect opportunity to recap, rock out, spread some lovin’ butter, and announce all of the cool shit that I have planned for 2013?
Ready. Set. Launch.
2012: The Year of the Bitcher
First off, this has been such an incredible past four months. Getting all of this stuff out of my head and onto paper has been nothing short of orgasmic. What a silly word. Whatever. Creative writing is something that I’ve always wanted to do in one capacity or another, but I never really had the discipline or support that I would have liked in order to pursue it. It’s hard to imagine that only three posts into it I almost quit.
…I’m glad I didn’t.
I owe it to all of you insanely cool people that have jumped on board and backed me up. You’ve stood behind me each and every wacky post. I’ve never in my life had this kind of unconditional support. Ever. I’m getting a bit choked up.
No. Fuck that. Hold it in.
I know it sounds kind of cheese, but it’s the truth. Your readership, participation, and encouragement have inspired me in ways greater than you’ll ever know, and it’s you that continues to inspire the evolution of this raging monster that I call: MY RIGHT TO BITCH.
I don’t just write for me. That would be boring as hell if it were the only reason. It’s not interactive that way.
I write for you, too, and that’s why I love blogging. It doesn’t just get put into a drawer in some shitty, pleather-bound journal — it gets launched into cyber space. And after it goes live, it becomes a full-contact sport. Anything goes.
Every time I send something out there, within minutes, you guys are already chewing it up, twisting it, breaking it, spinning it, smashing it, lighting it on fire, and barfing it back onto my screen. That’s the coolest part for me. That’s the pay off. To put time into something that I love so much, and to have it all come back to me like that makes me want to keep doing it.
And for all that, I love you. There. I said it.
The Awards Shit Show
Thanks to all the people that went out of their way to drop an award off. I don’t get into all of the question answering stuff, but I greatly appreciate the recognition. If you nominated me for an award over the past month, check out the Trophies and Stuff tab, and scroll to the bottom of the page. There’s a little thank you note for each one of you guys. I can’t promise that it’ll be a love letter. You know me. I also included a link back to your page as well. Thank you.
Now please don’t send me any more fucking homework assignments.
Post of the Week
You probably noticed in the sidebar an image with the title: Post of the Week. There’s also a new tab at the top of the screen with the same header. This is a new, totally rad thing that I’m gonna be doing from now on. Fuck being Freshly Pressed. Post of the Week is way cooler.
Every week, as usual, I’ll be trolling the blogosphere in hot pursuit of one standout post – one that I think deserves to be read and recognized. There are no genre limitations. Check back often. Whether you’re here or not, I’ll be sure to let you know if you got picked.
See, this is just another one of those reasons why I should be getting a Christmas Card from you.
The Bitchin’ Blogroll
The Blogroll is finally up. Scroll to the bottom of the sidebar. Hopefully I didn’t make any glaring mistakes or leave anyone out. Call me out on it if I did. After all this stuff my brain is officially toast — mistakes are likely.
It’s kinda like checking to see if you made the basketball team, isn’t it? Many more to follow…
Guest Panel Shenanigans
Now for the big announcement. This is going to be off-the-hook. At the top of the screen you’ll see another new tab titled: Join the Guest Panel. Click it.
Read it. Sign up.
Don’t be intimidated.
I’m gonna need some help throughout the coming year. I’m putting together a series of Blogger Panels that will become part of some interactive blog ideas I have in the hopper. I can’t go into details. It’s top secret for the time being, so don’t ask me to tell you about it. If I told you I’d have to kill you. Well, maybe not that extreme. But I’d definitely have to break your fingers.
All *auditions* need to be submitted in the comment section under the Join the Guest Panel tab at the top of the screen. Please. Keep this organized. I’m sitting on top of Mt. Laundry right now. Make it easy for me.
Lastly, a few personal shout outs: thank you to The Cheeky Diva for her help in getting me FP’d (sounds dirty), and to Le Clown for the guest blogging opportunities on both Black Box Warnings, and A Clown on Fire‘s Christmas Blogroll Extravaganza. And finally, thank you to Mr. Radar Nelson for the guest blogging spot on Seasons of Insanity. Nancy Grace is a Pig.
Are you excited? I’m jacked to the max. I can’t wait to start the New Year.
It’s gonna be a big one. It’s gonna be a fun one. And it’s gonna be jam packed with more profanity, shenanigans, and water-based lube than ever before. I’m glad to have you all aboard. Let’s rock and roll…
-Happy New Year, and Happy Blogging \m/