A Promise of Continued Dreck
I was recently asked if I ever get writer’s block.
Of course I don’t; it’s what’s great about having a blog as stupid as this one: I can write whatever nonsensical gibberish pops into my head.
Take for example, the following passage from a post about phobias:
Walloonphobia: the fear of Walloons. Walloons can burst at any moment making a loud popping sound and startling you.
(My apologies, I thought this was the fear of balloons. Walloons are the French-speaking population of Belgium; it’s perfectly normal to be startled when Walloons burst and make a loud popping noise.)
What kind of stupid scattered brain comes up with that?
I’ve worked very hard to set a low a standard as possible for this blog while still forming semi-coherent sentences.
But it hasn’t been just my hard work and dedication responsible for the ridiculously substandard tangle of words before you. I’ve been genetically blessed with an extended family of what could be described generously as complete imbeciles.
Aunts, uncles, and cousins so completely and impenetrably stupid, there was really no way for it to not to filter to me. Even as I’m typing this, I’m drooling uncontrollably and I have peed myself because can’t remember how to use the bathroom.
Have you ever seen a tree with most of its branches rotting and riddled with an infectious disease. A disease so heinous the tree needs to be cut down, chopped into bits, burned, and its ashes buried in a deep hole under three feet of reinforced concrete, just to preserve the rest of forest.
That tree is healthy compared to our family tree–we wish we were that tree. Sometimes we’ll get together, drool on ourselves, pee ourselves, and scrapbook about how much we wish we were that diseased tree.
I will give you this assurance: I long as I am authoring this blog it will remain awful. And if you should happen to run into any of my aunts or uncles, give them a hardy thank you.
But don’t touch them–they tend to be sticky.
We wish we were this tree.
idiotpruf 