So, I have two metaphorical little men sitting on my shoulders.
One of these lil men is dressed entirely in white. A nice little white robe. With a halo. A halo made out of tinsel.*** And he has a pair of wings stapled to his back. Metaphorical wings. And where did the metaphorical feathers for these metaphorical wings come from? Condors. All in all, 34 condors were shot with tranqualisers, allowed to re-awaken, then ruthlessly killed and plucked to make the wings of my metaphorical midget's wings. This midget is playing the air harp badly, and whispering things in my ear.
The other tiny tim is dressed entirely in RED. RED LYCRA. METAPHORICAL RED LYCRA. He has a little pitchfork and a little pair of horns on his head (taken from a really endangered sort of gnu). There's a teeny little red tail sticking out of his ass-area (midgets don't have real asses... all the food they eat is just transformed into other midgets****). He is cackling madly and stroking his little midget chin with his pitchfork, as he can't reach with his midget arms, and whispering things in my ear.
What does the white midget whisper in my ear?
Blog, my son. You know it's right. There are losers out there who hang on your every word... don't let them down. Give them your half-baked opinions. Make a crappy photoshop picture. Bash out a critique of a well known celebrity. Swear a lot... make fun of those Hurrican Victims... it'll make you feel better... After all, how are people going to click on the top blog button and make your blog the TOP ONE IN THE ENTIRE WORLD if you don't update?
And what does the little evil midget whisper in my ear?
Don't blog now. You have a girlfriend... you no longer NEED the internet to make people pay attention to you... you're not one of these losers now... Hurricane Katrina wasn't that funny... (I love how the evil midget is championing the moral cause) ... Don't blog... just go to bed... sleep... DON'T BLOG... NOBODY CARES ANYWAY!
And man, that was one titanic battle of wits between good and evil, light and dark, caucasian and african, the dark side and the jedi, the hippies and the goths, the chavs and the... non chavs... but eventually the light side won. I HAVE DECIDED TO BLOG. And brilliantly, in this case, my entire pointless metaphorical discussion of whether or not to blog has taken up most of the post. Smooth, me. Round of applause? Yes please. Now, I needed a subject to blog about. I couldn't just write a 1,126 word post about not blogging and failing to think of an idea. That would be POINTLESSLY post-ironic. And if there is one thing that I AM NOT it is post-ironic. A boatie? Yes. Retarded? Yes. A midget? Yes. Nazi supporter? Yes. Post-ironic? NO. So I needed a subject, quick.
I couldn't think of one, so decided to just write the damn post anyway and hope that something would pop into my head as I was doing so. If all else failed I could talk about NOTHING for 500 words and give it up as a bad blog (now post-ironic, just a waste of time). Hell, if even that failed I could photoshop a shitty picture of a kitten being blown up and pass it off as modern art. Or just recycle an old one and hope that nobody noticed.
I got this far, and I couldn't think of anything, but here were some possible topics that could have been discussed:
What is the random see-through crap that's oozing from the hole in my foot? I couldn't decide whether it was pus, lymph, or just really retarded blood? A quick MSN vote proved that it was pus, clear victor over lymph and blood with a score of 3-1-1. So good.
Does pus porn exist somewhere on the internet? My partner in crime said it did, but then it turned out that she was too much of a cowardly birch-tree to actually look it up. So the task falls to me. Apparently 'pus' porn doesn't come up with anything. So I decided to search for 'pussy' (the state of being full of pus). 8,630,000 results... you sickos.
If you have sex with an adult retard, does it count as child molestation?
Is paper-cutting the head of your own erect penis possibly the most painful thing that could possibly happen to you... ever?
Do I really look like the Angel of Death in my ultra-swish BLACK SHIRT?
Why can't I find it in my heart to quit rowing?
Who cares what the fucking meaning of life is?
Is the Dairylea Big Cheez Dippaz advert the most manly thing ever?
Do midgets love? Current research into midgets has placed them at roughly the evolutionary level of a virus - they don't possess all 7 signs of life, and often reproduce by attaching themselves to a fatter person, burrowing inside, then multiplying at a massive rate and bursting out through the gonads. Gonads gonads gonads.
Why is Maddox so shit now?
Swearing: too much or too little?
Why Spooks is just a crappy english ripoff of 24?
Does this count as blogging yet? Well, fuck you, that's all you're getting.
*Their dreams of Olympic High-Jump gold shattered, they just settled down for a life of watching Tots TV on little tiny tv screens and eating their own body weights in chocolate**
**And due to the theory of infinite, as with every bite of chocolate they ate with their tiny little mouths increased their bodyweights just a little bit, they continued to eat the chocolate until the end of time or until they exploded in little midget blasts of little midget bones that often result in the fatalities of real people standing nearby. Or at least their shinbones being shattered.
***Silver tinsel
****Every twenty minutes or so, midgets spontaneously divide in two to form perfect copies of each other. This is known as 'midgeitosis'.
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