I was snifffin' a lot of gasoline at the time (4:06)

Once upon a time, I had the coolest neighbors in the world. And, once upon a drunken New Year's Eve, I introduced them to the White Stripes (and the rest is history) and they introduced me to the dancing outlaw. Take four randy couples, mix in several bottles of champagne and a dancing outlaw, and you have a party to remember.

All I know about West Virginia was given to me by Jesco. Until today, when I found myself face to face with Tor Herschman, who bills himself as the world's funniest iconoclast.

I had high hopes for a man who knew the term iconoclast and hailed from West Virginia, but apparently, Jesco is not the only one who's been sniffin' too much gasoline.

I never thought I say this, but I prefer a drunken, dancing, redneck, partially brain dead from inhalants backward ass country fuck to Tor.

Tor has his own fan club. It has 7 members. Compare this to Jesco White, who has 254 members in his fan club. Perhaps this is because Jesco White, and his on-again, off-again wife Norma, are at least interesting in a rednecky train wreck kinda way.

Tor has his own lingo, an stolen stew of synthetic dialect that feels counterfeited:

Since moi’s massive heart-attack and quintuple bypass surgery moi gets an occasional “Hope you’re alright” E sooooooo moi thought I’d tell you fine folks that moi may begin to blog post every season, or so, rather than each month.

You know, a manufactured dialect based upon the sounds of real Southern speech worked aight for William Faulkner, but you're no Faulkner. Your use of dialect is distracting, impossible to decipher, and inconsistent. Furthermore, it feels forced and amateurish, not to mention condescending.

It lessens the writing (which is fucking sadder than an emo kid who's lost his razor blades) and the chronic use of moi is annoying as fuck. This over usage of dialect comes across, more than anything, as a mockery of hill people and their speech.

My dad grew up in the Ozark Mountains, and his speech is a charming, gentle stew of country colloquialisms underlaid with the rich twang of the Missouri hill people. As a girl who grew up steeped in his accent and my own, Tor's ear for translating country speech comes across to me as about as sensitive as a fence post.

The content is piss poor, the blog layout design is non-existent, and the writing is a huge pile of festering manure.

Back to square one, blog nooblet.

You don't get to use dialect until you've mastered basic English and can write well in it.I always try to read at least a couple of months of posts for the blogs that I review, but I couldn't force myself to do it.

This is a pustulating scab of pretentious twaddle on the nether regions of the internet. Instead of sniffing gasoline, Tor should drench himself in it and light his corncob pipe.

Here, let me be of assistance: