Court's in Session Bitches

The size of his gavel is eclipsed only by his wit. This weeks guest reviewer is Mr. Crowley. -Miss Missives

There’s no need for the jury to retire.

Court’s in session, bitches, and Judge Crowley slams his gavel down on the latest Indian blogger. These jerkoffs just don’t learn, do they? They get their sorry brown asses whupped over here every week, and yet they come back for more.

Anyhow, His Honour (that’s me) has been laid up in bed thanks to salmonella poisoning. His Honour is sorely wrothed. He’s pissed because he has bed sores, pissed because he’s suffering from debilitating stomach cramps, and pissed because he has an imprint of a toilet seat on his arse. This would mean that today’s lamb to the slaughter is going to be slowly, painfully, bled to death.

However, such is not the case.

The Petitioner before me is one Abhishek ‘The Snake’ Majumdar, who communicates to us today (or tries to, at any rate) his Tactile Thoughts. How touching, eh? Snakey Boy seems to hail (I suspect) from Bengal, and claims to be an industrial engineer, nomadic and a misfit. He also claims to be searching for the meaning of liff, which, I suspect, he is yet to find, as is evident from his writing.

This is my first review here, and I really, really wanted to tear Snake’s arm off and beat him over the head with it. But I can’t, because I sort of connect with this chap. He listens to metal and blues. He reads “everything from comics to cigarette packets”, Terry Pratchett, Neil Gaiman AND the Watchmen. People ask him all the anal questions I get asked every fucking day of my life, he quietly bitches about Chinese spam, and the man knows what it feels to be held up by irritating people at a rock concert that you so want to not miss (but which sucked all the same).

Prima facie, therefore, this Court finds that Snake is not too bad at writing.

But then this Court asks itself, is all of this really ‘writing’? It’s not. Unless, of course, you can call 56 posts over a period of 2 years ‘writing’. Hell, the only person who seems to read your blog regularly is Harmonica, er, Harmony. Snake, my lad, you’ve got a sense of humour, and a slight flair for the dramatic. USE THEM! Your posts read like you’ve jotted your thoughts on paper and left them lying around for unsuspecting persons who try to read them and go, “WTF?”

This is not good writing. This isn’t writing at all. Look, nobody expects you to be William Bloody Shakespeare, but when most people read a blog, they want to smile, smirk, and roll on the floor in fits of laughter. They want to abuse you, rail and rant at you, call you names, pick up fights with you, and the coup de grace – they want to stalk you. Because, they like your writing so much that they, secretly or otherwise, want to BE you.

Let me give you an example you will relate to. Christopher Marlowe is literature. Emily Bronte is literature. Terry Pratchett is not (not in the traditional sense anyway). So why is Pratchett more popular than those Victorian stuffed shirts I just mentioned? Because, fuck it, I don’t want to be Heathcliffe or Dr. Faustus. I want to be Moist von Lipwig or Samuel fucking Vimes or Anthony Crowley (well, I am a Crowely. Ha).

You want to see good writing? Peek into Rassles’ world. The shit she writes about happens to all of us. Everyday. But I love her life more than I do my own. Each post of hers that I read, I wanna be next to her, slapping her back, stuffing pie and beer down her throat and telling her to get her sorry ass off the floor and into a pub crawl (No Rossie. This ain’t no marriage proposal). Why? Not because I hang out with her (though I’d love to), or because she pays me cash to say nice things about her or anything. It’s because I want to live her life. Just by reading her blog.

And, let’s face it Snake. In this day and age, a blog no longer remains your little bed-side diary. It’s an extension of you. This is how e-land sees you. It is not to be treated as a monologue, as you claim it to be. A good blog should be treated as a dialogue. It should be treated as a frigging chimpanzee convention. With lots of bananas.

But if you, my friend, don’t want to post regularly, make your shit sound interesting and sound like you’re talking and not muttering to yourself, get more people to read your blog, and spice up your drab template, then what’s the point of blogging? Why the FUCK are we even here, Counsellor?

So, you gotta ask yourself one question: ‘Do I feel lucky?’ Well, do you?

The verdict of this Court, Madam Clerk, is as follows:

Snake gets 1 star for putting out a few decent posts, and for not being emo.




He also gets 2 blazing fingers for putting up ONLY a few posts, and for talking to himself in a corner.






Dismissed.

If you don't feel like this,

please shut the fuck up.

I think somewhere in there, deep down, I have a loathing about being a "blogger" in the first place. Such that writing a blog, and having it called to my attention that I am the writer of a blog, just serves as a reminder of all the ways I have failed. My dreams, they are dead. This is the evidence.

I don't mean to give the impression that I think that blogging isn't legitimate writing. I understand that it can be. Lord knows, some of my blogs are mosaics, the imagined pottery of my soul painstakingly broken and pieced back together into something tangible and coherent. I work so hard at it. And despite the fact that I am never wholly happy with the product of my labors, I'm not completely embarrassed by it either. I knew since I was 8 years old that I had a disease. I knew that I was heartsick and the only medicine for that malaise was writing. Write, write, write. I just had to write. My thesaurus was my bible. I lived and breathed and drank and ate from that buffet of words. I bled the alphabet. Letters streaming out of every pore, every fiber. That is what it means to be a writer. To live by the words and wait impatiently for them to save you.

This should be canonized into bloggy scripture. So let it be written, so let it be done.

Good On Paper Guy

So you meet this guy online and after reading his profile and checking out his pictures, you decide to give him the time of day. You email a little, talk on the phone and he texts you clever little snippets until you finally relent and agree to go on a date with him. It starts really well, he picks an appropriately nice restaurant, not too fancy but not el cheapo either. The conversation is relatively smooth and you take turns telling each other about yourselves. He tells a few funny, self deprecating stories and you start to warm up to this guy. You try to remember if you picked up your apartment before you left and whether you have on granny panties or your black lacy knickers. Just when you're thinking about what he's going to look like naked underneath you he starts telling you a hundred random things about himself. He recounts for you a few more yarns about his life but they are getting positively protracted, languishingly long. He then starts going on about a bunch of awards he's received. It's then you start thinking that maybe it's best not to put out on the first date. Right about the time he starts talking about cats, you're sure this guy is never going to see you naked. You wish you could tell him what he needs to do to cross the finish line, what he's doing wrong, when exactly he lost you. Instead, you do the hug and pat at the end of the night and spend the next two weeks avoiding his calls.

Irregularly Periodic Ruminations is the Good on Paper Guy. Jim is not a bad guy, he's not a total snoozefest, he's just never going to get past second base with you, and that's if you're feeling generous. Right out of the gate, Jim informs us that he's a writer of speculative fiction. Science fiction and the other 'fantasy based' genres have never been Miss Missives cup of tea. Much of what I have read tends to be unnecessarily verbose, fixated on too much detail, not enough narrative. Such is the case with Irregular Periodic Ruminations.

Jim goes through words like this guy goes through lube. Seriously Jim, you are one wordy fuck. The second major issue is that in an attempt to stay connected with his community, he writes when he has nothing to say. There are far too many posts that feel churned out. This dilutes some really good work because the gems are buried in a shit pile of memes and rounds and other things that are the antithesis of real writing. What Jim does an expert job of is networking. Between communities, Twitter, blogs he follows, blogs that follow him, Jim manages to rake in the comments on even the most mundane posts. It's a party over there and everyone's invited.

Again, the difficult thing for me here is do I review the handful of very well-written, thoughtful posts, the well-timed, funny material or do I review the blog on the overall melange of it's content? When Jim is good, he is very good. This is heartfelt and raw, and a perfect example that less is more.

This is a sliver of hilarity buried in too many words and paragraphs:

There was another thing that bothered the crap out of me about the church music. They did those songs. The ones where they pick a psalm, throw some organ in the background, and slap some arbitrary notes to the words. Seriously? It sounds like someone is reading the newspaper to song. It's stupid. Stop butchering the last movement of Beethoven's 9th like that. It's criminal. God should make you weep nothing but grapefruit juice for perpetrating that on us.

Jim, you need to edit. And then edit some more. Then put the material away, go have a cup of coffee and a biscotti and come back to it and edit some more. Additionally, posts are replete with usage, spelling, and grammatical errors. Miss Missives gets positively snitty when people misuse words like course and coarse.

You don't have to forsake your friends, but if you want your writing to be the focus and not your social networking, you need to get tabs. Use those tabs to house the blogroll, awards, and the rest of the ticky tacky badgetry that is cluttering your three column monstrosity.

Overall, there's a great deal of crap here with a few shiny gems buried deep within. You have plenty of readers but if you want to be better, you need to edit your work and write when you have something to say.

There are a couple of posts that get a shiny gold star.

However, 75% of what I read gets a giant flaming finger.

Since neither is entirely representative, I'm going to award you a sort of hybrid if you will, and we all know you loves your awards.

That's whack

So, you're strolling around your local mega-bookstore, sipping your chai (or whatever, your call), contemplating a biscotti later, enjoying the pleasantly erudite and learned environment, and perusing the aisles, looking for that next great read. A book catches your eye with its bright colors and shiny lettering and the word "smegma" in the title, and you pick it up. After you realize it was "Smuggler" and your dirty mind has run away from you again, you put it back, but because you're gripping your super hot but delicious chai, you fumble a little and the book next to it falls out. Great. Putting your chai down, you pick up the fallen book because you're polite and tidy and don't want to be observed walking away from your messes, which was your first -- though brief -- inclination. The book has a subdued gray cover, smallish type, and looks to be about the lives of insurance salesmen. Or an examination of funeral home decor. Possibly an exegesis of the uses for fabric softener. Or something. But the name of the author rings a bell, and the blurbs on the back actually look promising: something about hippies and skinny dipping and metalheads and study abroad and vodka. So you think, well, I've got this 25% off coupon, and I think I've heard this guy somewhere before. You buy it.

Later that night your significant other, or your cat, or your gimp finds you sprawled helpless and drooling in an armchair because your new purchase has, three pages in, put you into a coma-like sleep the likes of which neither Ambien nor Ativan can touch.

Welcome to the world of Dick Whackman.

I'm not a fan of the design, but it's not atrocious. Just boring. Like a site for dentists. Or actuaries. Definitely don't need three columns, Dick. You don't need the calendar AND the archives, and you don't need categories AND tags. Roll up your archives and your categories and you can retain the tags if you want, but otherwise it's just redundant. And would it kill you to have a header image of some sort?

Let it Blurt promises to be the wildest, wackiest place on the web! I call bullshit. Nice try, but I think I know a site that already claims that honor.

Dick doesn't tell us much about himself. It's not until four months into his blogging gig that we even find out he has children. Hell, he doesn't mention his age or marital status until a month after that. Whackjob, you need to put this post in your About section, otherwise we've got no background to go on. But edit it. A lot. Because, damn, you do go on. Do you talk like this? If so, do people often nod off in your company?

If I were to believe the about page, I would expect someone else besides Whackman blogging in tandem. But the other dude (Jay) only has a handful of posts. None very good. He's not so much a contributor as a shady co-conspiritor. Or a figment of Dick's imagination. No, seriously. He has those. Enter his imaginary twin brother, Charles, with violent mental illness. Who is actually much funnier than Richard.

The writing is strangely stiff and formal ("By listening to others make these sounds I acheive [sic] a catharsis.") with a why are you reading this, nobody cares mentality. There's potential in these stories, but he treats them so flatly, with no color or oomph or personality. I mean, come on! Hippie commune? Clothing optional? This should be intriguing stuff. But it's not.

Your posts are looooooooooooong. Seriously. This is a post about napping. Why all the words? You struggle with what to say, how much to "blurt," and in the end you don't say much at all, and you certainly don't let us in.

To be fair, he has some good stuff, like this.

Except these? Dude. Not funny. Like, Mr. Yunoshi unfunny. There's a very fine line for racial comedy, and I don't think you can walk it. Family Guy can, but you? Sorry.

If you're going to write, in the sense that you're impelled to blog, loosen up. Take your own advice. You knew this was coming. Hell, you even knew what I was going to say. But you don't do anything to improve, you don't spice it up or get real or edit or any of the shit you know you should do. What makes you think me telling you the same damn thing is going to make a difference? You're basically wasting my time, since you recognize this stuff, but, fuck, you asked for it.

Dick, you do these little intros to each of your posts, a paragraph of lead in. Stop. Just get to the meat. Like this one. Read it again, but leave out the first paragraph. See what I mean? I do lead ins, too, but mine are awesome. Clearly.

You're a smart dude, and you've had an interesting life, and you admit writing was never your thing. I can tell. It's not that you're a bad writer, you're just an unpolished one. You have stories to tell that could be downright riveting, but you bog them down in words, words, words. Words that need to be excised out with razor sharp precision. And my guess is you just don't have the experience yet to know what needs to be cut.

Your stiffness creates a barrier between you and your reader. It's like you're writing to sound like someone else, to sound, well, learned and erudite, to pull from my intro. But that shit's boring. Or it is the way you do it. I suspect your writing lacks humor because you're too buttoned up when you think about your audience. Because when you're "Charles," you're much less formal, much less regimented and "I'm going to write this way because it's how I've seen it done and it seems to work for them." No. Find your own voice. Or find Charles' and pull it into yours because he's a damn sight more readable.

Look, I like you. I think you're probably an interesting guy. And the comments you've left here have been vastly more enjoyable than your blog was. Edit yourself. Give yourself a word limit on a couple of posts and see what you do with that restriction on rambling on and on forever and ever amen (and I should know -- I'm a wordy little tart, myself). Write how you talk, not how you think you should sound. It's a blog, not a research paper. And if this is how you talk, well, shit. I'm sorry.

That's what she said...Best of the Threads

Favorite Quotes of the Week:

I'm happy to take it on the chin, but there's no way I'm bending over in this crowd! Joel Klebanoff


Joel, what if we throw a nice, shiny quarter down on the ground? Like a blog ad? Rassles


The fact that humor blogs are inherently unfunny is ironically funny. warren


Funny's like fucking: those who think they're good at it aren't, and those who are don't tell you about it beforehand. Y'know - Surprise! I'm an hilarious fuck machine! Ryan Lawson






Dear Rassles,
I know things are sort of tough right now, but how about a raise? Oh, and maybe some bear claws in the break room every morning?
Thanks -Sarcasm

Hopefully Rassles and Sarcasm can reach an agreement before the trade deadline. ghost of keywork

She better pay Sarcasm whatever the hell he wants, because it's clear that Rassles could never function without him. Love Bites

Jesus, Krishna, and Gok, I thought we were going for "most obnoxious blog" not "everyone fucking hug each other and accept our differences." Rassles

Fuck Italy. Rassles

Fuck India. ghost of keywork

Fuck biscotti. Mister Crowley

From now on, I propose that Mister Crowley is the exception to every rule:
Indians are emo. Except for Crowley.
Gravity holds us firmly to earth. Except for Crowley.
All guys with popped collars are douchebags. Except for Crowley. Rassles

All Indians suck, except for Crowley. Love Bites

Uh, Love Bites just dropped a big steaming plop on a million different people at once. ghost of keywork

This thread is doing wonders for solidifying a big fat choice win. Blogger Who Beats the Most Dead Horses? Best Blog for Neverending Arguments Where Nothing Gets Accomplished Because Everyone Is Too Stubborn To Retreat? Colonel Custer Would Have Blogged Here. Rassles

The first post I read was like an ode to her TV. At 19 I would have written an ode to cock, or booze, or weed. Or my Doc Martens. But TV? TV was for porn viewing or Screaming Jeopardy or resting your beer on. Calamity

I think this blog is why pink princess diaries that you keep under your bed with a lock & key were invented. Love Bites

The unfortunate thing is that blogging has become a fad, and like low rise pants, not everyone should do this particular fad. Love Bites

So when you see her standing there...she won't be wearing underwear

So this dude comes up to you in a bar. The first thing you notice is that he's wearing a stupid hat, and has his fingernails painted black, and then you realize that it looks like he had his hair done by the same people that used to style Cyndi Lauper.

And you think, "What the hell is he wearing? What heterosexual man would ever be caught dead wearing a purple velvet blazer and ankle boots? Please don't talk to me. Please don't talk to me. Please don't talk to me."

Your attempt to redirect him with mind powers fails. Like a mosquito, he unerringly hones in on you, coming right up into your business and invading your personal space with his buzz.

And that seems bad enough, but then he opens his mouth.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

Your doelike eyes stare into his headlights, stunned by the fact that this tool has singled you out as if you have "pick me, douche" scrawled on your forehead.

"Ummm, come again?"

"Are you okay?" he asks again, more slowly this time.

"Sure," you say, turning away, slightly, to offer him your teflon-coated shoulder of doom.

"I just wondered," he says, breathing from his mouth, "because that must have been a long fall from heaven." He chokes on his own laughter.

You smile unsmilingly, and turn fully away from him, stifling his enthusiasm with indifference. He waits a while, then says, "Hey." You ignore him. "Hey," he repeats, a bit more loudly. You wish for him to leave.

"Fucken bitch," he mutters under his breath as he turns and splooges away, back to his corner.

Problems with this blog:
1) Hideous template
2) Ten million ads.
3) Humor that stopped being humorous when I was about 15.
4) FUCKING TRIES TOO HARD AND FAILS MISERABLY.

In short, I offer you the following site description, from the author himself:

WARNING:
This blog may or may not contain adult themes and may or may not be suitable for small children or nuns. Scary evil people and axe murderers will find this blog enjoyable.
If your are a small kid and you've somehow come across this site then make sure you tell all your friends about it, it will make you popular and rich!

We Don't get paid so make sure you leave a comment, subscribe, Stumble, Digg and all that other stuff. Fame and possible future profits are our award!
If you forget you might die, seriously its happened before, maybe.

Did I mention its a humor blog?

If you have to tell people that it's a humor blog, it isn't. Please stop polluting the blogo-sphere with your yak shit. This is one blog that should have been killed in utero before it was ever birthed in puke and sweat onto the interwebs.

List of Sturm & Drang

Angry Clown

Let it Blurt

Irregularly Periodic Ruminations

Taunt Vortex

Tactile Thoughts

This week's guest reviewer will be Mr. Crowley, the only human being on the Indian Peninsula who doesn't suck ass.

Bitches.

If you haven't voted, please do so. For some reason, I want us to win the most obnoxious blog SO bad. You can also vote for us as "best blog about blogging."

And, some of our pals have been nominated, too:

Rassles
Praying to Darwin
Maggie, Dammit

I waited for the joke. It never did arrive.

The Professor, despite being several years and several thousand miles removed, is still a Southern boy at heart - polite, well mannered and genteel. I was raised to say "Yes, ma'am" and "Yes, sir" to my elders, to open doors for ladies and to never, ever be arbitrarily rude to another person. Well, to their face anyway. This upbringing makes this particular gig a bit of challenge sometimes. Today is a good example.

I grew up in the steaming pine barrens that straddle the Florida-Georgia line. Once I had done my time in my hometown's one-room school house, I headed west to the Capital City to continue my education. A couple of my fellow reviewers may know a stretch of Interstate 10 in north Florida that runs, pointlessly, between Dickert and Drifton. Going to and from university, I became painfully familiar with that length of tarmac. It's long, straight, flat and unapologetically dull. You've got to be pretty vigilant, because it will put you to sleep quicker than a handful of Ambien and before you know it you're a hood ornament on an eighteen-wheeler. It's also littered with billboards flogging all manner of crap that nobody needs.

Do you know what else is long, straight, flat, littered with billboards and unapologetically dull? Stuff and Nonsense.

I could pretty much leave it there and call that a review done. Get on with my Fundamentals of Bootology lecture for next week. That's what the Southern gentleman I was raised to be would do.

But I had high hopes for this one. Joel Klebanoff is a published author. He's been at this blogging gig for three years. He's a Canadian. What's not to like? I waded through a couple of posts until I found this one on Darwin. Now, as most of you probably know, Bootology is a core life science and thus the professor is intimately familiar with the father of evolution's work. I spent much of last week reading some outstanding posts celebrating Darwin's 200th birthday. Joel's post? I couldn't finish it.

It's not just that it was too long, nor that it was riddled with bad jokes. It was dull. And kind of lacking a point. Story of this blog.

Based on some of the widgets and gazoos on the sidebars, Stuff and Nonsense strives to be a 'humor blog'. Why is it that any site with a 'Humor Blogs' ranking is, almost without fail, painfully unfunny? This post is a perfect example. I get it - a mock interview about our current economic woes, overdone to get a laugh. Not funny. Not even a little bit. Painfully awkward, lacking in originality but not funny. Story of this blog.

If I have to be mean, I'd like more than anything to at least be constructively mean. I'm struggling to do so. I just don't know what to tell you, Joel. You could certainly pare down the junk on your page. I don't know how much revenue all those Google Ads are pulling in for you but you'd be better served by building your readership and then working with a real advertiser. One that won't make your page look like some poorly published free newspaper. As for the writing - it's stilted, awkward and long-winded - all I can suggest is edit. Make it snappier and cleverer. Don't ape humor that you've seen elsewhere. Try and come up with something original - funny or not - and go from there. The average blog reader just doesn't have the attention span for dry multi-part satires about the economy, for example. The exceptional blog reader - the one that you covet - demands exceptional writing and, I'll put this as politely as I can, you just ain't got it.

It doesn't work for me and I'm kind of your target audience, Joel. That's bad news for you. My unshakable Southern gentility forbids me from giving you any kind of finger - flaming or otherwise - and you don't really inspire that level of hostility anyway. What you do deserve is a solid:






Story of this blog.

He knows his claret from his beaujolais

I had so much hope.

An Aussie. Aussies are foul mouthed and direct, some are even clever. I was hoping this was a good 'un.

I saw the title "The discreet charm of the middleclass" and I smacked my lips, this could be really interesting.

I wondered would it be:
A) Quirky or
B) Eccentric or
C) Original

and of course, more fool me, I got D) None of the above.

The header is interesting enough, but all it does in the end is serve false hope that something equally eye catching or captivating will follow.

It just doesn't.

For the life of me I can't understand why self proclaimed 'humour' blogs think the only form of humour available to them is a commentary on which celebrities look like which farmyard animals, or a bad photoshop job with Mariah Carey and a penis.

How about some wit, or irony, or clever observation coupled with articulation?

Think about it, you people are intelligent enough to create a blog, write to, and maintain said blog, you surely are capable of even the slightest peer over the garden wall to see what else could be funny. Something, anything other than the done to death pie in the face.

I sat with your blog open before me for what must have been 2 hours, maybe 3, but my eyes just glazed over. I'd go read something else and come back, and again within moments I'd lost the will.

Picture, caption, dull commentary. New post. Picture, caption, dull commentary. Are you getting the picture(, caption, dull commentary) here folks?

This is where I'd normally show some examples of the good or bad, but every post is exactly the same, so pick one. Any one.

The best thing I can think of to say about this blog is that at least you don't post everyday and I escaped before some parts of my brain hadn't quite rotted.

In a desperate attempt to be somewhat constructive, I will say I admire the dedication you have to that serial, now it's not my taste, but I do recognise the appeal there. I say focus more there, tighten and improve that, or introduce it more into your blog. It shows that you have imagination which for some reason you exclude from the blog as a whole.

I've tried quite hard not to insult your feelings here, I just wish you'd do the same for our intelligence.

Do Not Resuscitate

Miss Missives loves many an Indian thing. For instance, I have a favorite pair of soft, silk, brightly colored, hand-beaded Indian slippers, no doubt lovingly sewn by seven year old hands. I frequently dive into a good Palak Paneer or Korma and when it's a gray and sad day, Gulab Jaman always cheers me up. I once had a Punjabi man servant who was as faithful a friend as I'll ever find. I adored Bride and Prejudice, the Bollywoodesque adaptation of one of Miss Missive's favorite classics.

So I was terribly disappointed that Terminal Rant didn't offer me a better glimpse into the life of an unmarried Indian woman in her mid twenties. What she did give me was a sum total of sixteen posts, sigh. Her header says:

A little bit of this..a little bit of that..and a whole lot of me.

She failed to deliver because the only thing there was a whole lot of was empty space and crickets(cue sound effects). Her About Me is a prime example of how someone can use words without saying anything. Her template is just like her blog, there's not a speck of thought put into it. The only promise she delivered on was the terminal part of rant because this blog died a short, painful death.

There were posts that piqued my interest like this one that trys to make the case for both love marriage and arranged marriage, but she never fleshed it out or even finished. Then there was the post where she admits she's bored to tears. All I can say is me too honey, me too.

Now you know how Miss Missives feels about diary entries but I really liked the first part of this. I love that she's praying to god that some guy gets a non virgin wife unbeknownst to him. That's funny because you juxtapose this very traditional belief with the reality of modern women. I also enjoyed parts of this where she considers life as a superhero named Happy Woman.

The disappointing thing here is I think Terminal Rant has a unique perspective straddling her Indian heritage and the encroaching influence of Western culture. The problem is, she just doesn't seem to have the attention span even basic blogging requires which makes me wonder why she started blogging in the first place. Much like a typical American sixteen year old girl views sex(something she's supposed to do), I suspect Terminal rant feels the same way about blogging. Or maybe she got wise like LoveBites has suggested this girl do, and Calamity suggested this girl do and she went and got herself a life.


So for you my friend, two flaming fingers

and for only making Miss Missives wade through 16 craptastic posts, you get 1/2 star

Little sister don't you do what your big sister done

I grew up with an older brother, he of the interminable Risk games and Rush cranked up to 11 and hours and hours spent on his Atari. I was the pesky little sister, looking up to him in all his nerdy glory, even though he stole my Halloween candy and told me he was always right and never wanted me around, at all, ever. He was still my big brother, and I wanted him to like and respect and include me. He didn't, though, not until he moved out and away and we both grew up and into our own people. Before then I was always vying for attention, being annoying and singing all the damn time and stealing his Star Wars action figures and D&D dice, thinking, I guess, that would get me noticed, that would get me included. Although why I wanted to be included in his geektastic life is beyond me. Still. Big brother, little sister and all that.

Sierra reminds me of that quintessential little sister. Not as annoying as I was (seriously, I sang all the time), but that same eagerness to please, that same look at me look at me I'm playing with the older kids vibe, that wishing and hoping to be included. But it's not the dorky older brother from whom she wants approval, it's bloggers. And not just any bloggers, mommy bloggers in particular. She loves a mommy blog. And she's kind of a mommy blogger in training, a mommy blogger wannabe. I know. It takes all kinds.

My first thought when I went to Sierra's blog was if you can't be bothered to post for a month, why should I bother to review you? Something just petered off for Sierra around December and she's let her blog go by the wayside. She's Twittering up a storm but not blogging.

My second thought was pink! Which is actually fine with me, but be glad you didn't get fluffy-hater LB. She'da ripped you one.

So, for the design... There are 3 columns, and you don't need 'em. Drop down your archives and your categories. I do like the pink and brown, and because I'm a bit girly I like the swirly little flounces, although the large signature and swirl at the end of every post is overdone. Shrink it or get rid of it. I love the font for your section headings, but it gets a little hard to read on your post headings, especially if they're long. And the font for the post text is way small and hurts my eyes. Good for you for having links to About, etc., and putting your blog roll and the rest of those bits on separate pages.

We all have our little blogging peccadilloes, and I HATE little cartoon sassy girls (disregard my avatar because at least I don't have an entire face). Especially if they don't look a thing like the blogger, which seems to be the case here. Who is this girl gazing slyly at us from your header, with her shag hairdo and hip-shot stance? Not you, that's who. Find something more representative.

Sierra is 20. Ah, youth. It's hard not to like her because she's kind of goofy and sweet. And she likes Anne Sexton. Much like yesterday's blogger, she's an awfully pollyanna 20. There's not a post about dicks or booze or booty calls or being busted for breach of peace, which would have been the subject of any blog I might have written around this time in my life.

Instead there are lots of memes and however many things about me (all of them too many) and these are my thoughts and blah, blah, blah. I mean, it's written reasonably well and with an engaging(ish) voice, but the subjects are, like, America's Next Top Model and going vegan and celebrity babies and Post Secret commentary and crap I just don't care about. And there's the Haiku Friday and Thousand Words Thursday and Spit on my Sphincter Saturday (I made that one up -- I needed some crass).

But then there are others, like this, that make me just want to hug her and tell her it'll all be ok.

But then she'll turn around and type things like 'puter and I want to throttle the cutesy right out of her.

She doesn't let us in very far, and when she does she password protects it. Almost all of October 2008 is links to other places, Post Secret crap, or gushing about Ingrid Michaelson. There are no boys on the entire blog. None. Unless they're of the celebrity kind. There's just not a whole lot of exposition going on. What there is is good and I'd like more of it, but ultimately she's writing puff pieces. Amusing puff pieces, but still. There should be some delving, some exposure, some heat.

Sierra, you're 20! Live a little. In your 100 things you say, "I know I’m supposed to enjoy my college years…but I honestly wish that they were over. I just want to have my degree, be working in a good hospital, be married, and have a family. That’s all I really want." This irks me to no end. It shouldn't because, after all, it's your life and you've got to live it how you see fit and not everyone has aspirations toward Olympic gold medals in debauchery. But, jeez. Why succumb to the mundane so easily? Put up a little fight. Just a smidge? For me? For the sake of having anything at all to say on your blog? I'm not saying go out and have a threesome (although, hell, don't rule it out). Just do something and write about it. Unchain yourself from your laptop and get a life so that when you get back to the laptop you have something to say other than "I'm sorry I don't have anything to say."

Sierra, you write about blogging and being a blogger and trying to be a better blogger. Here's a hint from Yoda: There is no try, only do. Forget about all the Dooces or whoever you look up to in the world and just do your thing. It will either be good or it won't, but if it feeds some part of you, it's worth it whether you get a zillion readers or three. Blog because you have to, because you want to, not because you think it's something you ought to do, something you should be good at, or because you admire others for blogging.

I can tell you're big on the community aspect of blogging, and that's fine. Blogging does tend to create microcosms and relationships, and that's part of the draw. But if you write just for that aspect -- while looking up to, and wanting to be included with, the "more successful" bloggers -- you lose some of the guts of writing, the craft and creativity and storytelling and here I am, this is me, whole and unique and in the round. Don't write for the hits or the visits or the stats or the link backs. I know it's hard to avoid, and, yes, that can be a part of your process because it's natural to want to be heard. But when you devote too much of your blogging life to that spotlight urge, your words become hollow, sterile, and canned.

Perhaps you've already decided that the community means more to you than the writing. Maybe that's why you're tweeting instead of blogging. And that's fine, too. But I do think you have an interesting way with words and an engaging voice, so if you can stop giving us filler and fluff and start giving us some real life -- with hurt and anger and fear and delight and dirt and heart -- you could find yourself more "successful" than when you were trying to follow in your big sisters' footsteps.

Under the Influence

Since I'm reviewing the blog of a school-girl today, let's start with a quiz. What do the following have in common?

Edgar Allen Poe
Stephen Crane
Theodore Roethke
Herman Melville
Delmore Schwartz
F. Scott Fitzgerald
William Faulkner
Ernest Hemingway
Jack London
Dorothy Parker
Eugene O'Neill
John Steinbeck

Any thoughts?

The answer, in this case, although there may be others: they were all heavy drinkers. And, when I say heavy drinkers, I mean alcoholics. They lived their lives looking through the blur of a whisky/gin/vodka/wine bottle. Of the seven Americans who have won the Nobel prize for literature, five were heavy drinkers/alcoholics.

I hate to segway off into meaningless trivia, so let me get straight to the point: The only thing that would enliven this blog is a sixpack of beer or several shots of hard liquor, on the part of the reader OR the writer.

This blog is the relentless inertia of an emo crowd standing in front of their favorite band. It's the slow and killing crawl of an ant across the floor on a hundred degree day with air so heavy it can suffocate you.

After spending a half hour reading it today, I either need a swift blow to the head or a stiff drink to make it through this review. It fucking sucked the life out of me, a pageful of vampiric words lying in wait to strip the vitality from the hapless reader who stumbles into its lair.

Jesus God, you're 19 years old, and this is the best you've got to write about?

Did you know that the female guppy can give birth and then be ready again for conception in a few hours?

And get this, guppies have the ability to store sperm, so the females can give birth many times, after only once breeding with a male!

I had high hopes after reading the subtitle: "wishful thinking and imaginative solutions to the demons of college life."

Alas...there is no wishful thinking. No imaginative solutions. And, demons are in short supply, as well.

Instead, there is this:

When it begins, I know my case is stronger, my argument is a blend of emotional and rational aspects and I have a loud voice, but half-way through being angry and pissed, I get bored.

And, the person you are arguing with keels over dead, a victim of your monotony.

But wait, there's more:

I feel empty. Almost like the words random words floating about in my head without meaning. Never a sentence, never an idea, just useless random words.

It has to suck to write this, but it's excruciating to read.

What's my advice? Jesus God, get a fucking life.

You're 19. It's your time to drink, carouse, and have meaningless shags. You NEED, desperately, to kiss a stranger wetly and passionately in the smoky gloom of a skeezy bar, out on the dance floor with the beat pulsing in your ears, a hard groin pressed up against your own, and the smell of old beer in your nostrils. You NEED to find a strange tongue in your mouth occasionally. You NEED to choke down some Gentleman Jack splashed with Coke and twisted with lime. You NEED to put on a short skirt, and wax your hoo-hah. You NEED to dance your goddamn ass off.

YOU NEED TO FUCKING LIVE.

Get a fucking life, and THEN write about it.

At present, your writing is like that of an 80 year old woman imprisoned in a nursing home, whose life is boundaried by the daily schedule of Bollywood Squares.

The template is fine, but colorless.
The prose is technically correct, but bland as white walls in a white house on a suburban cul de sac.

Lose this fucking colorless black white and gray world you live in, and find some...

Red. Red. *Red*. *Red*, Charlie boy. *Red*!

Red is the color of sex and fear and danger and signs that say "Do. Not. Enter."

All of my favorite things in life are red..

I give you a And, I send along the wish that you will pump all the living into this period of your life that it can hold, until it is bulging to the seams with wild exploits, crazy adventures, hangovers, meeting of strange men, and joi de vivre.

Trust me on this one...your young years are over in the twinkle of a dead writer's eye, and then you are 43, with two kids, and reliving your glory days only in your memories and on facebook.

Don't miss them. You'll regret it.

List of Crash & Burn

In honor of the Daytona 500, I present:

Writing Above the Influence

I'd Blog That

Terminal Rant

The Discreet Charm of the Middle Class

Stuff and Nonsense

There is nothing like the smell of burning egos in the morning.

Blog Whoring

You know that we are the bloggers you love to hate. Please vote for us. Twice. Thanks to Sue Doe Nim for nominating us, as well. (damn her for going private)

That's what she said...

Favorite Quotes of the Week:

If you met me you would never guess I'm the fairy-believing kind. -Franco

Do you remember the Indian blogger who talked about killing his roommate, and we encouraged him to do so, in hopes that it might spice up his blog? -Love Bites

I've never seen biscotti used sarcastically, before. But here we are.-Prayingtodarwin

Biscotti are bitter and taste of my seemingly impossible doomed to failure quixotic quest to please other people. -Love Bites

I'm not trying to be a dick, but when, exactly, did Vince Neil found Depeche Mode? -Ghost of Keywork

I'm down for some porn. Who has a stuffed buffalo? -Dirty Pirate
Hooker

I hate domestic violence, but her blog made me want to punch her too. - Betsey Booms

If I were her, this would have totally ruined my weekend. I would burn you all (well, including me) in effigy and sworn mighty (futile) vengeance with shaking fist and righteous fury. And then I would cry. With snot bubbles. -Calamity

And my personal favorite:

This post has been removed by the author. -Twisted Lisa

Vanilla, Chocolate, Pirate.

Today's scheduled victim was in a terrible trebuchet accident and the kind crew here decided it would be easier on the family not to run his review. Instead, we have one of our guest reviewers to fill in. If there's anyone Miss Missives would call to take over a lashing session, it would be the Dirty Pirate Hooker. She's clearly a masochist and a sadist because she is voluntarily walking down the aisle with Ghost of Keywork in the near future. She is flexing her mean muscle here a little in preparation for married life where she'll have to keep her dirty little raccoon in line. -Miss Missives


Good morning, it is I, the Dirty Pirate Hooker. I’ve been dying to do a guest review and when the lovely Miss Missives popped up in my inbox with today’s review, I was excited! I was expecting a blog about some wannabe whore that I could shame in front of the masses. Instead I got this.

Let's talk about your template, shall we? First of all let me say, that 20 posts per page are way too fucking many, and because of how many you have on each page, your blog takes forever to load. The first thing my eyes are assaulted with upon visiting your blog is your ginormous fucking header. You boast on your header about your "twisted" sense of humor, but the only thing I found funny on your blog was your disgusting need for people to like you. I mean come on honey, have some dignity. Do you really need 14 ways for someone to follow you? That just screams, "I'm fucking desperate, love me". Also, the navigation on your blog sucks. Get a drop down for your archives and do it by month and year. Nothing irritates me more than clicking on "older posts".

I need to clue you in on a little secret. Are you listening? Blog awards are like getting a medal at the special olympics. You may be a winner, but you're still fucking retarded. Sure there's something to say about being given an award, but you file away that fuzzy feeling and you leave it at that. You don't post them up on your blog and list the number of times these awards have been given to you. And seriously? You have a humorblog button that lists how many people voted for you? You're not even funny, like at all. The only thing I'm going to say about your pathetic attempt to make money off of your blog is, that design sucks and all of the clothes on there are ugly.

As for the content, I really have nothing nice to say. My first thought when I started reading was, "can I be mean to a woman who just got punched by her ex"? Then I kept reading and decided yes, I can. Lisa, you don't take responsibility for anything, which is clearly evidenced here , here, the second half of this post, I could keep going but I think you all get the point. I fear that blogging is like a popularity contest for you. Bitch, you're addicted to your blog and are blogging for all the wrong reasons. You don't even write about anything in particular. It's all just crap that I have no interest in reading and I can't even fathom why others would want to either.

The only time that I laughed out loud while reading this waste of space was during this post. I want to be bff's with the kid who texted you and then later wrote the apology letter. I want him/her to have their own blog because that was some truly entertaining shit right there.

Lisa, I hate your blog and wish that it would die a slow and painful death. For that reason, I am giving you 3 flaming fingers, and this one as well. It seems so fitting.

Are You There God, It's Me Miss Missives

Dear Diary,

I haven't been feeling myself lately. First, at work a few days ago, I just wasn't putting enough fervor into the lashing I was asked to do. That man had paid good money to get a proper "talking to" and I totally phoned it in. Then yesterday I was happily strolling the boulevard when a rude woman pushed roughly past me, and all I could muster was a lukewarm, "slow the fuck down already.” I'm just not as angry as I used to be and it's worrying me.

Then I was looking for my knee high lace up boots because those always cheer me up when I'm feeling down. You know what? I couldn't find them anywhere and I was so bummed. Still, I need to count my blessings, stay positive because this too shall pass right? Oh, did I tell you about my new favorite coffee drink? Oh, and I totally forgot but I finally got an Ipod. I know, pretty cool. Oh and I had this dream where I'm like falling and I never hit the ground. Has that ever happened to you? It was really weird. Anyhow, until next time. -Miss Missives
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Have I properly illustrated the point? No? Let me spell it out for you. Diary entries, even diary entries of fabulous people, seldom make good reading. It is the rare diary that's interesting. It might be interesting if:

You think your twelve year old might be
a)having sex
b)experimenting with drugs
c)planning something for school that might appear in a breaking news bulletin

Your boyfriend is sending you mixed messages and you find this window to his innermost fetishy thoughts.

You find your mom's from like junior year and you are looking for ammunition.

Gwen is a nice person and her writing is clear and readable. The problem is she just isn't saying anything. Maybe to a few friends and family members but certainly not a general audience. Her blog reads like a diary and the entries are her day to day happenings, frustrations and mood swings. That's ok, because everyone is entitled to a room of their own and Miss Missives thinks moms especially need a place that is theirs and nobody elses.

Like a good diarist, she has blogged for a long time in a few different incarnations. Like a diarist, her diary is interesting to her. Gwen if you want to make this readable to a general audience, which I suspect you don't, you'd have to dig deeper. You touch a bit on conflicts with the husband, frustrations with life and this is where I start to pay attention because it's what begins to make you real, but you never go below the surface.

I don't want to read about your dental problems or the DMV. No one except masochists likes to do either of these things, much less read about someone else doing them. Seriously, the only thing more painful than going to the DMV is reading about you going to the DMV. As for the template, it is clean and pretty. Your 'About Me' is nicely written and descriptive. You have a drop down archive which is a plus but having the posts dated with years would make navigating old posts easier.

I'm not going to tell you to set it ablaze or stop writing but understand, the blogging you are doing is never going to attract a following. Even you ask yourself what your blog is supposed to be. It is in fact that last one, the running commentary of your completely average life. There are too many other moms that write straight from the gut, or the heart and connect with the reader in a way that keeps them coming back for more. You can write and maybe someday if you're inclined you'll dig deeper, but until then enjoy the room of your own, by yourself.

Wailing and flailing and trudging and flogging

My freshman year of high school I dated this guy who was weird and dark and full of hate. I had changed schools that year, from a preppy private school to a slightly less preppy public one. I mean, there was, like, cultural and ethnic variety. Ish. Sort of. Anyway, this guy was everything that the All-American boys next door Young Republicans I'd been to school with for years were not. He was an artist, he liked Nine Inch Nails and Ministry and wore a ratty old army jacket and slept with a cleaver under his bed and called himself by his own name spelled backwards. He made me mix tapes and I blew him in the front seat of his Monte Carlo.

We were together about seven months before he came to his senses about me being really, really young, and I came to my senses about him being really, really weird. And I swore, from that day forward, never again. That was my first, last, and only brush with twisted little arty death boys who think they just might be the Antichrist.

And I've said too much.

Today's reviewee reminds me of that guy, that freaky little charming bastard. But with less charm. Therein lies my bias. I'm warning you ahead of time.

The design is a simple, abbreviated three-column layout that's really unnecessary. Stick with two. As Love Bites illustrated in her latest review, it's just overkill. Although there are very few extras on the blog, which is good. No blinking whoozits or badges or ads or anything. But the gray text on black background is hell on my eyes. I suspect "Thanatos" knows this and is just punishing us all, little death boy that he is.

He's been "blogging" for at least 3 years, but there are only a little over 100 posts. He admits in his profile that prior to 2008 he didn't do a lot of writing for his blog; it was mostly links and poetry and video. And speaking of poetry, his is angsty dark poetry, which I'm not sure I can fault him for as I'm so very guilty of the same. Well, I was when I was 19 anyway.

As for the writing, there are quite a few grammatical and technical problems that trip me up, especially apostrophes and the lack thereof. I suspect that's just laziness, and perhaps a bit to do with the whole ESOL thing. But it's annoying nonetheless.

Thanatos would like us to believe that he's all I hate everything and fuck you and I don't care what you think and naneenaneebooboo and I'm so blasé and deep and twisted and complicated and people are stupid and I'm a smarty little judgmental angsty-pants.

Nihilism has never been attractive to me. And neither has misanthropy. Well, except for that one time in high school. Thanatos talks about cutting, which worries me. But then he goes and says things like, "Do something useful, pull a trigger," which, you know what Mr. The World Is a Vampire? Go fuck yourself. (And I know that seems hypocritical coming from a girl who doles out flaming fingers and laughs at comments about killing roommates, but still. I'm the boss of this review and I can do what I want.)

There are some glimpses of what's underneath, what's valuable. But there's no back
story. I assume he's in the States for school or work, but I could be wrong. He doesn't tell us anything. This is good. Real, even. And this, even though I'm now more sure than ever that this guy needs a couple of hours with Mistress Kiki and her stinging whip and a ball gag.

I hate the music he loves, and his profile says he doesn't read that much, so ultimately I just don't have a lot in common with Thanatos, and I'm kind of glad. Because he seems unhappy, really. Ok, so he likes Sasha Grey. Who doesn't? Yum.

In his submission form, Thanatos tells us his blog is: "A collection of rants, embedded youtube videos and obscure references that are increasingly reeking of self indulgence." I've got to hand it to him that he's at least self-aware. Thanatos, your blog up to about the last five months is an exercise in pushing people away. You posted things that don't matter, not to you or to anyone. It's throw-away crap and you know it. But there are a few redeeming posts lately, where you shrug off that mask of cynicism and morbid carelessness and show us the person underneath. Stick with that stuff. Write better and more frequently, otherwise what's the point, what are you blogging for?

I don't believe you at all when you say you don't care what we think, that your blog is just for you. You wouldn't have submitted here for your kick to the nuts (your words). If you want this blog to be worthwhile, if you want people to read what you say and care about it, lay off the surface jaded bullshit and give us something we can relate to. Or, if nothing else, something to entertain us. Because right now you're just swimming around in a pool of your own bile, and that can't be fun. Or, you know, hygienic.

Today you get








But keep on doing what you've been doing the last couple of months only better, and post more frequently and more meaningfully, and I'll revisit this rating.

Nuevo

If you look at the tabs above, you'll see a new tab: Ranked. If you click on it, you'll see that you can look at blogs by rating and category.

This is in response to the anonymous critique that our blog is difficult to navigate. Perhaps that will make it easier.

I do, I do, I do believe in fairies

It's probably wrong that the first thing I thought when I realized that Franco is Peruvian is "chicken." But, in fact, I have peruvian roast chicken leftovers from last week in the fridge today for lunch, and I'm totally looking forward to that chicken, because it is fucking good.

Anyway...enough about my neverending appetite.

Do you remember when you were oh so very young, and the world was filled with magic? Do you remember when you kept your thoughts locked in a tinkerbell diary underneath your bed?

Franco still lives there, in Cinderella's castle. Seriously. I'm not even exaggerating here, he has one of those tower rooms that you only get if you're an 8-year-old girl with money.

Actually, Franco is an 18-year-old Peruvian immigrant who currently resides in Atlanta, Georgia, and writes under his real name (tsk, tsk). I'm hoping that this never comes back to haunt you during future job interviews, Franco, when your employers learn that you "believe in fairies, magical creatures and magic." Franco, didn't your parents ever talk to you about internet safety? I'm guessing no.

Okay, so...here are some thoughts. I love the header image, it's adorable. However, I fail to see the connection between the header and most of your writing, to the degree that your header appears to be anachronistic.

I hate three column blog designs. They look too damn busy, and generally, the users of three column designs make sure they are packed to the gills with busy little gadgets and crap that only reinforces this problem. Franco is no exception to this three column junked up blog rule. First, we have Franco's "Posie" (I'm not sure if these are his personal flower children or if Franco has simply misspelled "posse.") Then, we have Franco's I-pod playlist, contact info, blogroll, and comic book links. On the far right column, we have Franco's "about me," a photo of some random place, a photo of a random key, a label cloud, a survey, and the archives.

As is almost always the case, the crap contained in these sidebars could be distilled down to a single column without impeding the blog's readability/maneuverability, at all. And, these items only serve to distract us from the content.

As far as the content...it appears that Franco is struggling with a blog identity crisis that is currently coinciding with his teenaged identity crisis. More than one blogger (even the teenage kind) has gone through this phase, including me, and at that point, blogging becomes a chore akin to pushing an obstreperous mule up a hill.

Most of Franco's entries don't work. For one thing, I don't read blogs that link to videos of cutesy children who've been overmedicated with laughing gas. However, some of his entries show what his blog COULD be if he perhaps were willing to walk away from his blog in its current incarnation and be anonymously real:

Dear Diary:
My parents are those kind of people who married the wrong person... (click to read the rest)

Those kinds of entries, I'd read. Most of the rest is garbage of the kind that, in ten years, when you pull your tinkerbell diary out of the boxes that you'd stored in your parents' attic during your college/young adult years, and re-read it, you'll be deeply and painfully humiliated by your teenaged stupidity.

Don't do this to yourself, Franco. In particular, dude, don't do this to yourself using your real name.

My best advice to Mr. Rivermist is that he move from his present digs, establish himself in anonymity, and start writing, not about fairies, but about his life. You know, basically, the kind of thing that happens when people stop being polite and start getting real.*

Franco, you spend so much time in a fantasy world to avoid your real life, when your real life is tangible, compelling, interesting, and painful. Stop posting filler, and start documenting your life.

It's harder to be real than to believe in fairies...but in the long run, it's worth it. You'll see, when you get out there in the Real World.*

I give you a . You've been around these parts long enough than to know better than to submit your teenybopper fairy wonder diary to us.

That's what she said...

It's a sad day indeed when assholes can't be distinguished. - Betsey Booms

Indeed, it is. I weep for undistinguishable assholes. - Gwen

Soecific sounds like the devil's language. Like maybe there's a record playing backwards and it's all "fuck your mother burn your tits off anus licker smegma face."

Wait, what? - CalamityCal

"I think you mean, "fuvk ypur mothet byrn ypur titd off amus lickwr smegma face."

(I just couldn't change "smegma face," because I'm going to start calling people that. Starting...now.)Rassles

If I ever sign up for a review (which will never happen because I'm too self centered to handle a positive and too neurotic to handle constructive-and both of those together might kill me) but if I do, if that moment happens and I reply with anything other than "Hey, thanks"

just shoot me in the head. - Gap

Joe just hates white folk since they kicked his and Tonto's arse at the battle of Woeful Shite. - Father Gene

Rassles, your personal stationery should be your name at the top of crisp white heavy linen paper with deep red Chianti splatter all over it. - Miss Missives

For me, at least, this week was a high point for general hilarity in the comments.

Your favorites? Please share.

I Wish This Fucking Day Would End

This isn't his first time guest reviewing here at Ask. Ghost of Keywork, lovingly referred to as Gok around these parts, probably finished having any firsts about the time he was fifteen. According to his mom he's a whore, but whores of a feather flock together and somehow he crossed starry paths with our favorite hooker and they'll be heading down the aisle pretty soon to make it official. Sure he's gone private, but if you want to get a load of the goods, you might want to ask nice and bring lots of lube. - Miss Missives

Hello, I believe we all know who I am. I won't lie, this review is rather short and to the point. I don't know anyone like today's blogger, and after reading his blog, I'm glad. Really, it is that bad. Before I dig into my next victim, go here and have a laugh. Because there is absolutely no humor to be found anywhere at A Day In The Life. Monday's post was the closest that you came to making me contemplate laughter. Seriously, dude, you've been going at this since 2003. Obviously, blogging is not your thing, stick to graphic design. I have friends that work in your field, and they are, for the most part, funny. Entertaining even. I wish they would blog. Sadly, they don't, and you do. Thanks. Ok, let us get to your journal. Tell you what, let me show the good people why you should never post again.


Exhibit A: Enthralling!


Exhibit B: Captivating!


Exhibit C: Oh, Fuck, I Can't Fake It Anymore.


Look, I'd love to know what you did yesterday, but you can't be bothered to give me any fucking details. So, fuck you. No, really, fuck you. Your template is pathetic. So is mine, but my writing more than makes up for it. The only thing your writing does is make everyone feel better about their writing. Again, you have been getting away with this spineless shit for a few years now. Stop. If you want to put your spin on the news, then fucking put your spin on it. I don't want to waste any more time than I already have, so I'm going to lay it down right now:

If I were on fire, burning to death, and you had more than enough water(I'm likening your blog to life-giving water) to extinguish me, I would pay you to take your water(blog) and go fuck yourself. I would rather die in an entertaining fashion than run the risk of living after being exposed to your boring fucking water(blog). Seriously.

Oh, get rid of the ads, shorten up your blog roll, fix your goddamned archives, and hire someone else to write for you. Here are two things that I will now address, from your blog:

This. Yeah, God really has it in for you. Look, a funny raccoon post. What? My blog is being reviewed by a dead raccoon? Fuck. Yeah, you didn't do yourself any favors by posting that lolcoon. The post was fine without it.

And this. What, I didn't link anything? That's right, I didn't. On your blog, you have a link that I can click on to donate money for 'all the work you do around here'(referring to your blog, I assume). This was the icing on your boring cake of a blog.

Please, cut off all your fingers and stay away from the internet. Can we make that a new rating?

Nonsense indeed

Oh joy. A "humour" blog.

All the Indian emos must be busy queuing up for my chemical romance tickets.

Anyway, Mr VE with your fantastical nonsense, I sense you are sitting there, buttocks clenched, waiting to be told how wonderful you are.

So here goes: You're not really. You could be, but we’ll come back to that.

Humour bloggers are starting to become the bane of my existence. This one is more or less the same as all the rest. Post after post of nothingness surrounding yet another quirky picture stolen from the internet, that a thousand other gormless humour bloggers are copy/pasting into another thousand worthless posts in the name of entertainment somewhere else on the planet.

That’s the bulk of your stuff I'm sorry to say. But, there are glimpses of hope, all is not lost. You are, if nothing else, occasionally original. You manage to squeeze out entries on a regular basis where there should be no fodder.

You show that you can write up a storm from almost nothing. This is what I see as your redeeming feature. You are a writer. Unfortunately you are a writer wasting your time on a "LOL" and "I think I threw up a little in my mouth" audience.

Write about yourself, about what you do, about the shit you put up with daily, the ins and outs of the ordinary, the mundane, and the reality. Turn your language skills and fluid vocabulary to that instead of today's Yahoo wacky news headline.

You do the haggard old humour blog "well", and that's as objective as I'm going to get about it, considering I hate everything about it at this stage. What you could do is endless. You have a nice turn of phrase, a purposefulness when you write, and an interesting dark humour that deserves a more substantial subject matter.

I think you are wasting your time doing what you do now, but of course that's personal opinion. I ask you are you proud of what you produce? all of it?

I spent hours reading through you last week and I couldn't come up with anything more than major 'meh'. So in an attempt to not be completely guided by my prejudices, I came back to it this week.

You do a neat humour blog, which to me is akin to performing a tidy home abortion, but each to their own. Two stars through my gritted teeth, with endless possibilities if you changed your focus.

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An aside. Lest I be accused of hating an entire sub-continent, I must refer to an earlier review of the cynic's bar. A shit load of potential, but Joe had a tendancy to never shut the fuck up. It was almost unreadable without huge effort.

Fast forward 5 or 6 months and have a look at an infinitely improved template, and posts that actually read like they were edited with being read by another human in mind. You can now see the black humour in almost every entry, the alternating touches of self deprecation and obnoxiousness, and a sinister grumpiness that I enjoy.

It's different, in written pace and origins, and although the comments tend to spiral into incomprehensible screeches and grunts, overall it's no real bad thing.

You are not a cynic, you're just a grumpy fucker, but one who wanted critique, took it on the chin, and acted. A pretty fucking unique effort and I think it deserves a few of these.

I havent got a fucking clue why there are a billion stars in this post, and I can't be arsed trying to fix it any more. To clarify, 2 for funny man and 3 for the slumdog millionaire.