Honestly, Just Fucking Knock It Off

You Forgot Your Brain finds me insomnia-addled and choking on the deep-fried chicken-bones of jealousy this morning, utterly envious of anyone who's been zapped with a full-frontal lobotomy or any kind massive, mind-altering head-trauma, because I’m almost certain that I wouldn’t have to review this rectal-spray of a blog were I clinically brain-damaged. Upon further perusal, however, perhaps the mentally-enfeebled is actually SVC’s intended audience, judging by the insane-asylum-gray background and grammatical snafus that bring to mind an orangutan bashing the keyboard with his elbows. Either way, I’m fucked coming and going, and this review is inescapable.

It’s not just that he’s annoying, it’s that he’s aggressively annoying; it’s like reading the musings of a four-year-old who got his head caught in a motorboat propeller, or the screaming idiocy of a howler-monkey with a paper-cut. There is absolutely no discernible difference at all between his first post and his last, and considering he’s been at this since 2005, I think it’s time to give in to nature and let irresistible contemptibility and overwhelming disinterest kill this blog dead.

I managed to cull some (sic) sentences from this atrocity before I ran outside in a hysterical rage looking for a small creature to strangle with my bare hands, so, please, judge for yourselves:

As Roger Ebert:

Some uncommon observations about [Ferris Bueller’s Day Off]: Sloan could have been hotter. When casting a lead hot girlfriend, she should be smokin hot, someone to drool over. Her voice is great, I have dreams about her voice, but we could have dialed up the looks on her a little bit. I mean, it is a hollywood movie, lets go people. A 7 on the scale of 1-10 doesn't cut it. Jennifer Grey, ferris' sister was hotter. Wow, hows that for a scary thought?

As a misogynist:

I love the term skank. I find that if one woman really hates another woman, that is the best term they use. Famous cases of skanks include Jennifer Love Hewitt, Tara Reid, Lynnsey Lohan, and Christine Aguilara. Men generally have no opinion about these girls, but mention those names around other females in an appreciative way and you will undoubtidly get a quick lip curl snarl. That being said, the local banks around here have quite a reputation for hiring skanks as bank tellers. You can tell they had a hard night of indirect prostitution so they are not exactly perky at 9AM. They're staring at the clock waiting for their next cancer stick break and a cell phone call to the 30 yr old guy they slobbered over to talk about a trip to planned parenthood on the lunch break.

As a jock:

For all the sports fans out there. Can we get a petition togethor for Fox to put rat poisen in Joe Buck's coffee? I would say the petition should be for his resignation, but he would just find work on some other network to annoy the crap out of everyone. I am so sick of his self-righteous crap. He never played sports and he needs to keep his opinions concerning player and manager behaviour to himself. I know his dad was an announcer too, but he didn't suck. Anyway, I hate games called by him and if I ever see him, he can expect to be tackled and made to chain smoke until we have to remove his larynx.

A couple of quick hits:

I stash things I might need everywhere, I am chronic prepare in case of emergency type guy and then forget that I put it there.

Why not just go see the real band or, if they are a broken up band; preserve the memories correctly through the tapes?

I have all the sick days I need, dress as I choose, can be as late as I want, and take off when I want. Not that I do because you feel responsible, but it's nice to know it is there.

Haphazard, inane, quasi-imbecilic claptrap thrown at the screen with indifference - it’s just wall-to-wall, irredeemable garbage that makes the dumpster behind a third-rate Thai-food restaurant look like a debutante’s ball; if horseshit was teeth, this guy would have the biggest smile in the universe.

Seriously, dude: fuck off, and don't come back.

You Madame are an Imposter

Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed. We've had Faux Teen Wolf and Faux Stiles around here leaving comments but never a mystery like this. Someone cleverly left messages to Askers from Askers. The chicanery was noticed immediately however, because the comments were way too cerebral and didn't use any profanity. All I can say is someone was a busy little beaver.


Faux Ginny said...to Dirty Pirate Hooker

You are about as entertaining as a child's inflatable punching toy. You bop it, it springs back, you bop it again and you forget it ever existed. It slowly deflates in an unused corner, then one day you throw it away. Do yourself and everyone else a favor: take a fatal overdose of your child's medication. Your cats will eat you and destroy all evidence you ever disgraced the world with your pathetic existence.
March 26, 2009 1:16 PM

Faux G. said... to Betsey Booms

Yes god please die. Your value doesn't even amount to a urinal filled with drunk's piss. If life was fair, you would simply hang yourself from the nearest lamp post instead of blogging, you inbred banjo-pickin' hillbilly.In the meantime keep typing. Maybe, someday, you'll randomly type something semi-intelligent. Was this post a conclusion or simply the place where you got tired of thinking? Well, you're certainly thoughtless; I just wish that you were keyboard-less, too.
March 26, 2009 1:34 PM

Anonymous Jason said... to G.

Idiot. Do you think you are some kind of poet or something? My dog writes better than this. If I wrote like this and looked like you I would be searching for a place to hide not belong.
March 26, 2009 2:02 PM

Faux Love Bites said to Ginny

You post in a way that makes slugs and other invertebrates look like Nobel Prize winners. Dullard, while you're off on your weekend vacation, do yourself and everyone else a favor: disconnect your computer from the Internet and never connect it again. I suggest the next time that you feel an urge to embarrass yourself and bore others, that you summon all your might, and resist.
Thu, 26 Mar 2009 3:24 PM

Faux Whackman said... to Father Gene

I believe it's called "Kit Kat", moron.That post is indicative of what this blog is starting to become. Just as stupid as Brutalism and all the rest.Your ineffective imitation of good posting style only serves to illuminate your lack of substance, good taste, and decency.Thanks for your contribution, but if I had wanted to hear from somebody with your IQ, I'd be at my local supermarket talking to the vegetables. Lawnmower repair manuals are far more interesting than you, and far less turgid to read. If you called the Suicide Hotline, they'd say: "Go ahead. Do it!" Oh well, at least you only charge what your free advice is worth.
3/26/2009 4:45 PM

So vote for your favorite or try to solve the mystery, was it the Authoress with a candlestick in the library? Or was it Colonel Mustard with a noose in the caboose.

If You Spot It You Got It

Class in session miscreants; Professor Booty's here.

You might think that a successful, world-renowned bootologist such as The Professor would be a proud and self-confident man, maybe even veering toward the vain. I mean, for the love of Baby Jesus, I’m a two-time Assman-Rumper Award winner – and I think you all know what that means.

But I carry around with me a fair amount of self-loathing. Can’t explain it, but there it is. What this means in practical terms is that when I run across someone with whom I share a lot of personality traits I don’t see a kindred spirit, maybe a good friend in the making. No, I see a nemesis.

Enter Idiot Boy. He ain’t much to look at - hackneyed title and tagline – self-deprecation and asserted cynicism – and blah, blah, blue basic blogger. Yawn. It’s nice and clean, but you drew the short straw Idiot, I’m the one guy around here who likes my blogs like I like my women – overly made up and trashy. If your blog was a women and and I saw her standing primly on the street corner, I’d spare her a glance - out of politeness - and then quickly move on to the busty one down the street with the ruby lips and fishnets.

I was assigned your blog - kind of like being forced to go on a date with the daughter of your Dad's business associate who has a 'great personality'. Miss Missives breaks out the riding crop when I don’t get my assignments done in time, so you’re a lucky boy. Because, forced to read, I discovered a kindred spirit. What I discovered in fact, was a blogger that seems to have lived a mirror image of my life. I mean this guy's wondered about why he's the target of phallus enhancers, dismays about his transition into his own father, has taken road trips on LSD, he's mystified by the evolution of our mother tongue and he can seamlessly patch together a post about one of Dylan's finest works and canine vomitus in five hundred words or less.

He's telling my stories. He's in my head. Get out of my head, you bastard! Just who the fuck does this fucker think he is?

I'll tell you, my Askers and Receivers. He's my doppelganger and thus, my nemesis.

It's not all good. Sometimes he slips over the top and Idiot Boy can be a bit formulaic - every post has the same structure and a ten cent punchline - but it comes off more comforting than boring. But more importantly, as I trolled through his archives I realized that this fucker is getting better. His posts are getting crisper. He's exploiting the networking potential of blogging and has developed a loyal audience. He doesn't feel the need to post every day and while there is about one too many posts about his dog's bodily functions, he writes when he has something to say.

On advice of counsel, I've been actively working on my self-esteem. But it's baby steps. And until I can love myself, Idiot Boy, I can't love my doppelganger. . I tell you what, Idiot Boy, take this...

...and let's just go our separate ways and pretend we never met. Deal?

Non-brutality

There was an old Kat Kat ad when I was growing up, where a dreadful band were auditioning for a record company executive, who said to them “You can’t sing, you can’t play, you look awful. You’ll go a long way”

That is how I feel about this blog, Brutalism. I can’t tell what genre of blogging it’s trying to fit into, but it seems to be somewhere between the mainstream humour and mommy blog worlds. Not to mention that frankly, it looks dull and same-ish, with little or no effort put into the presentation.

BUT....

This woman can tell a joke. She really can. She can choose, time, and pace a funny story pretty perfectly. These are things that just come naturally to some and she’s got it.

A lot of humour bloggers could learn from her, punchlines don’t need to be delivered by circus clowns with cream pies, and mommy bloggers could learn to pick the interesting or amusing from the mundane like she does.

She isn't overbearing, annoyingly opinionated or in your face. Quite unassuming and self-deprecating in fact.

Examples are all through the blog, which has been running since 2004, but in full swing since 2007. Here, or here, are examples of simple stories or quips that genuinely amuse, because of timing and perverse humour. You can dive into any monthly archive and find similar. Even the normally irritating filler posts people do about search terms or adwords can be worth while if you have the knack.

So, what would I suggest? Clean it up. Find a smarter, fresher and more original template. Hone your image and message. It irritates me to see some less than average blogs get all the hits and traffic, when your content is better than average and only slugging along.

I wouldn’t mind a bit more of a peak at the person behind the quips and stories, that would bring me back, and save me from thinking all these great wee stories weren’t just mechanical output.

I think you’ve done well here, you have a natural ability with timing of humour that so many just don’t, it would be a shame to let it go to waste. You seem to enjoy the art of blogging, more so than just listening to your own voice, so it would be a shame to see your potential go to waste.

These were easy come by, the remainder is up to you

Goddamn Hippies

Fucking blogs, I tell you.

This gig at Ask is very much akin to shopping at a dirt-floor flea-market: there are pockets of magic in amongst the outright contemptible bullshit, sometimes, but there are also many instances in which the individual knickknacks get washed out in a gigantic void of bland nothingness. I’ve said it before, but I haven’t been back long enough for some of our new readers, so I’ll say it again: I need electricity. I need cartoon sound-effects and desensitizing madness and monstrous lunacy and synapses pulsing and pounding and short-circuiting and flash and dazzle and spite and venom and raw nerves and exposed viscera and gleeful chaos. I’m not talking blog-preference here, either – these are things, in life, that I need.

Surprisingly, I find that very few of the above-mentioned necessities are checked off my list whilst perusing flea-markets, and even fewer browsing the streams of tepid shit that roll through here like piddling rivulets of urine sinking into the ground before ever reaching open water. At least there’s a sardonic appeal to purchasing a single typewriter-key, or fifteen ALF comic-books for a quarter; there’s absolutely nothing alluring about the vast majority of blogs darkening the blogosphere, and a huge percentage of the interweb-abled population should be dragged from their computers and beaten mercilessly with a canvas bag full of live, rabid mice until they took the hint and got themselves outside for a breath of fresh air, if even for once in their miserable, misbegotten lives.

Which brings us to the now: Louie Pit Bull (and Ollie Beagle) is a rotten, disgraceful pile of rancid trash that stains my eyes with its torrential drivel... or it should be, had it followed the premise I painstakingly set up for this review. In reality, however, it’s not half-bad. Oh, don’t think I didn’t try to find an angle, some little loophole I could slip through to tear into it with both hands, because I did – no, the guy is just too affable for me to genuinely dislike, and despite the countless strikes against the blog itself (typical, standard blogger-template, mind-numbing widgets along the sidebar, a general lack of direction in the writing, to name a few), I’ve gotten through more of it than I thought I would.

He’s a guy who’s just talking, hanging out, passing along random thoughts and detailing events as they happen, enjoying himself and his life more often than not, and, hey, all right; I don’t really have it in me to fault the guy for his sunny outlook. I can, however, call him on his emoticon-usage, a practice that teeters on the borderline between merely appalling and maniacally irresponsible, so it all evens out, in my mind.

At the end of the day, he’s all peace, love and Beethoven, whereas I’m all spite, rage and pointy things. Suffice it say, we were never destined to mill about in converging circles, though it must also be said that I would certainly try to avoid hitting him if he fell down in front of my car… and if that isn’t a fucking compliment, I don’t have any idea what you people are expecting from me.



It’s not terrible, but if it doesn’t jump down my throat and fry my pancreas, I’m probably not going to be too keen. Also, dude, Aqua Teen Hunger Force? Watch it all – you’re won’t be disappointed.

Seriously. Don't believe me? Okay, fine - have another star:



But that's just between you and me, all right? Don't go bragging to your friends about getting the "two-star" treatment at Ask or I swear to all that is holy that I will be literally angry with rage.

But I'm a Cheerleader

Miss Missives ponders converting;
to be or not to be a lesbian,
that is the question.




Pros
1.Girls smell better, kiss better.
2.Save money,share resources like clothes, makeup; buy Midol and Tampons in bulk.
3.Never ending supply of drama.
4.No baby batter=no accidental pregnancy.
5.Lowest STD rate = super clean vag.

Cons
1. Convergent menstrual cycles, twice the hormones does not equal twice the fun.
2. Crying is largely ineffective.
3. Latex a poor substitute for the real thing.
4. Early bed death.
5. Entirely too much talking.

Geekporngirl is a forty-something, Bay-area lesbian with a penchant for popular culture and a noticeably romantic bent. The "geek porn" here refers less to the boom chicka wah wah and more to the trivial egg-head details that interest this outside the stereotypes woman. The site is a mix of sapphicentric news items, news links, videos, opinion pieces, and fiction that come together to form a sort of e-zine for the tipping the velvet crowd.

On the plus side, I like the look of the site. The Header is visually appealing and curiosity-sparking. Miss Missives has found that you can never go wrong with pert nipples peeking through a wife-beater. Geekporngirl has a nice About in terms of information about the feel and intent of the site. Still, since the site though magazine-style, is produced by and large by one person, I would like to know a little bit about the girl behind the geek, especially with regard to the fiction.

There are moments of borrowed though salient humor. Geekporngirl is both sex-positive and eco-friendly. Her categories are good, not too many, not too few. There is a great deal of borrowed video and news items but they are germane to lesbians, the greater LGBT community and egg-heads alike. Though Geekporngirl sports a long-ass side bar, the links appear to be relevant to the intent of the site. Were I a lesbian dropping buy for the latest Prop 8 controversy or cool graphic t-shirt, these links would interest me. Though the word cloud and the most recent comments could be cast off and a few of the listings condensed to further streamline the site's feel.

On the con side, I found the site difficult to navigate. The Home and Frontpage tabs appear to be the same, therefore redundant. When you meander through the posts from either Home or Frontpage, the posts appear undated. I don't like undated posts as a general rule but especially when you are posting news items. If you look at these same posts under the Latest Posts tab, the dates magically appear. This might just be a glitch of how the web pages are set up but do us all a favor and add dates to all of the posts. Geekporngirl posts frequently enough that she doesn't need to obscure the date.

Adding to the difficulty navigating is the fact that Home and Frontpage are set up with no older posts button and no archives. When you go to Latest Posts tab, you can click on older entries but there are still no archives to search through. Additionally, the site is very lesbian specific and therefore lacks broad appeal but if you are a smarty pants lesbian, this site would be right up your man-free, girl zone.

With regard to the fiction, bookish lesbians can find anything from erotic Haiku, to Drabbles to longer pieces of Harliquinesque romantic fiction. Yes, geekporngirl is a hopeful romantic. There are links on her sidebar to the really hot stuff but her fiction, while it dips it's toe in the lake of naughty tends to be more the stuff of longing and the trials of romantic love. Romance novellas have never been Miss Missive's thing but I can guess that there is a dearth of the more genteel lesbian romances. Geekporngirl is no doubt filling a niche with her tales of woe and pleasure.

Although Miss Missives does not hail from the Island of Lesbos, much of the info here is interesting to me. Still, it's unlikely I'll be back because the whole thing feels very detached. I know many bloggers need some distance between their real selves and their sites, and that's understandable. Still, I tend to read people most consistently when I get a feel for them and their life. Geekporngirl, I want to root for you, I want to support your efforts for equality and self-awareness. I want to find the common ground that we as women all share but the emotion and expression here, even in the fiction feels very restrained. Take off the figurative corset, shake the girls free and be yourself.

You can do it your way, and maybe you are trying to hedge the neutral ground for fear of becoming too editorial but there are tons of LGBT publications and only one you. Prop 8, tell me why it makes you angry. Del Martin and Phyllis Lyon--tell me why they inspire you. There are a whole bunch of people waiting on the sidelines with their pom-poms and their megaphones just waiting for your stories to grab them--invite them in.

Death sentence

Sometimes you find a blog called like something like 'Run of the mill' that you TOTALLY like love and stuff because it talks about all the like stuff you love like coke and daddy and I heart daddy and bikes and being able to catch the bus instead of walking when your hair has done that woohoo thing and you want to cry yourself to sleep and stuff but then you like wake up and stuff and TOTALLY realise that salmon pink is HUGELY your favourite colour and that mammy is like TOTALLY the most fashionable mammy this side of Bangalore and if you like SO didn't know better you would think that you were in like an Indian version of the Gilmore Girls and oh my God you've just realised that you haven't taken a breath in like 4 months and you can't do math anymore and you like fall TOTALLY into a deep sleep and you like dream one of those REALLY cool dreams that you like TOTALLY remember the next day and stuff and you tell mammy because she's like TOTALLY the coolest mammy and you tell her how your blog got reviewed by like this gross middle aged man who TOTALLY wanted to cry just like three posts in because you only ever wrote like you were fourteen and very blonde and like rich and spoiled and stuff and even though it was clear that you like TOTALLY had a like really good vocabulary and stuff and seemed like REALLY dedicated to writing regularly and stuff but you wrote about stuff and stuff that would like TOTALLY make fluff seem like intellectual and deep and stuff and that if the people reading the review only read the review and nothing more they would TOTALLY like know what the blog was like like and that the reviewer couldn’t really blame the you for being the way you like TOTALLY are because that was just the way you were and stuff but that the gross reviewer thought that you like TOTALLY needed a ride on the short bus and should go and get like life experience and stuff like maybe having a friend TOTALLY block you on MSN and making you cry yourself to sleep again but then it all TOTALLY didn’t matter anyway because you like hadn’t blogged for like months now and the reviewer is left to assume that you like choked to death on a TOTALLY.

You put the round thing in the hole

We ain't never done this before, but play along bitches (if you wanna):

NCAA March Madness Competition

Mother Theresa, I Ain't

A guest review by Ginny, of Praying to Darwin fame.

Once upon a time, there was this cute, wrinkled little old lady named Mother Theresa. She was all selfless and stuff, and spent her life being nice to lepers.

She and I have nothing in common.

Today's blog is called Leper Pop. It's a multi-contributor affair: there's 3 of them and one of me. I'm immediately transported back to that bonfire party after the football game in Grade 11, where I drank waaay too much Southern Comfort and...you know what, let's just review a blog, how 'bout? There's 3 contributors listed, but really, it's 2 guys doing all the heavy lifting (wow, this really is just like that party!). Moist Rub and Sid F'er are two guys, early middle aged, who watch a metric buttload of TV. The blog goes all the way back to the lazy, hazy days of summer '05, when these dudes were a wee bit obsessed with the show “Rock Star – INXS.”

Then they read the TV Guide. Then, there was a second season of “Rock Star”. Then one of the guys got cancer. But he decided this blog wasn't the place to talk about it. So he didn't. Aaaaand, that's the first 2 years.

They decide to branch out in the next couple of years. Every now and again, they're mildly amusing.

But not a lot.

Moist, Sid, I think you're probably OK guys. And your friends, without a doubt, find you hi-fucking-larious. But it ain't coming across. At all. I don't need an extensive “About Me” section, hell, I don't even really need to know that much about a blogger to like their blog, but occurs to me that I have no idea what in the hell you're trying to do with this here little corner of the internet. And you've been at it for 4 YEARS!

Your blog's not ugly, but it's not grabbing me, either. Navigation is not easy – I like to be able to search by month as well as year – and when there's 4 years of stuff to slog through, man, I wished I'd packed a lunch. Maybe even give me a “Best-Of”, point me at the stuff you really, really want me to see.

But mostly (and this is the REALLY, REALLY IMPORTANT PART), 98% of your posts are 98% too long. Edit, dudes, edit.

You made my eyes roll back in my head out of boredom, but you show a glimmer of promise. And I like your name (Seriously, folks, say it out loud. A couple of times. Feels good, doesn't it?). So you're getting a star. One tiny, hopeful, little star. Go forth, my wee lepers, and try not to lose any vital body parts.

Counterintuitive

All right, ladies and gentlemen – buckle up.

Actually “sit tight” is probably the better idiom for this review, because it’s going to be a strange one; apologies in advance for the sincerity, but after, what, 30 some-odd reviews of cackling glibness, I think I can take a break from my comically malicious milieu for this one.

Now, stay with me here, folks: Tourette’s Cat is written by someone talking through two theoretically-distinctive voices, the idea being to avoid getting pigeonholed whilst debating; this sounds as though it would be cloying and gimmicky, but it’s not overdone, almost reading like the blog-equivalent to Adaptation sans the Kaufmanesque writing. That’s not a shot at Cat’s writing so much as an acknowledgment of Charlie Kaufman as the king... and, as you all know, nobody fucks with the king.

I say almost, though – further exploration reveals a depressive, pseudo-psychopathic earnestness that can either be read as film noir on a white background or an expansion on what was in those journals they found at Kevin Spacey’s house in Se7en. He deals with isolation, with loneliness and frustration... his craving to live in a time other than his own is palpable and just short of desperate. This, better than anything I’ve read, perfectly captures the illusory nature of insomnia, and it’s the type of writing that elevates the medium as a whole – eschewing the minutiae in an attempt to transcend the socially-disreputable blog form.

Obviously, the response I had to this blog was unequivocally visceral, a reaction, perhaps, that’s explicitly singular: he plumbs the depths of the dark places I’ve only danced through on my way to the part of my brain where hilarity reigns, and I actively fight against being this guy because, if not for a few lucky breaks, I am this guy. Take away my girlfriend, my inexplicable confidence and my genetic predisposition towards conflict, and I’m right there; I caught a lucky draw from birth, and Cat’s writing reflects that back at me. He excavates the primeval thoughts I’ve dismissed and sinks himself into a self-flagellating examination, and I find the whole experience to be fascinating, if not, in a strange way, uplifting; after all, once one has hit their nadir, the only way out is optimism, no matter how small the door.

Of course, he knows what he’s doing; this is an outlet, after all, and he’s self-possessed enough to vacillate between solemnity and silly, giving the entirety of the blog a solid flow. This isn’t to say that I’d recommend reading it back to front, however – like with diving, there are very specific points where one just needs to come up for air, and, as a whole, it’s just too much all at once. In fact, for a staggering percentage of the people here at Ask, I don’t recommend Tourette’s Cat at all - it should be evident, at this point, that whatever objectivity I may possess is completely out the window on this one.



Next week: back to our regularly-scheduled malevolent merriment.

Black Celebration

Dear Nathan,

You are a tiny bit screwed today. A little because it’s St. Patrick’s Day and then again, because I’ve been solidly in the middle of purchasing Depeche Mode tickets while reading your blog. Mostly, you are screwed because Calamity could not do today’s review, and that placed you in my shiv-wielding reach.

The good news is that I got tickets, which could be a little of your own Personal Jesus. The bad news is that I can’t really afford them and that makes me irritable. Unfortunately, you also took one of my very favorite subjects and made it lame. Really? Zombies, you fucked up zombies?

Reach out and touch faith, Nathan.

Yeah, that just happened.

Sorry.

I had short notice, but I dug in and started with your ‘About Me’ (which should be like the Cliff's Notes for your blog):

Who Me? I'm a Location Manager for Movies, T.V. Shows and Commercials. I've worked all over the U.S. with a couple of forays into Canada since I started in the mid-80's. I'm also a wannabe writer. Sometimes, this is a Film-Crew blog. (Sorry, not too much dirt gets slung, since I'd like to remain employable.) It's not a Personal Diary. It's not a Humor-Blog. It's not a News-blog, a Political Blog, or especially a Mommy-Blog. It's the blog I decide it is on any particular day. If it's not the blog you want today, check back in tomorrow. Odds are it'll be something different by then. A couple of notes: I rarely watch my language here, so you've been warned. You may also feel free to respond accordingly. And I like comments...they prove somebody's out there. Don't wait for an invitation. Join right in.

Gee, Nate. Thanks for clearing it up. So then I looked at his ‘best of’ and it consisted of random quotes from other people that I’m guessing you had to be there to think is amusing.

I’m really glad that you tell us right up front that this is not a humor-blog. People are either funny or they aren’t. People who are funny can write about absolutely nothing and make you laugh. People who aren’t,shoot the breeze about Facebook while using LOL language.

Hey Nathan? Do me a favor. Just stop this shit. If you don’t have anything to say, then don’t say anything. When you do say something, you tend to be nit-picky, whiny and vague.

Great, I’m sick now. And, I’m sighing like my mother. Basically, you were a big, fat disappointment in the middle of my awesome day.

I’m just going to wrap this up with shit you should know if you’ve ever spent two minutes on this site, which I’m guessing you haven’t. Your giant header that means nothing is atrocious, you need to edit yourself (might help with the book too), eliminate your thought process from the posts, quit with the posting stupid pictures from other sites and don’t give promises of profanity unless you plan to deliver.

Oh, and grow a set, would you?

Love,
Betsey

P.S. Meh!

The death of humor

Dear nuts for brains:

Humor is dying, and you're the guilty SOB who is plunging in the blade.

An illustrative example from your sidebar:

Little known facts about the Nut Man

My favorite vowel is Y, sometimes.
Knows dyslexia is no matter laughing.
I like Hall, but not Oates.
Is sure that astroturf confuses earthworms.
When Jimmy cracked corn, I was the only one who cared.
Believes "aquarium" is just a fancy word for fish zoo.
Asian is the new black, but I'm white.

Dude, these might have been funny in 1979. Now? They are so stale that they make saltine crackers at that diner from Seinfeld look fresh.

You reach too far, work too hard, and for naught. Consider that craigslist is a gold mine of inadvertent funny. You can click on Craigslist personals, or for that matter, almost any other category in craigslist, and find a wealth of humor. In less than 2 minutes, I found the following:

Can't wait to meet a real woman

Or how about this winner?

That took virtually no effort, and yet, either of those ads, with very few tweaks or comments, are funnier than your craigslist posts. And, according to you, your craigslist posts are as good as it gets? Help me, hardcore Jesus.

Your first page has 4 lame posts. I click for older posts, and get an entire pageful of links to youtube video clips. I hope for humor involving porn, and get this snoozefest instead.

You can't edit for crap, and reviewing your site was a chore. Beyond that, it's so busy, busy, busy. You've clearly spent the vast majority of your time adding crap to your sidebars and creating a cute (but cheesy) header image, and almost no time honing your writing.

Let me toss out a novel idea for you:

Knock off the shtick, and learn to tell a story without killing it.

Ultimately, blogging is a simple thing. If you write it, they will come. It doesn't have to look good (note: I once gave an ifuckingloveyou to a blog on myspace). You don't have to promote it. You don't have to get on everyone's blogroll. You don't have to join humorblogs.com and ten million other blog promotional pyramid schemes to promote your blog.

You just have to do one thing, and do it well:

Write.

You don't write for shit, so I can't give a shit. Frankly, you're fucking retarded for submitting here with your blog in its present form of cluster fuckage.



Love,

Love Bites

p.s. As someone told you recently on craigslist, you REALLY need to get laid. But, i bet you suck at it.

Fuck the World, or at least the U.S. and Canada

Baking nude is dangerous when possessing dangly bits. - Mia Watts

And yes, I am either a very brave bear. Or a very stupid one. But when you're a bear you can get away with a lot of 'stupid' since no one really fucks with a bear. - Pos

Unlike other people, I don't want GoK's semen in my keister. - Betsey Booms

She's only appearing gracious because she has to make a flow chart to see how her robotic heart feels about being called a bitch. - Dirty Pirate Hooker

Talk about supercilious. Heh! We are all, like, exhibits A-Z for that. - Calamity

Keeping track of hits is like watching the People's Choice Awards and hoping that Rosie O'Donnell beats Ricki Lake for Best Daytime-Talkshow Douchebag. - Ryan, the Lawson

Collaborative quotes:

Fuck India. And Arkansas. And your mother. - Keywork

Having actually fucked Vermont and Oklahoma, I can only say that you should look for a state with softer earth. Less painful. - Pos

But if you fuck Oklahoma deep enough, eventually you'll hit oil. - Rassles

I Loved The Part When Jesus Got Bitch Slapped.

Welcome, welcome, my loyal followers. Let us prey.

First, I would like to take a moment to talk about life's little wonders. The moments in life where everything in the universe lines up perfectly. This week, I'm having one such moment. An opportunity to really shine in the hearts of men, and in the pants of women. Today, you are going to witness the blog reviewers' equivalent of winning the Powerball. Seriously, a moment of silence before the first lightning clap.

Today, it is my great pleasure to introduce you to Seven. Oh my, Seven. Oh my. Dear, dear Seven. I love your template. It reminds me of a classroom. I felt like I was about to really get schooled. The woodgrain desks, the chalkboard greens and chalk whites, I felt like you had something to teach me. I am happy your layout is wood, it will burn well. You believe your soul will go to heaven, I am here to tell you your blog is going to hell. Horrible. I wept.

I always loved Sunday School: the stories, full of miracles and supernatural oddities. I wish the guys that wrote the bible all had blogs. Them guys can write like nobody's business. You, however, cannot. No feeling, nothing. I dare any of the readers here at Ask to find something heartfelt or at the least, introspective. I couldn't. Look, Seven, you tell us that you express yourself better through typing. Bullshit. There is no way on earth that you could possibly do a worse job expressing yourself in person. Hellen Keller could at least give funny looks. What are you hiding, Seven? I want to know. Mostly because it has to be some killer sick shit. Really, you must be a twisted wretch of some sort if you feel the need to conceal yourself completely on a blog. I would give my left toe for a hit of acid and thirty seconds in your imagination. Oh, fuck, who am I kidding? I wish I could pay you to stop. Stop with the Jack Handey quotes. I'm not linking them, they are all over your blog. Stop with the Grace nonsense. Stop it. Stop the 'back in my day' shit. Young lady, you're not even thirty yet. Also, when you average about three comments per post, maybe asking your readers to write a post for you is a bad call. Go look, Askers, she did. More than once. She leaves the comment, her readers are charged with writing a post to correspond with the comment. Just stop, in the name of the Father.

and there will be blood...

Right here. Really, Seven, did you think you were going to get away with it? Really? Oh, you were hoping for Calamity, weren't you? No, I don't know what you were hoping for, submitting here. You dirty minx! You are hiding something, aren't you? You must have some real filth stored away, shamefully festering in a small corner of your being. Assuming your being is square. Again this is just wishful thinking and unfortunately for you, well, you're a big boring girl with a big boring blog. Listen, I love zombie movies. Zombies are badass. But I will be MeDamned if I ever trust any part of my being to a Jewish Zombie. You know the crowd here, you knew this was coming, and I just watched 'Religulous' last week so put on your sports bra. Your shit's about to get boxed, In the name of The Son.

Your 'About Me' page was a disgrace to human thought. Nowhere, in this abomination, did you tell anyone who you are. I know your siblings' names. That's about it. The majority of your 'About Me' is laced with Jesus. Trust me, I'm familiar with his profile. So is the majority of the fucking earth. Trying to love Jesus? Really? There is no 'try', Seven, only 'do'. You're either in or you're out. Are you waiting for a second date? Don't, I just texted with him, and he's not interested. Sorry. Askers, I apologize, this one could not be saved. Unlike Pilate, I find guilt in this blogger. I find fear. I find that her twitter updates are more profound than any of her blog entries.

I will take my gloves off now, dearest Brooke. I disliked your blog. I fucking hated it. I found myself wanting to gouge out my eyes, dip them in gasoline, place them back in my head and start singing 'Georgia On My Mind'. Yet, this is one of my longest reviews to date. Why? Because you brought your magic into it. Your stupid, 'Guns and Country First' Magic. Your filthy fucking blind obedience to the most horrible thing man has ever created: Organized Religion. Shame on you, bitch, for fucking doing this. I was raised with God-Down-The-Throat. At least what I was fed was entertaining. Fuck. Go visit my friend, Pistol Pete. He is a writer, and a christian, and a human, all at the same time. Look at his blog. You would be much better off studying him and his blog. Because whatever you are studying now is not helping you. There is no hope for your blog. It will never be entertaining. Never. Yours is a life that I am glad YOU are living, and no one else. I was appalled that you thought so lowly of your saviour that you would bring him down with your blog. My bad, LL Cool Jesus just disowned your existence. Ain't life a bitch sometimes, Brooke?

Oh, and you have just been reviewed by this Holy Ghost. I will be more than available, and much nastier if you care to come around to dispute my review. I'm giving your blog a rating. Here: please buy a vowel and a spirit. Go fuck yourself, you 'abercrombie posing', 'flaming finger'- loving, 'meh' -inducing fuck. The Amish wouldn't take your boring ass.

Amen.

Brevity Is My Middle Name

D.R. Scott's Pulp Culture: pretty good.

Pos-itively a Stranger in a Strange Land

Week after miserable week, Miss Missives has trudged the dregs over here at Ask. I've grimaced through post after post: the mundane, the inane, the poorly penned. I'm not a mean person, I don't like giving out slews of flaming fingers. Well, that's not entirely true but what I really like about loitering these hallowed hallways is finding the odd gem. Oh the joys of discovering a writer that rather than labor through, you pore over each entry until you realize an hour has passed in a blink.

Now if Miss Missives didn't know for a fact that her husband, Mister Missives doesn't have the patience to blog and cannot keep secrets from her anyhow, she might have thought looking at Niagaran Pebbles, that she had found his super secret blog. Posol'stvo shares a lot in common with my mister and I thought I'd state that up front since I adore Mister Missives so it might bias me a little favorably in the Pos department.

Though his About Me is a little thin, a thorough reading of Niagaran Pebbles can tell you a lot about the man behind the Medved. For instance:

He is a language and grammar purist.
His wife breaks the ice for him and she likes to drink wine, a lot.
He is a shy crapper.
He is a graceful pragmatist.
He's conflicted about masturbation.
He doesn't enjoy constantly being sniffed
Like Miss Missives, he has seen David Sedaris read in person.
He is a boob man.
He is a closet romantic.
He has an eye for irony.
He has cross-dressed.
He might have been switched at birth.
He writes well, really well.

Here are just a few samples of really good writing:

In my youth and intemperance, I have said unkind words to innocent people out of anger. I have said angry words to innocent people out of ignorance. I have said ignorant words to innocent people out of unkindness.

I am reminded of the time when I found out that my best friend's father, who was always a very uptight and proper man named Jerome, was called Jerry at work. Jerry? Jerry is not a name for an uptight, proper, disciplinarian. Jerry is the guy who tells lewd jokes at the water cooler. Jerry's the guy you have to call a cab for at the Christmas party because he's too drunk to drive. If Jerome caught you looking at dirty magazines, he would probably whip out the belt, but if Jerry caught you, he'd help you find the good letters in the forum section.

Old age has stripped away the layers of shattered obsidian glass that made her such a prickly person to be around. She doesn't remember anyone, who she felt wronged by, anything. She is like a toddler again, filled with wonder and a little fear at not knowing where she is.

Like all of us, Pos could benefit from some serious editing. There are posts that are unnecessarily wordy that could be trimmed to highlight his best work. Still, he's not freakishly verbose and even the long posts were readable. Pos, you have clear voice which is pivotal in writing. You have beautiful phrasing, I even like your poetry.

My chief complaint about the writing is that some posts are better than others. There's the unnecessary, a little work blah here and there, and more than a handful of pedestrian rants. However, if my main complaint is that not every post grabbed me then Pos is way above the fold. Even the meh posts didn't cause my eyes to bleed or my soul to shrivel, it just made me want to skim until I hit the next great post. And who am I to say that the posts that left me wanting don't appeal to someone else because that's another great thing about you Pos, you cast a wide net.

As for the template, it's clean and unassuming. Your sidebar tends toward minimalism and I thank you, for not provoking a migraine with all manner of flashy, blinky, maptastic, statarific bric-a-brac and fauxwards. Pos, not only are you a talented writer, you are intelligent without being immodest. You are as humble as you are intellectual and you clearly don't take yourself too seriously. You are thoughtful and irreverent and you are definitely welcome around these parts, shibboleth indeed. Tell your wine guzzling wife to be careful or we might just steal her husband. There's a long line of girls around these parts just waiting for a smart, funny, introvert who can really write.

Laissez les bons temps rouler

I haven't been to New Orleans since 8th grade. The last time I was there, Deion Sanders was blazing down the field at the Sugar Bowl, I got my portrait done in pastels near the Cafe DuMonde, and my friend and I pretended to be college students at the bars my parents snuck us into on New Year's Eve, sipping Hurricanes and ogling the debauchery on Bourbon Street. It was the best weekend of my young life, and I've wanted to return ever since. I read everything I can about it, in Poppy Z Brite and the Valentin St Cyr books and the Skip Langdon ones and, yes, Anne Rice, and books on Storyville and every bodice-ripper historical novel set in the town I can lay my hands on. Hell, I even watched K-Ville; I couldn't help myself. That bayou gumbo of decay and delight is seductive and fascinating and just so damn sultry.

When I saw that my reviewee for today is a bear from the Big Easy who's in theatre (with an "re")? Forget it. I was hooked. Until I saw the template.

Bigezbear has a truly terrible template. Three columns of blah. Get rid of the comments, members, map, and "hot off the presses" stuff in the sidebar, or at the very least put them on ONE sidebar. Although, really, get rid of the comments in the sidebar. It's just weird. Oh, and the "Event Brite" doohickey at the bottom? That's not doing you any favors. Just add a page to your site about your events -- problem solved.

I don't know where to start with this blog. You just land on "home" and are expected to plunge right on in because there's no "About" page, and his Blogger profile is sparse to say the least. There are no archives, so I had to go hit "Older Posts" about nine-hundred and seven times to get any perspective or background. Holy fuck am I a dedicated reviewer. But, ok, screw it. I don't care what information could be recovered by my going back to the beginning -- I'm starting at 2008.

At first, I didn't know what the hell was going on or who everyone was, but the writing is full and round and seasoned and heart stopping and just good. There's vodou and Dr. John and theatre and dirty martinis and wry observations about post-Katrina New Orleans and pretty pictures. There's a lot of life in this blog, and it's fascinating. Bigezbear posts all the time, about all manner of things (mostly to do with New Orleans and his neighborhood and his productions), and his posts are short and long, serious and silly, revealing and closed up tight and shy.

Once I got past the off-putting and completely uninspiring template and dug in to his writing, I was hooked. His voice -- his humor and self-deprecating wit and charm and passion for his city -- has captured me.

I fucking love you, you big ol' bear you. Give us a hug, burly beast.







Now go away, I'm reading. I have to find the beginning of your blog.

Get Smart

In front of you is a nice bowl of shredded wheat. And, imagine that you're eating this shredded wheat in a blue bowl on a hazy foggy Monday morning, with skim milk, and no sugar. There's no fat. There's no sugar. There is nothing in it that's bad for you. Sadly, there is also no taste. Here, let's add a heaping spoonful of denatonium benzoate.

Mangia tutto, motherfuckers. That's today's blog.

Let me introduce you to her, via her commenting policy:

you have an opinion to express, please do so in a courteous and respectful manner.

If your opinion involves an assertion of an other-than-supernatural nature, please ensure you either have the credibility to express your opinion (i.e., an MD discussing a medical procedure), or you provide a verifiable reference for the information you're asserting is the "truth."

If your opinion involves an assertion of a supernatural nature, please recognize that the gallery has no obligation to take your assertion as "true" just because you say it is.

When expressing your opinion, please do so in a logical manner and refrain from using the standard logical fallacies to prove your point. If you have any confusion as to what constitutes logical fallacies or bad argument, please see Michael Shermer's Why People Believe Weird Things, Chapter 3, "How Thinking Goes Wrong: Twenty Five Fallacies That Lead Us to Believe Weird Things," available through Google Book Search or Amazon.

Wow, she sounds fun, doesn't she?

I feel there are any number of reasons I should like this blog:

1. The author is clearly intelligent.
2. She's a navy veteran (I love the Navy, my boyfriend is a commander in the Navy, currently TDY somewhere in Korea).
3. She writes about science and contemporary culture and has the same disdain for the sheeple that I do.

But I don't like it. And frankly, I'm not a huge fan of the author as she currently represents herself on this blog.

Here are the issues:

1) You've been blogging since 2007, and you're clearly intelligent enough to understand quantum physics, but you've saddled yourself with this layout? WTF? That's like, beginner stuff.

And, you've got your fucking twitter feed in your header, along with an ugly paragraph of text? What in the hell? Do you find this attractive? I know that engineers are often all about substance over style, but do you think this style is user-friendly for anyone?

Let me disabuse you of this notion.

And, beyond the ugliness of the template, there is a lot of SHIT on this blog. The author has a LOOONNNGGGG blogroll. Dog photos. Comments from herself and her husband. Maps of the locations of commenters and visitors. A dragon egg. More dragons. More blogroll. More groups she belongs to. Charitable causes. More shit.

Who needs this stuff? If you are going to be so broadly condescending towards the rest of humanity, you owe it to yourself to make this blog look better. I mean, seriously. Your blog needs a "what not to wear" episiode of its very own.

2) The author apparently knows everything. About everything. And I mean, EVERYTHING ABOUT EVERYTHING.

There is nothing human or real about this blog. It's all very mechanical. Where it isn't mechanical, it's pretentious, sneery, and condescending to the rest of us lower life forms who aren't as supercilious as the author.

Her personality is as warm as a fucking meat locker. Unfortunately, that sneeriness comes through in everything she writes, tainting it with an unpleasant, bitter taste.

Apparently, Janiece thinks that she is better than every other human being on the planet, except for those working with refugees in Darfur. When she's not lecturing us about the appropriate scientific/ethical/moral/political perspective that we should all accept as dogma falling from the very lips of god (her), she's sharing her scintillating schedule. Or posting pictures of her new cell phone, or telling us about the speed of her internet connection. Or, whining about the new cell tower going up by her house.

The worst part is, she's an unrepentant asshole. And, she knows it. And apparently, is proud of it. What has happened to this planet that people think being an asshole is a GOOD THING?

You know, we mock the shit out of blogs here, that's our shtick, and people who don't know better probably think that the reviewers here are heartless bitches (plus a bastard or two). But we aren't. We actually CARE about this stuff. We try to be funny, we throw in a joke or two, and we kind of adore our commenters (awww, shmoopsies).

But this woman is a complete and utter bitch with no redeeming qualities that I can spy, whatsoever. Who then, ironically, throws in post after post about pop culture that she supposedly doesn't care about. Ever hear of irony, oh godlike one?

If this is who you are in real life, I can't imagine that other human beings can bear more than 20 seconds in your company, and I mean that with all sincerity. You are "that woman," the one that people see coming, in the hallway, and immediately turn around and flee. And, if that description isn't you, you need to seriously consider your content on your blog and revamp it.

I don't hate the posts in the following categories:

When Hillbillies Attack

Well-behaved Women Rarely Make History

But, for the record, I could have found similar or better content in another format from a different author that would have been less abrasive and full of snotty overtones.

I'd also appreciate it if you would stop misusing the term "hillbilly." I think the phrase you are looking for is "white trash." Hillbilly is a specific geographical reference to the hill people of the Appalachian and Ozark mountains. As a proud descendent of hillbillies from the Ozarks, I'd like to invite you to take your hillbilly references and shove them so far up your urethra that you start leaking urine out of your ears.

The rest of the posts on this blog need to be thrown in a hole and torched, preferably with gasoline. I don't think a permit will be required. No one will miss them.

To get you started, here's a finger:



Before you type another word on your blog, here are some smart people whose blogs you should read since they manage to be smart while simultaneously avoiding being patronizing:

Niagaran Pebbles
The Highway Hags
Honey Pie
Praying to Darwin

List of comeuppance

hotchicksdigsmartmen.blogspot.com

bigezbear.blogspot.com

posolxstvo1.blogspot.com/

drscottspulpculture.blogspot.com

ohmyseven.com

Oh my, indeed.

Shut Your Piehole

A review from Rassles, who I for one fucking love.


Disclaimer: It is four o’clock in the morning right now. I just got home from the Watchmen premiere, and I’m predictably pleased and provoked. And pooped. So Doug, I want to apologize that you’re not getting the sassiest review. But I’m not really that sorry, because you’ve been incessantly poking people in the paunch to pull this review out of their pockets, and that gets old.

I am one alliterate asshat right now.

For the record, I just did that thing where someone clears her throat for effect, in this case to cue the commencement of the review, and I don’t know how to spell it.

About a year ago, during one of the many times in my life I ran out of money for a week or two, a couple of friends and I decided that we were going to have good, old fashioned sober fun, junior high-style.

So we rode our bikes over to 7-11 and bought some Slurpees (total lie, we drove) and headed out onto the mean streets of Chicago, armed with Sharpees and a stack of stolen napkins, hunting douchebaggy cars.

Lexus in an alley? “Behind you.”

BMW by the lake? “Open your trunk.”

Maybe not the cleverest quips, or the dirtiest, but it really wasn’t that kind of night. This was about entertaining ourselves. There were Venn Diagrams and flow charts and “sorry about your headlight.” People would stare at us with our Big Gulps, coeds in their late twenties, running around cars and giggling like sixth graders, leaving napkins under windshield wipers.

To be clear, Doug does not write like a sixth grader. It’s that I’m almost ashamed at enjoying some of his stuff, because ideally I want in-the-know wit and a grand nexus of faint metaphor and the spirit of chuckles amidst the blood and the soul and the fists. I want fucking brilliance, and now I’m giggling because he said “piehole,” which is a much greater word, I think, than people realize.

I’ll bet Doug’s family and friends get a big fat kick out of his blog, because I’m sure it reads exactly how he speaks. To a stranger however, it looks like you’re having a blast, but I really like another kind of fun.

Not the biggest fan of the snarkyfauxnewscommentary. Snarkyfauxnewscommentary is fucking tired and basically fucking never ever ever fucking interesting, unless a writer either (a) is the first to comment on whatever news issue, or (b) dexterously weaves it into a personal experience. And there’s a lot of that crap in here, without necessarily following (a) or (b). Frankly, I just skipped reading them after the first thirty-seven.

His strongest posts relate to his family. Doug’s wife sounds like one good woman. This is good fun. Nearly always, though, I hit an interesting story that you NEED TO EDIT. This is a good dialogue buried in introductory dogshit. Take out the first seven paragraphs. They are completely unnecessary. Move a couple key sentences and integrate them into the post later on. Because really, which sentence is a better opener:

“Just so she's not a stripper or something…” my lovely wife joked, because she has a wonderful sense of humor.

All 3 of our children are now over 18 years of age.

Yeah.

We all know that Doug is an avid defender of Humor-Blogs, the fucking According to Jim of the blog world. So his earlier posts end with Humor-Blogs self-pluggery, but within the past couple months they’ve ripened into just-the-tip-just-to-see-how-it-feels quips. Still there, reminding you that no matter what he’s gonna stick it where he wants, but he’s not being a hoodrat about it. It’s nearly charming.

You get a shiny single star. But stick around. Edit. Talk about your Lovely Wife more, and your son that dates the stripper. That’s good shit.

It's good to be the queen

Love Bites: It's old home week on Ask, and like a case of the clap, the Queen is back, y'all. Here's a review from our long lost Queen Mutha...Didn't you just know she'd miss channeling her inner bitch?


Hi Y’all. It’s yo’ Mutha here. You knew you couldn’t keep me away. Sucks to be you.

My victim today is April, from April’s Little Family. April has a cute little blog with lots of adorable baby pictures and, for the most part, mercifully short text entries.

I can sum this up with the following formula, where ALF = April’s Little Family:



Have you ever rented a movie and found that it was just too inane to even bother watching to see how it ends? This blog is like that movie.

April likes to Twitter. Doesn’t that sound Spring-timey? Yes, here’s her recent twitter talk:

 ...sleepy
 kids and hubs are sleeping... house is quiet :-)
 ...and, it's morning againg :-)
 nighty-night everyone. sleep well :-)
 if you're looking for me, check the couch cushions.
 every time i start to feel good about life, i look at our credit card balances. then i feel like puking. blech.

Now that last entry - I can get into that. Let us into that dark place where credit worries are making you sneak a beer out of the fridge. But she’s not going there, at least not with us. Does April have a hidden secret blog somewhere? Does she have someplace where she writes about her latest shaving mishap, her secret sexual desires, about hiding her secrets from her husband, being so pissed off that she is just about ready to explode?

Nah, she’s perky.

Too bad, I like those dark, bitchy mommy blogs. I’m perpetually in search of the Alfred Hitchcock of mommy bloggers. Still, over 50 people are following her twitteronomy, so there must be something going on. I delve in to her archives to find something substantial:

Hubby stuff
baby stuff – Dear Lord in Heaven, YES! They’re cute already, can you stop now?
stuff about her colds
stuff about her house
car stuff
Some Very Long Posts, which strike me as haikus gone terribly wrong.

I did find one nice post about April hitting a man with her car. Otherwise, I’m getting nothing here.

Who should read April? The 55 people who already follow her on Twitter.

Who should NOT read April? Anyone else on the face of the planet.

How can it sum it up in a rating? One Very Dirty Diaper. This blog stinks and it needs to be changed. That’s your job, April.