September 16, 2008
Becoming bigger and better
Originally published January 12, 2002
Blogger was sick yesterday. Even though I was full of inspiration to the point where the Muse was not only whispering in my ear, but LICKING, and chewing on my left lobe and asking me to break out the "Fix-a-Flat," kit, I didn't write. For a while, I couldn't log on; then, when I could log on, I couldn't publish anything. The whole frustrating experience gave me a case of the Blogger's Blue-Balls and I didn't sleep well last night. To top it all off, the goddamned "SERVICE ENGINE SOON" light came back on in my truck on the way to work this morning.
But Blogger appears to be well now. This is good. This is very good.
While I was fooling around with a sick Blogger last night, I visited a few sites that came highly recommended. Except for the fact that I have a plain template page, all monochrome, naked, deviod of bells and whistles, and I haven't learned to LINK to all kinds of neat stuff, I think my GUT RUMBLES doesn't fare too badly in comparison. The writing is certainly better on my site, in my humble opinion. I still can't find GUT RUMBLES listed in Blogger's prestigious Directory, but I still get a lot more hits than the ones I make to check the number of hits I've had. I know for sure that SOMEBODY is reading this shit besides me.
I have taken a step toward bringing myself into the big league of Blogdom by hiring an expert consultant to assist me. He is Scott, the 14 year-old son of my friend Steve in Augusta. I paid the mercenary little shit $100 (Uncle Acidman? He don't know no Uncle Acidman!) to do a little behind-the-scenes work for me and teach me a little bit about how this stuff works. So far, I have not heard from Scott, nor have I seen any change in my page, which makes me wonder whether he's actually working on this project or if he's been at an unending Rave party since he received his money. For all I know, he's taking X-pills, sniffing toner fluid and chasing young twat with the money I gave him. If so, I hope he eventually runs through the money the way Sherman went through Georgia, catches the young twat and sobers up to go to work on my Blog-spot.
Hey, Scott! I wanted to change my template today. Blogger gave me fucking CODE to write. I don't write code. You do. Change my template to something better than what I have. Let your own, mature, 14 year-old aesthetic tastes be your guide. If I don't like it, I'll let you know. There's more money where that first check came from, but I need to see some EFFORT ON YOUR PART. Otherwise, I will be forced to kill your father and steal his exquisite guitar, as I was sorely tempted to do last weekend. Just remember one thing: if your daddy comes back to visit me and he never returns because you haven't held up your end of our bargain, it will be ALL YOUR FAULT!
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