Followers?

I just added the "followers" widget because I am 100% self-absorbed and want to feel popular. There has to be someone out there in the e-universe that gives a floppin' hoot about my blog. I would even be flattered if one of those Magic card playing, trench coat kids started following me. I'd even throw in some Babylon 5 references to keep his attention. Shoot, I might even post some pictures of naked dwarves. One problem with piling up followers is that I have never told anyone that I have a blog. It's my dirty little secret, well at least one of them. I also am a closet Hannah Montana fan, so there's that secret too . . . and, I'm keeping up with the Kardashians, so I have lots to hide. Maybe I'll get rid of this "followers" widget afterall.

Wasn't that fun?

So, I pretty much just took law school behind the wood shed and gave it a stern talking to, and whacked it's hind quarters with a sturdy piece of plywood. Old law school was none too pleased! Howled like a tortured wolf as a matter of fact. But I just kept on paddling.
After administering sound beatings I like to sit down and write some poetry just to calm my nerves. Yes, poetry is as soothing as a double dose of valium and a tall glass of mineral water. So here goes:
Like a thousand times before I lay here waiting; waiting as an abandoned baby mountain goat on a daunting Adirondack precipice; watching the remnants of daylight eek out of sight never to return. Ma-a-a-a-a-a. How scared I have become, like the last bite of chowder or alas the only tangled weed in an otherwise perfect garden. My time has come and I must turn and face my shadow. But wait . . . where is it? Oh yes, it is behind me once again. But now I am in charge, so let's march shadow of mine. Let's march to a new future where homeless dogs are dressed in poodle skirts and yellow yarn boots. Where once dark alleys are lit with lollipop street lights and decorated with a million brilliant bells and handicrafts. Where the damp and somber streets of yesteryear are filled with festive songs and dancing children. Yes shadow, lets leave this baby goat behind and prance our way toward that enchanted place, and when we get there, I'll buy you a new goat, I promise.

Barry Bonds

I love sports. I love watching games, playing fantasy sports, fresh cut grass, boundary lines, mascots that have nothing to do with the team they represent (the Jazz Bear), and orange slices. My love for sport makes me want to see the best atheletes performing at the highest possible level. It is not fair to true fans like myself to ban steroids and other performance enhancers from professional sports. Perhaps the greatest reason that people watch baseball is to see homeruns. Sure, there are other reasons, for example, to watch fat people like Roger Clemens, Tony Gwynn, John Kruk, Prince Fielder, and Kirby Puckett, to name a few, succeed in a legitimate sport. But homeruns are an indispensible aspect of our great pastime. Baseball players, without exception, add nothing to society. They have bad attitudes, growl at children, and assault their own teammates and families. They are braindead apes who only graduated from high school because their myopic coaches taught 90% of their classes, and gave them good grades to keep them elligible to play. They are just savage Hillpeople in uniform. No one expects them to be responsible human beings or role models. They serve a single purpose, and that is to titillate our senses through the one skill that they possess. So asking them to not take performance enhancers is only depriving true sports fans of more exciting athleticism. I would even be in favor of surgically replacing athletes' real body parts with pulleys and levers, as long as they remain more than 50% human. Barry Lamar Bonds did what was expected of him. He treated everyone around him like wild animals, inflated himself like a mutant bovine, and hit the ball a long ways a lot of times. Should we punish him for that? No. We should replace his deteriorating legs with spring loaded prosthetic legs, inject him with obscene amounts of fish tranquilizers and put him back on the field for another couple of seasons.

This whole blogging thing is certainly one large step in the wrong direction for me. I feel like Willow, leaving my village for the first time to face the treachery of the outside world. However, blogging, in theory, is a victimless crime, so I thought I would give it a try. So far it seems like all I have to do is type some meaningless stuff and hit the post button and I end up sounding more interesting than 99% of other bloggers. That is a real statitsic compiled by my staff. Another study reveals that most people should never become literate. Since this is my first post, I will not attempt to include anything of value. I just want to make sure the "Post" button does what it purports to do.