I was asleep when I wrote yesterday’s blog entry.
There’s a very good chance I’m asleep right now.
T0 keep me awake, here’s a haiku written from three of last week’s search terms used to find my blog.
Private office girls
Immobile obese dating
Men love feminists
I know. I’m like, so deep.
Here’s our top 10:
- Woman on toilet poo
- Was Charles Manson physically attractive?
- My boobs on display for the frat guys
- Where can I buy fake butt pads?
- Why gay marriage should never be legalized and America Rocks! The girl with the blog
- Reading blogs makes me feel bad about myself
- Man stretching belly button
- Central Tennessee spanking professionals
- How to get my sister fatter
- What are the features of a fetal pig?
To next week. Or whatever.
The girl who is the difference between a hockey mom and a pit bull
There have been several times these past few weeks when I’ve seen or heard something that could have incited an incredibly profound blog entry about something as important as people who drink the milk left over in a cereal bowl and people who discard it. But with my non menopausal “life transitioning” from a dowdy Pennsylvania girl, to a chic Tennessee woman, (please note, neither of these descriptions have any reflection on who I actually am) I have allowed myself to become intoxicated by both legal and illegal substances enough to distract me from my duties as an unpaid, unappreciated blogger.
I find myself with the constant urge to write and the inability to do so within the parameters of this blog. How many times will I have to ignore the overwhelming desire to blog about the pros and cons of dating a Charles Manson enthusiast? Or try to determine which is the most physically attractive fruit, bunched red grapes or sliced kiwi? I am being stifled both creatively and by the incessant Tennessee heat I am still growing accustomed to.
I need your blessing, reader, to break through the glass ceiling of this topical blog, and be free on the other side, where I can use the written word to express my innermost thoughts on my thighs that rub together and why I will always be alone.
Because this is unimportant and affects no one, I expect massive amounts of feedback. Anytime now.
The girl with textured fingernails