I'm not living up to my blogging bargain
I wanted to apologize to all 4(?) of my readers for not being very funny recently. Most of my best humor recently has been reserved for random under-the-breath comments during movies and/or sent off in private email messages. Lord, even I am getting bored by these weekend update type posts I've been making. I will see if I can do better in future. I have at least one more World Cup post to write. Then I will lay off soccer for a little while. (Yeah, not likely. I'm hooked. I've already picked out my favorite club for the new season of English Premier League Football. But that is also for a separate post.) I also promise to stop talking about the posts I'm going to write and just concentrate on making the current post I'm writing the wittiest it can be.
I also need to get back to posting a Hump Day Photo. I'll see what I can dig up for this week - maybe even on Hump Day.
Perhaps you can make a request and I'll write something witty around that to get my creative juices flowing... (But not overflowing, no one wants to clean up a sticky pile of creative juices off the floor. Eww. That's just nasty.)
I also need to get back to posting a Hump Day Photo. I'll see what I can dig up for this week - maybe even on Hump Day.
Perhaps you can make a request and I'll write something witty around that to get my creative juices flowing... (But not overflowing, no one wants to clean up a sticky pile of creative juices off the floor. Eww. That's just nasty.)
4 Comments:
Once upon a time i wrote a piece titled just as your blog...
Thought i shared it...
As every sunday in sorrow,
Today
I played along with my
Imaginary
Friend.
Sometimes i call him
Sigmund.
Sometimes,
William, sometimes myself.
But he doesn´t seem to care.
Why should he,
being part of me.
Why,
Imaginary Friend,
dont´you deceive as others do.
Why do we hold
just
to each other...
why.
The sortilegy
of mediocrity
increases my limbo.
What an absurdness
My
Imaginary Friend.
As every sunday in pain,
inert,
but vehement
my Imaginary Friend
devotes his words
and obscure verses
to oblivion.
Every present has a past,
he judges intuitively.
Every virtue, a vice.
Every contrition an obduracy.
As every sunday in life
me and my Imaginary Friend,
lament our corpses.
I inspired someone to poetry. Huh. Who'd a thunk it?
Hey, I thought your Boston stuff was entertaing, it's just that soccer isn't everyone's cup-o-tea. Limit the soccer and I'll have more to say b/c the blog has always been entertaning. Most of the time, it's the odd stuff that happens at these functions you go to that make the blog exciting.
wow! I think I like that.
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