Exacerbate Exacerbate EXACERBATE!
So, I'm back, and I could regale you all with tales of my family, describe how much I drank and subsequently behaved due to the drink, even post pictures of myself doing the Cotton Eyed Joe without vomiting all over my husband. But, I'm not going to do that, because I have a responsibility to you people. I have a responsibility to inform you, keep you entertained, maybe even convince a few of you to stop wanking off so much and spend your energies doing more productive things, like curing cancer or organizing your sock drawer. (You know who you are, and for God's sake, take your hands out of your pockets while I'm talking to you. Sheesh!)
However, since I don't give a rat's ass about responsibility, I'm going to chatter on and on about whatever the hell I think is entertaining to me. I can promise that there will be no pictures of celebrities with small dogs attached to their persons, however. (For this post. After this, all bets are off.) Despite my promise to Pops, there will be no half naked pictures of Janet Reno, either. (And, despite all appearances, the mention of Ms. Reno naked is not a cheap bid for skeevy Google hits. This is: ALL ANGELINA JOLIE, ALL NAKED, ALL THE TIME. So is this: BRAD PITT FOUND NAKED IN A DUMPSTER WITH SMALL ANIMALS ATTACHED TO HIS BODY.) See? Chatter chatter chatter. My blog, my rules.
Speaking of my blog, I've discovered something either really pathetic or really helpful, depending on which side of the screen you're sitting on. I was going to take a break from all things Bloggy, only to discover that that exacerbated my general pissiness with everything. I have no real point here, except to say that writing makes me happy (or less pissy, I suppose) and that I will take every opportunity possible to use the word 'exacerbate.' You know what would be funny? If exacerbate actually meant 'stoppage of wanking off.' Which I told you all to STOP DOING, and PUT YOUR HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM. Oh, wash them first, GOD! (Chatter chatter chatter entertain entertain entertain!)
Re-reading what I just wrote (is it considered re-reading if one is the writer? I don't know if writing something constitutes reading it, especially in my case), you'd think that I don't have any sort of plan, or do any sort of rough draft before I spew forth my entertaining chatter (those of you who said 'More like inane drivel' under your breath can just go to the back of the class). You'd THINK that, but you'd be RIGHT. Rough drafts and planning and any sort of cohesive logic is/are for sissies. Yes, Stephen King (found naked in a dumpster with small animals all over his body) is the biggest one of them all. No, I do NOT have every single one of his books, and I do NOT want to hang out with him, and if he asked me to write a book with him and play the cowbell for his band, I'd have to say OH FUCK YES, but I wouldn't be in the least happy about it. Fame and fortune and money coming out of your keester whenever you slap your name on something? Who the fuck would want that? I bet that money coming out of your hindquarters would EXACERBATE whatever sort of hindquarter ailment you may have. Not to say that Stephen King has any sort of bum issues, and he (Stephen King) is most definitely not having an affair with a NAKED ANGELINA JOLIE and I do not have PICTURES OF ANGELINA NAKED.
No small animals were harmed during this blog post.
Chuck Norris approval rating: 2.3 Roundhouse kicks.