It all seems pretty simple and innocent. One day 3 &1/2 years ago I was sitting in my little cubicle in the building across from 1st Mariner where I toiled away for the taxpayers of Maryland. I was reading a blogpost by a buddy of mine that had moved to S Korea & thought, "Hey, it says 'click here & start your own blog,' what the hell?" I was bored at the time. And felt like mocking the just-elected leader of the country, one Barack Hussein Obama. So, I did. He was easy to mock. He still is, I guess. I got bored of that over the years. I used to find the fact the poor guy is an epic failure to be a source of amusement. But at some point I quit paying attention to Barry and his merry band of liberal yes-men as best I could. What happened is that this retarded blog became a litany of stories about people I ran into in the seedy world of the dive bar scene around several cities in this country. That and crucifying Tiger Woods. Oh, and ridiculing other easy targets. You can't forget the other easy targets. There are too many to name that I have actually written about. Never mind the folks I never have gotten around to writing about at all. Anyway, I have posted (I hesitate to use the words published or written, as those words may give someone the impression that I am an actual writer of sorts) over 370 times on this blog. The rantings of a delusional madman, you could say. And you might not be wrong there. For those of you who may be worried that what I'm leading up to here is some kind of retirement announcement from putting shit up on this blog, don't worry. I'm not stopping. It's just that at some point it became a chore, as opposed to a lark. When you consider that many of the posts are thousands & thousands of words long (hell, some of the individual paragraphs are thousands of words long), and when you consider the sheer number of posts (as I noted over 370 them), what you get is at least a million words (maybe closer to 2 million) of silliness. That's a lot of words...signifying nothing. Much like life itself. At any rate, I'll try to be more prolific moving forward. Although every time I've promised to be more prolific, I seem to be less so for some reason...
I got into an interesting bar debate recently over pitchers and catchers. No, not the baseball kind. The gay sex kind. I was asking folks who, in the Bert & Ernie relationship, is the pitcher & who is the catcher. The answer seemed very cut & dry to me. But a vast majority of folks I chatted with about the issue disagreed with me. I've always assumed that Ernie is a top in the dark world of Sesame Street anal arts. My rationale for this is that Bert seems like the archetypal bend-over cat. You know what I mean, all uptight, no sense of humor, obsessed with his appearance, those ghastly yellow striped shirts, etc. But boy did folks not see it my way on this Bert being the catcher deal. They tended to point out that Ernie was fixated on his rubber duckie & represented the juvenile partner in the relationship (sort of the young boy role of Ancient Greece anal rape, I guess). But I really vehemently disagree with that assessment. Ernie would be the fun loving pitcher of the pair, casually tossing Bert the old high hard one after Bert had begged for it while waiting for Ernie to quit playing his X-BOX. As I said, only a few people I've spoken to see this pitcher/catcher, Bert/Ernie deal the way I do. It's very disconcerting and making me question the whole way I look at gay relationships in the Muppet world. I mean it seems so simple to me, Ernie is the bear and Bert is the twink. Right???
Bitter Tears
