What happens when one sick man trails off mid-sentence...?
June 1st 2008 08:21
Annoyance. Bah. Here's a blog on blogs.
Some bloggers are so smart and so scene and so random
It starts off with a quip or a pop-cultural reference. Probably to Lindsay L or the Olsens or the divine, Miss Paris. It’s hello in wanky blog-speak.
Greetings, kiddies, I’m here to bitch and rant for the good of your darling reading eyes…and, of course, your underlying urge to be beaten down by the slow rhythms of patronising words. You are, after all, the sex.
Clever, hey? You blink and read on. You can just picture my thick-rimmed specs, carefully mismatched outfit and playfully messy hair. (And the winner is, Sydney!)
Surely, I cannot be so full of shit that you should press the X key up the top right hand corner and get the hell away.
No, not that X key, the one attached to this window.
Close me. Now. Do yourself a favour and put me and my smarmy silver tongue out of my euphoric misery and lack of readership. Just do it.
Sad fact: way too many didn’t listen to the warning signs in a writing style or a personal webpage in the '90s (surely my not having a profile pic would have tipped you off to me, though, right?) and now blogs are here to stay.
Fast, furious, frenetic – we’re swayed by their charm and fantasy and damn, don't we love it? Almost as much as saying damn. Damn!
Oh, Gen Y, if you ever get close enough to death in this medically advanced world - and thanks to Al Gore, almost-environmentally aware world - can you please take blogs with you? Pretty please. I'll call you random and reference your fave childhood flick.
People try to put us down.
It’s just because we fuck around.
Talkin’ ‘bout my generation.
Heck, yes. How we do luv, lub, lurrrve the references. Especially to stories and movies and music we grew up with. We especially love those to the ones our parents grew up with but we took ownership of and now know better than them ha ha ha.
And on that note, I have to digress, goddamn those successful pricks, Johnny and Cindy Baby-Boomer. Selfish maybe, but at least they worked for what they have, and man, don’t they let you know it?
Wait! That’s truth – or close to it – a sentence with a point at least. What’s that doing in a blog? Where are the comforting tunes of yesteryear? Where are our DVD catalogues? And what’s that? An SMS from that loyal adoring friend who you consider family, or maybe that conversation on Saturday night will develop into a friend-with-benefits situation…
Or is it just the pulsating vibration from residual radiation that’s buzzing on your thigh?
After all, you’re too busy writhing happily in your own pith to realise your phone is still in your hand from use 30 seconds before your self-indulgent daydream.
Get back to work, slacker. Pretend you can afford to take out another loan or credit card or borrow more money from the parental units for yet another innocuous overseas trip.
Maybe it’s just me...late at night, in front of a computer to blame.
Sadly, it isn't.
This is what people think of Gen Y. It's in blogs, mags and on our bookshelves.
Other generations cry out that they were misunderstood. Why aren't we crying out that we're being misread?
Some bloggers are so smart and so scene and so random
It starts off with a quip or a pop-cultural reference. Probably to Lindsay L or the Olsens or the divine, Miss Paris. It’s hello in wanky blog-speak.
Greetings, kiddies, I’m here to bitch and rant for the good of your darling reading eyes…and, of course, your underlying urge to be beaten down by the slow rhythms of patronising words. You are, after all, the sex.
Clever, hey? You blink and read on. You can just picture my thick-rimmed specs, carefully mismatched outfit and playfully messy hair. (And the winner is, Sydney!)
Surely, I cannot be so full of shit that you should press the X key up the top right hand corner and get the hell away.
No, not that X key, the one attached to this window.
Close me. Now. Do yourself a favour and put me and my smarmy silver tongue out of my euphoric misery and lack of readership. Just do it.
Sad fact: way too many didn’t listen to the warning signs in a writing style or a personal webpage in the '90s (surely my not having a profile pic would have tipped you off to me, though, right?) and now blogs are here to stay.
Fast, furious, frenetic – we’re swayed by their charm and fantasy and damn, don't we love it? Almost as much as saying damn. Damn!
Oh, Gen Y, if you ever get close enough to death in this medically advanced world - and thanks to Al Gore, almost-environmentally aware world - can you please take blogs with you? Pretty please. I'll call you random and reference your fave childhood flick.
People try to put us down.
It’s just because we fuck around.
Talkin’ ‘bout my generation.
Heck, yes. How we do luv, lub, lurrrve the references. Especially to stories and movies and music we grew up with. We especially love those to the ones our parents grew up with but we took ownership of and now know better than them ha ha ha.
And on that note, I have to digress, goddamn those successful pricks, Johnny and Cindy Baby-Boomer. Selfish maybe, but at least they worked for what they have, and man, don’t they let you know it?
Wait! That’s truth – or close to it – a sentence with a point at least. What’s that doing in a blog? Where are the comforting tunes of yesteryear? Where are our DVD catalogues? And what’s that? An SMS from that loyal adoring friend who you consider family, or maybe that conversation on Saturday night will develop into a friend-with-benefits situation…
Or is it just the pulsating vibration from residual radiation that’s buzzing on your thigh?
After all, you’re too busy writhing happily in your own pith to realise your phone is still in your hand from use 30 seconds before your self-indulgent daydream.
Get back to work, slacker. Pretend you can afford to take out another loan or credit card or borrow more money from the parental units for yet another innocuous overseas trip.
Maybe it’s just me...late at night, in front of a computer to blame.
Sadly, it isn't.
This is what people think of Gen Y. It's in blogs, mags and on our bookshelves.
Other generations cry out that they were misunderstood. Why aren't we crying out that we're being misread?
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