Drum Roll Please...

Psych!

I don't know

where you are right now (you seem to have somehow dislodged the tracking chip I had implanted in the back of your neck) but where I am IT IS Cold! Cold War Cold. And I don’t mean bullshit nancy-pants Vladimir Putin bitchin’ and moanin’ about missile defence cold war cold. I’m talking Margaret Thatcher’s underwear cold war cold. (Now there’s a woman who never had to ice her nipples I bet. Desea vivo la señora del hierro)

My point being: It’s cold. And I’m suffering. Not Paris Hilton in jail suffering (that poor wretch. Why has life been so unkind to her? All she ever wanted to do was make people happy) but suffering none the less.

Being the globe-trotting sun-chasing playboy millionaire that I am, I am unaccustomed to having to deal with such mundane and banal discomforts. Usually, if I’m feeling a little chilly, I just say: “Jock, warm me”, in the general direction of one of my trusty manservants. And they do, often displaying an ingenuity (not to mention agility) that I sometimes wish they could summon when faced with their other duties, primarily, tax evasion.

However, today it is soooo cold where I am (where I am, not where you are. Please do try and keep up) that even the best efforts and combined body heat of my obliging attendants have born no fruit (so to speak) and I have dispatched them post haste for suitable accouterment (something fierce in ermine was my exact instruction though, I suppose, only Manuel will have truly grasped my meaning, he having always been a bit euphemistic himself).

And now I await, cold and alone (again not unlike Margaret Thatcher’s nipples), the return of warmth, of joviality, yea the restitution of life it’s very self to warm my bones and ease my passage through these caliginous foreign waters. Woe is me.

Tonight,

after dinner I went to the shops and bought a hot water bottle and some ice cream. Sometimes I am a very complicated man.

Look,

We can stand around here all day finger-pointing and bickering about who “failed to complete their blog-transmitted mission from god” or who “may have condemned all humanity to everlasting damnation with their wanton disregard for the word of god” if you want, but, I mean, atleast try and see this thing from my point of view. I am a very busy man. I was tired, I had a headache. And Desperate Housewives is the only show I get to watch all week. It’s not like you’ve ever successfully completed a mission from god is it? I mean, not that he would ask. Obviously. And these things are really hard man. There’s a lot of pressure. It’s not like just writing a blog. I was writing a blog for god. I mean frickin god man. It was intense. And at some point you just have to say to yourself “Enough is enough Jarad. Your god is a forgiving god (fortunately) and how pissed can he really be when it was he who invented playstation in the first place?” So god, if you wanna be pissed, be pissed, cause me and the boys are going down to Riley’s for a three dollar special and we may not be back for some time.

Umm, something about god or something

In a desperate and no doubt vain (ed’s note: you're so vain. I bet you think this blog is about you) attempt to escape the wrath of god (did I mention god was communicating with me through my blog now? Really? Makes face... cause it sounds like something I would have mentioned. Drums fingers impatiently) I am going to make one of those lists of other people's blogs that run down the right hand side of other people's blogs. Yep, gonna make it with own bare hands. Bit like Noah really, except with slightly less live stock and drunkenness. But only slightly.

Okay, so, it’s gonna be on the left hand side because, well, that’s just how god wants it be. Read your bibles people. Left is best.

That makes two.

Ya know what

I just realised? So far this year I have posted once in January (the first month), twice in February (do you see the pattern yet?) and three times in March (March is when the little hand points at the three and the big hand points to the twelve). Isn’t that weird? Spooky, almost.

It’s as if the hand of some unseen omnipotent force has been guiding me to post in accordance with some form of sacred geometry. Which, to be honest, is something I always kind of expected would happen to me. Like that time I kept having dreams that Carol Channing was my birth mother and then it turned out she was. Except it wasn’t the Tony-award-winning Carol Channing but the one-I-grew-up-thinking-was-a-my-sister-like-Jack-Nicholson-did-Carol-Channing. (I wonder if this counts as a digression yet?) Anyhow... my points, and they are multiple, are these:

1. God has clearly taken a personal interest in my blog and may have even anointed it as the one true blog of god and it is with this divine mandate that I must continue to blog forth, spewing his celestially sanctioned word onto the World Wide Web like so much um, spew. (Ed’s note: I had a divine man date once. His name was Julio and he certainly did. Ding).

2. Now I’m gonna have to post four times this month which sucks because, as you may have very recently become aware, I don’t have a damn thing to say.

Oh, the agony of the prophet.

I really should have

saved this picture to use in my last post ever just to show you all that I was joking all along and that the joke was in fact on you, piteous fool, who has been slavishly reading this blog like the tragic hipster troglodyte that you are and not on me who has been writing this blog like the turgid erratic inebriate that I am.

I just felt like some colour.

Can anybody find me...

somebloggy to love?

Now, I’m no Bill Gates, I’m not even a Melinda Gates (what does she do exactly?) but after careful observation the following truth has become clear to me: There are a lot of blogs on the net (you read it here first kids).

Now this state of affairs is all well good and appears, on the surface, to be working well for all parties involved. People write blogs, people read blogs (you’re reading one right now, if you were wondering what you were doing) and, all in all, blogs do what they are supposed to do and the world is as it should be.

Now this would be all fine and dandy were it not for my next earth shattering observation which I will write after this colon: Most blogs suck.

Shocking, I know, but true none the less.

(I am well aware of the irony of making this pronouncement on a blog that does, in fact, itself suck so please don’t write in. You’ll only upset my manservant, the one who screens my mail, not the one who handles sunscreen and cocktails. The only thing that upsets him is Canadians. Don’t even ask)


Now, the suckiness of most blogs wouldn’t be a major concern either except, once again, for my last scientifically verified and patently obvious fact: I read blogs. Quite a bit. And it annoys me when they suck.

So, having thoroughly and vigorously posited the case for blog suckiness I propose that we all work together to find a solution. I envision it going something like this: (can’t get enough of these colons today. I wonder if I am using them correctly? No I don’t... not really.) You all write in (address correspondence care of Jake... Manservant? Is his surname really Manservant? That would be weird. Oh, just call him Jake the Snake. I do.) and tell me some blogs that are good to read and I will read them and (if they are very good to read (do you find all of these parentheses distracting? Are you distracted? Are you? Are you? Do you even remember what this sentence was about?)) I will not again subject you to a full length post such as this one replete with copious colons and profuse parentheses which I only wrote because I couldn’t find a decent blog to read. Deal? Deal.

Seeing as no one actually reads this blog I suspect the aforementioned deal will be somewhat of an exercise in futility ( by my count my fourth for today not including my attempt to make a sandwich using only the ingredients I had in my kitchen. That was really more of an homage to the theatre of the absurd then an exercise in futility. Though on second thought I might count that one because exercises in futility are about the only exercise I get these days and my menservants have begun to fret, dear things, about my health.

Toodles.

'Cause I'm mad as hell...

Get the fuck away from me you crazy fucking bitch.

There, I said it.

Is anybody else

really thirsty? I know I am.

Even I

don't read my blog. Do you think it's a symptom of my post-modernistic malaise? I really should have that checked. blohg. blahg blah blah blah.

FIRE ISAIAH!