OH BOY 2009 WAS A GOOD YEAR I BET 2010 WILL BE EVEN BETTER~
Yeah, was it? If this exercise in douchebaggery has taught me anything, it's that you people were cunts in 2008, 2009 and will probably continue into 2010.
Meanwhile in my world I'm trying to breed some perfect IV pokemans. My current goal is Mismagius because ghost Pokemon are the master race of Pokemon.
Unfortunately I only have 2 Misdreavuses (Misdreavii?) to breed, so you know what that means: controlled inbreeding.
Speaking of inbred, our blog for today.
Hey, no champion pedigree was ever founded without it.
Of course, if my IV spreads are any indication I think I can do it in two moves without the need of inbreeding but that's not nearly as fun.
It began the Tuesday before the big day. I was sitting in my car, eating lunch in the parking lot at work, like I do often, while reading my Twitter list. There in amongst the mundane hourly updates and LOL cat links, there was a tweet from my favorite podcast, TBTL.
>the word "mundane" comes up
>I didn't think to edit this
>implying anyone edits on the internet
An idea was born.
Holy shit if this were my old high school newspaper this line would have been crossed out in so many different color pens you couldn't even read it anymore.
Of course I never would have written a line such as this (and given it its own paragraph, no less, usually something reserved for interesting sentences written in non-passive voice, both traits absent from this sentence) but my point stands.
You're boring, I get it. The least you can do for your poor readers (reader, more like, that one being me) is make your sentences halfway interesting.
Let's compare to the only not-shit blog, my own. My opening post was about a subject very few people over the age of 10 care about: Pokemon.
How'd I keep it interesting? Jokes, mostly. I compared a boring topic to something people understood (champion pedigrees) and then brought up inbreeding. I showed my reader, I didn't tell them.
Tuesday slowly ticked into Wednesday and the hours of Wednesday trickled till at last the podcast was ready to be downloaded.
was ready to be downloaded?
Let's revise this exact same (boring) sentence with active voice:
Tuesday slowly ticked into Wednesday and the hours of Wednesday trickled until, at last, I downloaded the podcast.
See there you go-- hey wait it still sucks.
Hmm.
Wow this is-- this is particularly awful. Let's just move on.
Today I'm having a crisis of relevance, as in how am I relevant in the grand scheme of the universe. I wonder sometimes what mark my life has made and if I have made a difference.
Oh look, it's this shit again.
Deep thoughts for a Tuesday afternoon. I blame the emo music I listen to. The alt-pop music defense that doesn't hold up in court. (it is right up there with my editor made me do it)
So what's your defense for being such a goddamn dork?
Now here's a post called "Exercising the Muscle" which sounds like some kind of euphemism for masturbation.
Between the stress of the new schedule and the physical nature of my new assignment, I've been a puddle of pain. Swollen hands make typing a bitch.
I'LL SAY, WOOOOO--
When I last visited my characters, they were discussing a porn their dead friend starred in close to the end of her marriage. I've sure there is a poorly written flashback involved. My brain was unraveling close to the end of the retreat. The proof is in the pirates and zombies I added to a woman's fiction novel.
*headdesk*
Wait, wait I can muster up something witty to say, I can do it--
nope can't give a shit.
The fact this depressing novel filled with drug addiction, suicide, and rape was written while listening to Fall Out Boy amuses me. My novel is more depressing than it's soundtrack. :P
>it's soundtrack
>it is soundtrack
I'm sure this novel is just gr8.
Yes, I'm still obsessed. I am convinced there isn't a situation that Fall Out Boy doesn't have a song for.
Oh, oh I have one: getting laid.
If you're listening to Fallout Boy, uhh, I have some news.
I am a proponent of "the glass half-full", chosing to see the world through rose-colored glasses instead of dirty dishwater. This unbridled optimism has often led me down paths I'd rather not have traveled. But I think it is better to be hopeful and hurt instead of pessimistic and unscathed.
Oh hey look, proof of my mantra that "hope is the first step on the road to disappointment" in action.
Let's take a hypothetical situation for further proof:
2010 ends. It sucks.
If you're an optimist: OH NO IT SUCKED
If you're a pessimist: as expected
2010 ends. It was good
If you're an optimist: as expected
If you're a pessimist: OH HEY WHAT A PLEASANT SURPRISE
So as you can see, pessimism is the preferred option. Always.
Motherhood seems to be something I excel in. I have a tendency to adopt and mother all I come in contact with.
This raises an interesting question of "can one excel in motherhood if one is not a mother?" That's like saying I excel as a mathematician despite not being one.
That was just an example, of course, because like her and motherhood I suck at math.
Now she's on about how she's an author or some shit, but I came across this line:
I can climb into a prolific novel and wallow, never tiring of the prose.
Prolific novel? What does that even mean?
One that can reproduce fruitfully? One that can make a lot of money? One that was published many times?
Which is funny, because one sentence prior she spits out this gem:
I revel in the feeling of certain words rolling off my tongue.
Reveling in the feeling of certain words rolling off the tongue maybe, but certainly not reveling in using SAID WORDS FUCKING CORRECTLY.
Oh apparently she is a mother. Funny, for someone who is so awesome and loves doing it so much she sure hasn't mentioned her own children very much. Or at all.
Are you looking for an informative yet entertaining podcast to add to your collection?
No.
Now she's challenging all people who don't like Fallout Boy (all sane people) to listen to "Dance Dance" and not "chair boogie". Well a true knight never balks at a challenge, so you're on.
Waiting for a song, here.
Christ, this is awful.
And lastly, Pete Wentz reminds me of my son, Ryn.
Ryn.
Ryn: your name is missing a letter, son. Ryan it is.
I've been trying to listen to a multitude of different ones and then report back which ones are good and which aren't worth the space used on the media player. This quest is failing because I can't get past my obsession with TBTL. (Too Beautiful To Live) If you haven't listened to it, go find it on iTunes and check it out. I will bet you will become as smitten as I have.
I won't be doing that, but please continue.
Oh-- that's the end of your blog.
Well, Mrs. Wordsmith, I must say I am thoroughly unimpressed. I expect better from a virtuoso writer like yourself. Someone who claims to live and breathe the written word certainly wouldn't have such a poor grasp of story structure, sentence structure, grammar and word choice that you do.
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