Blogging 2.0 –Be Funny… or Die. Like Dead Babies.

Anyone super-cool knows that blogging is sooooooooo last decade... but I smell a comeback, and it smells like funny. I’m sure by now everyone has read this piece of blog-shaped amazingness. Allie Brosh is the Pope of blogging with her hilarity sodomizing me into submission like I’m an altar boy on the cusp of puberty and inspiring me to set up my own blog. I’m not even going to try and attempt to be as coma-inducingly funny as her but hopefully my blog won’t be a shit-filled, cancer-riddled depression-sack of feeble attempts at humour either.

I haven’t decided how wonderful my blog shall be yet. I don’t want it to be bad. Anything that isn’t bad is my objective. I have a habit of partaking in mindnumbingly long expletive-filled rants about the most minute of things so you can probably expect a few of them to pop up now and then. My sense of humour has been affectionately been referred to as “controversial” so anyone that’s all hardcore about “equality”, “feminism”, “anti-semitism” and all that jazz then get over it, its just a phase you may be offended so you might want to stop reading. Also if you are one of those new aged hippies that’s all “Argh I hate racism, its all bad and junk” then you should probably stop reading now as well. Are you squeamish? Then you should also GTFO. Still here? JEWFILLED-SECONDHAND-TAMPON-SOAKED-IN-A-WORKING-WOMANS-BLOOD-WHO-RECIEVES-LESS-PAY-THAN-HER-MALE-COUNTERPART-AND-SHE-IS-ALSO-BLACK-SO-ITS-NOW-A-RACIAL-ISSUE-AS-WELL-AS-AN-EQUALITY-ONE.

OK I didn’t even try to be racist or disgusting in that one. Seriously, my humour is sick. I frequently mock the disabled. I even disgust myself sometimes.. when my retina’s aren’t being burnt to a crisp by my hunky yet approachable good looks, that is. This one time my friend and I spent an hour reading dead baby jokes. It fucked me up. I couldn’t stop reading them, then I couldn’t stop laughing. It was uncontrollable. Then the laughter died, along with a little portion of my now-blackened soul. I think I started shaking then. That was probably the souls of dead babies eating my happy genes, gnawing at my normal people parts and replacing them with cynicism and twisted humour, like only dead babies can. I felt a bit empty inside then like you know that feeling get when you buy non-free range chicken. When you first found out about the living conditions of some these chickens you feel disgusted and outraged and promise yourself you will only eat free range from now on. But then in the shop you compare the prices and think “OMG I can’t afford to give genorous sized portions to my dinner guests at THOSE chicken-friendly prices!”. You quickly erect a mental block against the images of the poor cooped up lickle chicklets and fantasise about the delectable chicken based dish you have planned. Your dinner party wil be a success, that’s all that matters. You crave the acceptance of your peers. Now everytime you think about non-free range chicken you are no longer outraged, that petition you signed online swearing to boycott non-free range products becomes meaningless. You aren’t happy about not buying free range chicken, deep down if you force youself to be honest about it, you are disgusted with yourself… but now mostly, you just feel empty. You feel nothing when you purchase that cheap-ass chicken. So yeah that feeling.

Basically I probably represent 73% of the reasons that the internet should be euthanised. As you can see, I’m new to this oh-so-thrilling blogging thingamajig. I hope someone actually reads this, I’ll be annoyed if I wasted my precious dead-baby-joke-reading time. There's not that many other blogs out there for me to compete with anyway,right?

What?! Oh shit. I'm screwed.