On Blogging

Old man KOM struggles down the litter-cleared path. His cane probes for depressions in the sand, his astygmic eyes look back and forth for danger.

KOM is an old blogger. Old beyond his years. Old beyond his almost one year.

He knows that many have gone down this path, and he is truly appreciative. He looks at the mark in his palm and asks everyone around him to please, please, direct him to the floating circus.

But somehow KOM survives. The THX1138 police, the Logan's Run Enforcers... they are all out to lunch. And sometimes KOM thinks it's too bad.

He thinks that some of his best stories are behind him. He knows different, but still he wonders. Blogging is a young man's game. A young woman's game. A young blogger's game.

"We were so high!" Heard it, move on.

"I fucked some chick" Heard it, move on.

"I, uh, hate my job?" Oh god have we heard it. Move the fuck on.

KOM thinks that perhaps he should introduce furious masturbation fridays? Stools that look like famous people Wednesdays? When did the music stop and I find myslef utterly alone Mondays?

KOM notes that we have a lurker, gentle reader. One of KOM's oldest, best friends has been given the URL, and he sees what we type. Say hello, everybody.

Blogging is a bitch-godess; say "cheese."