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Paying Props to Mount Olympus

I’ve been asked when it was that I got into this “blogging” thing by some clueless men that I call friends.

I usually respond “1987. I bought a modem and found some bulletin boards, then learned how to hack my phone bill after I got the first $600 ticket for logging in overseas.”

“No” they (well, one particularly idiotic maroon) said. “I mean doing the global dialogue thing. You said you talk to people in Europe more than you talk to us.”

“How ’bout I shoot your ass now, Gumby, and get it over with, okay?– you jackass juice sucking jackoff numbnut. Those Euro fuckers got five dollars more on the ball than you do on a good day.”

I’ve been out here in the ether longer than some of you fuckers I play with day to day have been old enough to figure out a keyboard.

But, as far as dicking around with Yahoo wahoos (do you even know what Y.A.H.O.O. means?) is concerned, The Anti-Idiotarian Rottweiler, specifically King High MotherFucking Supreme Slayer of ShitHeads, Emperor Misha, was the guy whose rantings and fisking told me: “Kill them, Luke. Kill all the assholes, and tear some new ones while you’re at it. Upgrade the servers and go buck nuts.”

If I got a BlogFather, it’s that beauticiously crazy SOB down Texas way. He reminded me that speaking your mind is just… shit… an invigorating kind of rush.

Oh, and he convinced me Frank J. was right: BlenderBoy gotta be stopped.

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