NOW you see what happens when nothing happens.

I'm back. I'm back. I will start posting blogs again. No longer will I be checking statcounter.com to see who's viewing my blog, nor will I be responding to comments left on this fucking blog. Furthermore, I will not speak to you about blog postings at the bar, at dinner, or at work. I do not want to talk to you about my blog postings. I do not want to know that you are reading this. I want only to know that you are reading this. Please do not speak or write to me about this blog. I cannot talk about it, or recognize any inference that you are aware of it.

I mean no offense to anyone, especially as the only people that are reading it are people that I truly care about, but I cannot write honestly and with my normal devil-may-care attitude if I know that I might have to explain myself, laugh about something, or reiterate a point about a previous post at a later date. I just can't do it.

Ever since my aunt gave me an article to read over Christmas that had something to do with Time or People awarding 'Person of the Year' to YOU, the blogger (complete with a mirror on the cover of the magazine), I have been utterly disgusted by whatever it is that calls itself the blogosphere. I mean, I haven't even been able to read my sister's blog. And I love that blog, you assholes! I want nothing to do with it, and yet, here I am.

I have many things, DAILY, I mean, are you kidding, HOURLY, that I want to talk shit about, but I just don't want to literally talk about them. That's why I write about it here. Please, PLEASE, just don't ask me about anything you see here. If I go on a press junket to promote this blog, then, please, by all means, ask away. Until then, just read it and take it for what it is. I don't mean to be a dick, but seriously, I'm a dick.

This is all I'll say about this. Obviously, I wouldn't have a blog if I didn't want a lot of people to read and appreciate it- that's the narcissist's mission. But, do I really have to recap it with you at the bar two days later? I don't want that. Let's just let it be what it is: A filling of time until each of our inevitable deaths. So, with that being said, until next time, you poor fools,

Sorry so sloppy!,

Glummy McGlib.

LYLAS!