A sample text widget

Etiam pulvinar consectetur dolor sed malesuada. Ut convallis euismod dolor nec pretium. Nunc ut tristique massa.

Nam sodales mi vitae dolor ullamcorper et vulputate enim accumsan. Morbi orci magna, tincidunt vitae molestie nec, molestie at mi. Nulla nulla lorem, suscipit in posuere in, interdum non magna.

H VI, II, iv, ii, 73

by Jason Edwards

I’ve decided to take inspiration from this post over at the Language Log and threaten to kill people for doing something I don’t like. This is what blogging should be all about. No more of this “I had potatoes for dinner, undercooked” type of posting. No more of these “the proletariat have a new sheep in wolf’s clothing, and may god give Rush Limbaugh a thorough balsamic enema” kind of writing-ups. I shall henceforth eschew “want to lose weight fast? Take a friend who’s a faster runner than you, and together go antagonize a bear” sort of bloggy offerings. From now on, not calls to action, but declarations of mayhem!

But I’m not sure who I want to kill, or who I would even be willing to stalk, armed to the teeth with weapons of mad destructions. Prius drivers, maybe? But surely there are some decent Prius drivers, somewhere. At least one, statistically. I accept and applaud the sacrifice of collateral damage, in genral, but it would surely take the wind out of my sails if I accidentally offed the one Prus driver in the United States who wasn’t an absolute asshole.

Maybe I could threaten, and follow through on the threat to violate mortally with a serrated knife those people who claim certain song lyrics are “great” without any substantiation when clearly they’re not. For example, I was looking at the lyrics for “Planet Hell” by the amazing Finnish goth opera metal uber-awesome Nightwish, and while the song is one of my all-time favorites, the lyrics themselves leave a little something to be desired. Of course, more than one fan raved about how brilliant the lyrics were—I could do the Hollywood-hacker thing, track down ISP, IP, home address, daily routine, susceptibility to drinking razor-laden lemonade…

Then again, I have this rule about making people feel bad for liking things, so no, I guess I can’t kill people who think “This world ain’t ready for the ark” is good songsmanship. What I need to do is stay more in the vein of the people who will be killed by the Language Log folks for saying stupid things, in the guise of attempted cleverness, about prepositions. So let’s meditate on that… stupid people who think they’re smart… and I just got done reading a book about that subject… of course the clever person ended up killing himself… and of course Camus said suicide is the only real philosophical questions… and I DO think this post I’m writing now is awfully darned clever…

Uh oh.

Crap, looks like, to be true to this idea, I’m going to have to hunt down, easily concealable and unreasonably powerful firearm in hand, those idiots who write blog posts that are simultaneously derivative, overly wordy, self-indulgent, and hypocritical to the nth degree. Damn it. I don’t even know where to buy a gun. Which is a lie, since there’s one literally on the corner next to a beautiful lake where I like to go running on a Saturday to look at women in yoga pants.

I had a dream last night that Dave Barry was trying to set the world record for the standing highjump (probably because I’d watched this video earlier in the day). So let me end on a kind of Dave Barry stinger, before I go fulfill my destiny and kill myself:

Or, I could NOT publish what I’ve just written, and continue breathing.


Leave a Reply