You know, that moment when you start typing, when you start groooooovin’, not working at it, let the blog do the work for a change. This thing’s been buggin’ me, beggin’ me, asking me please feed the hole, your publikum is waiting on you, Rube. But you know what, Blog? I’m fucking busy, whiny ass. I’ve got things to do, people to meet, bills to pay and letters to send. T’aint room here for two jefes, so one of us needs to get a-buggin, and I do believe that would be me. So, now, as long as I’m the one doing the buggin’, you be the one doing the list’nin’. Now you listen to me, Blog, and you listen good. Velociman has a boil on his choad, Acidman’s got a bug up his ass, and Lousiana ain’t feeling so good his damn self. But me? I’m doing jes fine. Rube done took his blood pressure yesterday, after speed-snorting a liter of coffee, and it was 106 over fucking 60. I was on my way to work on a fuckin’ Sunday, hands shaking like Katherine Hepburn’s favorite vibrator, and you just sat here like a bump on a log waiting for it to find you.

Write yourself, you ungrateful little fuck. What’s that? Oh, yeah, anytime, pussy, anytime.