Let’s face it, spinster aunts lead pretty exciting, action-packed lives. We barely have time to enjoy a healthy breakfast and express the dog’s anal sacs before rushing out to the patio with a cup of coffee to watch the deer wander by, much less hunch over a desk all day reading blogs. We especially don’t have time to slog through the “dear diary” kind of blogs that earnest, untalented civilians publish willy-nilly, seemingly without regard for the stress their crummy, uninspired, confessional writing puts on an audience.
I’m not saying that there aren’t one or two pretty splendid dear-diary blogs, or even that people shouldn’t write crummy, uninspired, confessional dear-diary blogs, if that’s what boils their beignets. I’m certainly no F. Scott McShakespeare myself. But when I see that generic Blogger template with the rounded-corner rectangles, and the title is “Madame Bovary On Crack, the insignificant rantings of a depressed, demented sex addict office worker,” and the top post is “The BF and I had another fight last night and this morning I missed the bus and here is a camera-phone picture of my kids with spaghetti-os on their face and my boss is an asshole LOL,” I cannot click away fast enough. Life’s, you know, too short.
But then I found I, Asshole: I’m so sinsur SINCE 2001!!!. I, Asshole was in Flea’s blogroll, and while I’m not personally a blogroll practitioner, I do appreciate the trait in others, so thanks, Flea!
What made me click on I, Asshole was that the title made me laugh. I don’t know why it made me laugh, it just did. I started reading even though the top post was a recollected conversation between the blogger and her young kid, which kid she calls Strudel. The aforementioned Flea executes these nicely, as does Bitch PhD, but they are exceptions. Normally I run screaming from blog posts consisting of conversations with adorable Strudel children. However, this one made me laugh, again.
By now I had laughed two times. Spinster aunts place a high premium on laughing two times. I read on.
Here is an excerpt from the next post, which is of the this-is-what-happened-to-me-today sort, which is another of the sort of post from which I normally run screaming.
Four. Mr. Klassy is coming back! He is laying eggs! MR. KLASSY COME HOME. ALL IS FORGIVEN. I am going to drive to his farmhome on Saturday and get her. Apparently she was a bit of a pariah. Polishes are really mellow birds, so I am not too surprised in hindsight. I offered my friends my dudlike Buttercups, but shockingly they declined. The Buttercups are laying now and they make smallish white eggs. Anyone want some fucking buttercups?
I laughed a third time. I didn’t check my coffee cup for telltale residue which would reveal that Stingray had drugged me, because Stingray has been back in fucking Napa for two days, so I could only assume that this I, Asshole shit is some genuinely funny shit.
Not Jon Stewart-funny, because fuck that guy. But kind of eccentric and pleasant-funny, with chickens.
By now you will have perceived that this whole post, though it appears on the surface to be a bunch of complaining about mediocrity on the World Wide Web, is, when you plumb its depths and read between its lines and so forth, an advertisement for this I, Asshole blog. The writer, sj, is a nut. She writes good.