Guess what? As it turns out, I'm not funny anymore. At all. I found out just yesterday. Very big surprise. But I guess I should have known: I've had this nasty rash on my knee pit for the last couple of days; isn't that a sign that Jesus doesn't love you anymore?
And, to think, this entire time people have been lying to me. Complete strangers with nothing to gain from boosting my ego, telling me how hilarious they find my writing - liars, the whole lot of them! Dirty, deadbeat liars! It's pathetic, really. All they were doing was encouraging my insanity. Because, you know, what I do here is, in fact, insane. I mean, who talks casually about the scrotum? (Oh, well, other than physicians and men who're confident enough with themselves that they can talk openly about their physiology. But, hey, they don't count. They're all insane, too.)
Oh, and please, by God, let's not talk about my literary skills. My grammar and syntax are about as noteworthy as cow chips - and I'm talking pre-Al Gore, pre-"Farts Are Gonna Kill Us All" cow chips. You know, when it was just dry shit in a field.
There's simply no value to what I write on this blog. None at all. It's trash. Dreg. And I should have known that. (Stupid, stupid, stupid!) The economy is in shambles and sociopolitical stability is at an all-time low across the globe. What in God's name made me think that people wanted to laugh a little?
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