Substitute post. Not to worry. I often lie but my intentions are always good at the time.

Dear reader (or "readers" if there happens to be two of you today):

I know I promised to continue my sermon series on cognac in this slot today, so if you are here expecting the second installment... tough shit. I have tired of cognac. Especially after I reread yesterday's post and discovered the stuff was French. Kidding. The truth is my second lesson on cognac never arrived in the mail from the Merde Correspondence School in Bakersfied. I can only teach you alkies after I learn it myself, K? So, maybe tomorrow.

Anyhow, left without a post (which has never bothered me in the past - I just don't post for a month when I can't think of anything) I will instead substitute an incredibly humorous comment I made last night on my friend Chica's new hip "sarcasm" blog, written by a lady, and called, inventively, "Lady Sarcasm." Which, since she thought she was too hot shit to answer on her blog, I feel free to reproduce here. Might as well get SOME mileage out of it.


Incidentally, I have been hearing some snickers from you lesser bloggers about my comments to your blogs being much too long, and that is why you don't read them, much less answer them. And that, further, you could survive if I didn't comment at all. Screw you. I won't mention any names, because I have no desire to embarrass you, but one of the primary culprit's initials is C.A.N.U.C.K.L.E.F.U.C.K.I.N.G.H.E.A.D. and it is only because I don't really give a royal rat's ass that I don't stop writing right now and remove him from the blog buddy list in my sidebar. That, and the fact that you have already paid me to run you for a whole year and I have already spent your crappy Canadian money. Goddam beer swilling hockey watching Fat Bastard fan llama loving pervert. You are lucky I have too much class to just give out your name publicly. If Princess didn't think your blog was funny I would do it anyway.

So, Chica has apparently run out of sarcastic ideas already, so yesterday she wrote a post about the first time she got drunk enough to throw up. Classy blog, classy broad. I think she said she was, like, 9 years old when it happened. And, like a true friend, I faked interest in her post and tried to empathize with her in my comment:

"Oh, the stories I could tell you of youthful ignorance. Have you ever thrown up in a taxi? I have. One of those big first-puke-of-the-evening 2-gallon gushers. The fucker threw me out on somebody's front lawn in a really bad neighborhood at 1 o'clock in the morning. And they had a dog. Then I had a sort of blank space in my memory and the next thing I knew, like a bad movie, I was crawling on all fours fully clothed into the Gulf of Mexico. Then the movie of my memory just sort of stops there. Freeze-frame. I'm sure someone must have pulled me out. I mean, I'm not dead, right? I remember thinking I was the next day. Dead, I mean.

"I am proud to know you now that you are a humor blogger. I know three people there now. I will follow you over there and read your stuff. Thank you for reading my drivel - I know you didn't really invite people to tell their own stupid stories on your blog. Your story was pretty cool. Sort of like Toad in American Graffiti. Only you are a girl. Ah, well."

But do you think she cares? I spent over 11 minutes composing that marvel of nature and she won't even acknowledge it. If any of you reading this - and I truly doubt any have bothered to read this far down - please don't be afraid she might read this and be offended. Like Claire, Chica only reads the blog titles and then tries to come up with a 2 sentence comment. She will be out of here faster than a Pinoy Entredropper on speed. So don't worry. She will probably comment something like, "Sorry you couldn't think of anything to blog about. That often happens to me, too. But please don't lie! (smiley face here.)

Sigh. Not to worry. I am beginning to wind down now. Humor-Bloggers eat your hearts out. More on cognac tomorrow if it comes in the mail. I have already drank the sample they sent to the pub anyway. Straight from the coffee cup. Bet you can't tell.

------------------

Here is today's example of a blogger who writes much better and funnier than I, just so I don't get a big head and start thinking I am god's gift to humor:

"...Alcoholism: Anybody looking to slander your behavior will always bring up that you drink too much, regardless of the frequency or severity, instantly putting you on the defensive. It's just like when you make a crack about a gay person, are accused of being homophobic, then scramble to pretend you're a big fan of men fucking. A relationship counselor once hinted that drinking eight beers during Sunday football hints at a problem — that's less than a beer per hour, plus it was a lie; it was more like 18. When did alcoholism suddenly become applicable to everybody who drinks enough alcohol to enjoy a hint of its effect? It used to be an affliction proprietary to Irishmen who drank varnish; now if you reach for your fourth beer, you can hear high horses whinny from all directions. .."

As usual, I can't remember where I stole this from, but, trust me, the guy's blog was fantastic and I would link you to it in a New York minute if I had thought to keep a record when I stumbled by it. So help me God.

"...creating the space for change..." Oh, kiss my ass.