I got nothin'. I just got nothin'. The blogosphere is stuck in ruts; yes, Bush is a crapweasel, and the war is a bad thing. There is a very good post about the war at Daily Kos today; it's a different look at the tragedies of our overseas adventure. Other than the occasional fresh perspective such as this one, the dialogue about the war has degenerated into something that feels very tiresome. I'm not saying that people shouldn't blog about the war; I'm just saying that I grow weary of it, and I'm mostly not gonna play.
I updated the links to your right with some sites I visit. I mostly did this because I'm tired of linking to them through Sasha and bDr, whose links I was using more than my own. bDr still has some cool soccer links that I haven't adopted, mostly because I haven't sorted through all of them yet to see which ones hit my g-spot and which don't. I'll update that more later.
Also joining the friends list is Mr. Critic, a real-life friend who has since moved on to an alternate reality. Linking to his site makes it feel as though he's still two doors down the hallway, rather than across the river at Save the World's spiritual nonprofit sibling, Shag the Dirt. Mr. Critic is a rarity in my personal Internet experience; he's a guy who uses his real name on the Internet. You won't see me (Orville Fascesblogger), Sasha (Leopida Commuworthy), or bDr (Shecky Eskanfarbadov) having the balls to do that. Mr. Critic suffers from several critical ailments, most notably that he is a fan of the Green Bay Packers, but he has good taste in haircuts, physique, and friends, and it appears that his farts do not smell, at least not in a particularly noisome way. His blog is pretty Packers-centric, but it was once voted third-best Packers blog ev-ahr (by his family), and first-best Packers blog written in a non-cheese-producing state by a metrosexual. Mr. Critic may or may not discover that I have linked to him, and may or may not read this blog.
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
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1 comment:
You OUTED me !!!
So the real problem is that you didn't drink the Kool-Aid. Don't you know that staring at the tube and absorbing every possible word about a dead blonde child who wore makeup is your raison d'etre?
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