Partners
There are many bloggers out there today, probably millions. To those millions, who, like myself believe rather foolishly that other people really care what they think, let me offer you some advice. Do not attempt blogging with a partner.
Now, surely blogging is not the first exercise to be avoided with a partner. Andybody who has tried canoeing, jogging, juggling, masturbating, reading, picking up a hooker at 3 a.m. on Sunset BLVD, cooking a chicken, digging a shallow grave in the Central Park Ramble or raising a child with a partner can tell you that is just plain isn't worth it. Those are all tasks that clearly should be handled solo.
When blogging with a partner, you will have one main problem and it can be summed up in a short series of conversations I had with my blogging partner:
Me: Okay, buddy so it's your turn to blog now.
Him: Good, because I have a really funny idea. I'll do it this week.
ONE WEEK LATER
Me: Still waiting on that blog.
Him: I know, I got busy organizing my porn collection. This week it will get done.
Me: Sounds good. (This was referring to both the forthcoming post, and the organizing of the porn. Nothing is more annoying that trying to borrow good porn from someone and getting stuck with some midget crap, or some softcore shit with no penetration because the idiot your borrowing it from doesn't have a good filing system, so you have to go bang on his door at 4am pissed off and horny - but that's for another blog at another time.)
ONE WEEK LATER
Me: Hey, buddy. Gonna get to that blog sometime soon?
Him: Oh my god, I totally forgot.
Me: That's okay. I know it's just a blog and it isn't that important, but I have a lot of funny and clever ideas about how to get my wife and her hot friend in bed together and I want to blog about them.
Him: I promise, I'll do it over the weekend. I have a good idea.
Me: Super. (This time, however, I was not referring to two things, but instead just one. And that one thing was not my dear friend's forthcoming blog, but in fact the surprisingly large defecation that I had just left floating quite lifelessly in my porcelain toilet. Shocked by it's grandiosity, I immediately searched for something with which to capture its sheer bulk. Hoping to find a one dollar bill in my wallet to use, I unfortunately found only a twenty. I then carefully placed said twenty on the very edge of the seat of the toilet so that my photo would capture the true scale of the excrement. Tragically, at the moment of the flash, my rather hastily and carelessly placed twenty slid gently from the warm plastic rim of the toilet seat and into the putridity below. I debated my next move for several minutes, which proved a poor decision as by then my twenty had sunk even further into the foul loathsome abyss. At this point, I begrudingly decided to cut my losses and flushed my twenty away, thus completing the single most expensive shit of my life. Much to my dismay, the photo catpures, quite vividly, not only my truly heroic fecal lumber but also the rather tragic fall of my twenty dollar bill. Thusly, if I am to show my treasure to anybody, the first remark made is never to the length or width of my creation but instead a query as to the whereabouts of my twenty. I have attempted both to tell the truth about my lost money and to lie and speak of a phantom recovery, but both responses have resulted in mockery so cruel that I dare not ever show the photo again.)
ONE WEEK LATER
Me: Douchebag, are you ever going to post?
Him: Of course, I really sorry. (He's an idiot and actually talks like that sometimes)
Me: What the hell have you been doing?
Him: I've been trying to find a place that will do a manicure and pedicure for less than $20. (it's worth noting here that I would have been more than happy to simply give him the $20, however, after certain recent events, $20 has come to carry slightly more value to me than before and I am less likely to frivolously toss them away. It also prevented me from giving my soon to be former friend the proper derision that he deserved for caring so much about his toes.)
Me: I hate you. Just write something. Anything.
Him: Okay, I'll do it before I go to bed tonight.
The date of that last conversation, in case anybody has read this far, which I sincerely doubt, was in fact March 21, 2006. It is now October 5, 2006. No post was ever written. Much frustration has built. This is exactly the kind of thing that can happen with child rearing when done in pairs. One of you is supposed to feed the child, he doesn't, and then 6 months later you finally just have to do it yourself.
I can assure you that the majority of what I have written here is true, and should be taken as a warning to all bloggers that blogging is a solitarty act, (as is almost everything one can do at a computer) and should always remain so.
As a secondary warning, try to keep a one dollar bill in the bathroom at all times...
Now, surely blogging is not the first exercise to be avoided with a partner. Andybody who has tried canoeing, jogging, juggling, masturbating, reading, picking up a hooker at 3 a.m. on Sunset BLVD, cooking a chicken, digging a shallow grave in the Central Park Ramble or raising a child with a partner can tell you that is just plain isn't worth it. Those are all tasks that clearly should be handled solo.
When blogging with a partner, you will have one main problem and it can be summed up in a short series of conversations I had with my blogging partner:
Me: Okay, buddy so it's your turn to blog now.
Him: Good, because I have a really funny idea. I'll do it this week.
ONE WEEK LATER
Me: Still waiting on that blog.
Him: I know, I got busy organizing my porn collection. This week it will get done.
Me: Sounds good. (This was referring to both the forthcoming post, and the organizing of the porn. Nothing is more annoying that trying to borrow good porn from someone and getting stuck with some midget crap, or some softcore shit with no penetration because the idiot your borrowing it from doesn't have a good filing system, so you have to go bang on his door at 4am pissed off and horny - but that's for another blog at another time.)
ONE WEEK LATER
Me: Hey, buddy. Gonna get to that blog sometime soon?
Him: Oh my god, I totally forgot.
Me: That's okay. I know it's just a blog and it isn't that important, but I have a lot of funny and clever ideas about how to get my wife and her hot friend in bed together and I want to blog about them.
Him: I promise, I'll do it over the weekend. I have a good idea.
Me: Super. (This time, however, I was not referring to two things, but instead just one. And that one thing was not my dear friend's forthcoming blog, but in fact the surprisingly large defecation that I had just left floating quite lifelessly in my porcelain toilet. Shocked by it's grandiosity, I immediately searched for something with which to capture its sheer bulk. Hoping to find a one dollar bill in my wallet to use, I unfortunately found only a twenty. I then carefully placed said twenty on the very edge of the seat of the toilet so that my photo would capture the true scale of the excrement. Tragically, at the moment of the flash, my rather hastily and carelessly placed twenty slid gently from the warm plastic rim of the toilet seat and into the putridity below. I debated my next move for several minutes, which proved a poor decision as by then my twenty had sunk even further into the foul loathsome abyss. At this point, I begrudingly decided to cut my losses and flushed my twenty away, thus completing the single most expensive shit of my life. Much to my dismay, the photo catpures, quite vividly, not only my truly heroic fecal lumber but also the rather tragic fall of my twenty dollar bill. Thusly, if I am to show my treasure to anybody, the first remark made is never to the length or width of my creation but instead a query as to the whereabouts of my twenty. I have attempted both to tell the truth about my lost money and to lie and speak of a phantom recovery, but both responses have resulted in mockery so cruel that I dare not ever show the photo again.)
ONE WEEK LATER
Me: Douchebag, are you ever going to post?
Him: Of course, I really sorry. (He's an idiot and actually talks like that sometimes)
Me: What the hell have you been doing?
Him: I've been trying to find a place that will do a manicure and pedicure for less than $20. (it's worth noting here that I would have been more than happy to simply give him the $20, however, after certain recent events, $20 has come to carry slightly more value to me than before and I am less likely to frivolously toss them away. It also prevented me from giving my soon to be former friend the proper derision that he deserved for caring so much about his toes.)
Me: I hate you. Just write something. Anything.
Him: Okay, I'll do it before I go to bed tonight.
The date of that last conversation, in case anybody has read this far, which I sincerely doubt, was in fact March 21, 2006. It is now October 5, 2006. No post was ever written. Much frustration has built. This is exactly the kind of thing that can happen with child rearing when done in pairs. One of you is supposed to feed the child, he doesn't, and then 6 months later you finally just have to do it yourself.
I can assure you that the majority of what I have written here is true, and should be taken as a warning to all bloggers that blogging is a solitarty act, (as is almost everything one can do at a computer) and should always remain so.
As a secondary warning, try to keep a one dollar bill in the bathroom at all times...
Labels: $20, fecal lumber, manicure, partners
posted by Tent Time at 12:04 AM
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