A Kinship

You’re a hypocrite.

Why?

Because you have my blog in your blogroll even though it sucks.

It doesn’t suck.

Yes it does and Stoogepie’s rocks and you should add it.

Stoogepie does rock. I’ve been thinking about adding him for some time.

But you haven’t because you’re a hypocrite. And a chicken. Anyway, you should take mine off of there. It’s depressing.

Depressing?

Yes, depressing because the only time people visit my blog is when you comment. The last time you commented, twelve people visited. Twelve people! And do you know what happened?

What?

Nothing. Nothing happened. Not one comment. You know why? Because my blog sucks. It’s like they visit it all excited because it’s in your blogroll, (I can just hear them saying to themselves “Oooooh this blog must be awesome because the Underblawger likes it”) and then they visit it and they scratch their heads and think “this blog sucks,” and they leave no comments because they’re just blown away by how horrible it is. And then they think less of you.

They think less of me?

Yep. They think less of you because you’ve now shown them that you’re the type to blogroll someone just because you know them, even if their blog isn’t any good. Which is true, isn’t it?

What’s true?

The only reason I’m even on your roll is because you know me, right? Hello? Fine, don’t answer. I know it’s true.

I’m not saying that it is, but so what if it is? For the sake of our relationship I think I can afford to have one ass blog on my roll.

You’re a jerk.

I know. But seriously, just because people don’t comment doesn’t mean that they don’t like your blog. I have several blogs that I read, and I don’t comment much because I just don’t have the time. I don’t get many comments either.

That’s because your blog is so goddamned sad, man. I mean, “what vultures?” Man, that’s sad. What are people supposed to say to that? What are people supposed to say when you write about autopsies? All they can say is what they say, you know? How touching. How sad.

Well, right. That’s my point. Maybe people aren’t commenting on your blog because they don’t know what to say. It doesn’t mean that they don’t like it.

No dude, they’re not commenting because it sucks.

It doesn’t suck, but, you know, it might benefit from some simple things, like spell check. And you need to paragraph more. Some of your entries look like you’ve just vomited words up onto the screen. Even if the content’s great, nobody wants to read that. It’s intimidating. Hit the ‘Return’ button every once in a while.

Whatever. It’s no good. None of that’s going to make my blog any good. Yours is good. I loved the last entry, the one about the bras.

Yeah. I hesitated before posting that one.

I don’t blame you. She’s going to divorce you. You know that right?

I know, I know. To question such good fortune, who am I, right?

I guess. By the way, do all guys have thoughts like that?

I don’t know. I think so. I hope so.

Guys suck.

I know.

Ok. I have to get going, but before I do, two pointers.

Alright.

First, write something. It’s been over a week.

I know. That’s the problem with blogging – it starts out as a diversion and then it becomes an obligation. I don’t want to post for the sake of posting. I mean, I’ve been trying to write something, but it’s just not coming out right.

What’s it about?

It’s about Glenn Gould’s road trip to Wawa. I think about that every year around this time because …

Oh no no no. Nonononono. None of that. At least not right now ok? That’s the second pointer. Funny. We need some funniness here. You’re blog is too damned sad. It’s like Beaches. Have you seen that?

No.

I love that movie. I love it. Anyway, the thing is, in order to watch it you have to be having the greatest day of your life because it’s so depressing that, if you’re having anything less than your greatest day, you’ll kill yourself. The thing is though, if I’m having the best day of my life, I don’t really want to watch Beaches, because it’ll ruin my day. So, that’s your blog.

My blog ruins your day?

Yeah, but in a good way. I mean, that one about Tennessee was really great, but after I read it I had to take to my bed for an hour with a hot compress and a romance novel. Just don’t do that to me again for at least a week, ok?

Ok.

I mean, if you really can’t think of anything else to write about, write about this conversation. Maybe it’ll send some people my way. I’m sure there are at least twelve people out there who are overdue for some sort of disappointment today.