The Things I Hate About Blogs

February 2nd, 2007.

If ever I stoop
To writing bad poetry
Please blow my brains out

Why do people do this in their blogs? Do they really believe that someone will visit their website that day and think, “Oh yay! A haiku! Oh my god, I love to read lousy amateur poetry!”

Also, what the fuck is a meme and why should I be writing one? I’m sorry, but I’m not disillusioned enough to believe that you guys are fascinated by my favorite flavor of ice cream or whether or not I’m ‘crushing on’ anyone currently. So you might as well quit tagging me because I’m not doing it.

Even if I idolize you, I’m not particularly interested in your preference between Coke or Pepsi. Nor do I care what kind of kisser you are or which sea nymph you most closely identify with. I do not want to know what song you are listening to right now and that little sad face smiley does not help me to better understand your mood. You are not a superhero, so please stop gleefully reminding me that the quiz you took said that you were ‘The Hulk.’

Furthermore, I do not need to see a picture of your bicycle or the landscape you shot the last time you went hiking in Oregon. If I were interested in such things, I would view pictures taken by a professional. They’re usually prettier and your goony husband isn’t in them. The ducks in the pond across the street from your house do not take my breath away. I’ve seen ducks before. And you are not Ansel fucking Adams.

None of this stuff makes you look ‘deeper’ or more ‘self aware.’ It makes you look banal, bored, and childish. So please stop doing this shit, people. Not only are you humiliating yourselves, but you are making my eyes bleed.

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2 Responses to The Things I Hate About Blogs

  1. violentacrestalk.com » Blog Archives » Violent Acres: The Things I Hate About Blogs

    [...] post: The Things I Hate About Blogs Posted in Uncategorized | Trackback | del.icio.us | Top OfPage [...]

  2. Why Texting is Fun « Dress To Survive

    [...] No, I’m not a slow typist. I was given a Commodore 64 at four years old. I code. I write essays. I write shitty poetry. Or, as V would put it, If ever I stoop To writing bad poetry Please blow my brains out [...]