Intro Tuesday

Um. Hello? [tap tap tap] Is this thing on?

So I’ve been in and around the blogosphere for about a year or so now, mostly visiting writing blogs, and while I’ve never actually had a blog of my own, I have left numerous smart-alecky, occasionally rude and/or insensitive comments on other people's blogs… I’m not sure what you call that… But anyway, my name’s Blogless Troll.

I know. I know. You're thinking, "C'mon Blogless. You can't keep calling yourself Blogless now that you've got a blog, can you? That's just silly."

At first I agreed with you; the logic of your argument appeared impenetrable. But then I started thinking about all the people I've known over the years, and I realized many of them had totally inappropriate names too. Way more inappropriate than mine. For example, my best friend growing up was a kid down the street named Artie, but he couldn't draw worth a shit. Not even a little. It was like, "C'mon, Artie. It's Tic. Tac. Toe, man. Two sideways lines and—Just gimme the goddamn pencil."

Then in high school and college, I played baseball with a Hunter (vegan), and a Skip (he was always there), and a Frank (completely fulla shit). And our second baseman, Dewey, had chronic dry skin. Also in college, I was friends with a girl named Lacey, who was a no-frills type, and Patty, who shunned physical contact. I actually dated a Summer once, and although incredibly hot, she was mostly an icy cold-blooded bitch.

Nowadays, when I have the time, I hang out with my Uncle Red who's always blue, and my wife's Greek uncle, Roman. There's also our good friend Grace, who falls down a lot.

In fact, the only appropriate name I can think of belonged to the stray cat my wife and I adopted right after we got married, though thinking about the little guy now makes me all teary-eyed. We ended up putting him to sleep because he suffered from a rare urinary tract deformity. His name was Pierre.

So I'm gonna keep the name. As for the blog itself, my only goal here is to waste five minutes of your life a few times per week. In fact, I haven't decided on an official slogan yet, but, "Well, that's five minutes of my life I'll never get back," is in the top three.

Most of what you'll read here is true, except for the parts that are lies. For the fanatical truth mongers among us, I've attempted to help you obsessively separate fact from fiction by installing a state-of-the-art Truth-O-Meter at the top of each post. As you can see, today's forecast is "Mostly Honest."

I should also warn you I have three kids, but I promise—no, I swear—never to ramble on and on and on and on about how they're the smartest three kids in the world (even though they are), or the cutest (unbelievably so), or the most talented (the two year-old can juggle). But small children are hilarious and if I can exploit them for laughs I will.

One last thing. I may have, at one time or another, left a harsh/belittling/contumelious/thesaurusy comment on someone else's blog, that may or may not have, allegedly, "hurt" your "feelings" in some minor way. If that's the case, feel free to take this opportunity to ***(think up humorous retaliation strategy to suggest to the aggrieved, sincere sounding, like I’m really sorry)(Oops. Was that out loud?)*** I won't mind. Nothing cleanses the soul like anonymous revenge. Besides, I'm a guy, and as we all know, guys don't have feelings. Though I do have an uncle who works for the NSA, and I can have Federal agents on your doorstep in fifteen minutes.

Ha. Kidding.

More like thirty.