You guys suck. I mean no offense by that, but you guys are really bringing me down bigtime. As I’m sure you know, this blog had a huge surge in popularity coming into the homestretch of the election season, but thanks to your disgusting antics and political fumbling, I’m finding my daily hits to be approaching an all-time low. Not to say that they’re low by mortal blog standards, but thanks to your screw-ups, miscues, and downright boobery I’m finding myself struggling just to stay in the top tier of blogdom. Pathetic.
I hate to say this, but I’m with Bush on this one. It’s not enough to be a brave and glorious leader if you’ve got numbnuts for underlings. I mean, how the hell am I supposed to be the Grand Master of All-Things Bloggy, if I have to constantly use all my blog capital to keep you guys afloat? Huh? The blog charts show I was about to surpass even Atrios in blog hits, and now you guys’ suckiness has totally brought me down. You should be ashamed. Jesus christ, are you people bloggers or fricking congressmen?
So shape up or ship out. I don’t need you fools and will go it alone if I have to. I spent the first thirty-three years of my life drunkenly ranting in my PJ’s each night and I can spend the next thirty-three doing the same. You’ll see. I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone. I’ll stick to my drunken ranting even if Bush and Barney are the only ones supporting me. And I don’t need anything else. Well, and this ashtray. And this paddle game. And this remote control. The ashtray, the paddle game, the remote control, Bush, and Barney, and that’s all I need. And I’d give it all up for a really good thermos. I’m sure Bush is with me on that.
So you a-holes really need to pick up the slack a little bit or you’re going to have to go find yourselves a new blogger to suck dry. This gravytrain is over, bitch. You can put out or you can get out. Your choice. But I’m putting the pedal to the metal and plan to be Numero Uno Bloggerino by early November. And then me and Bush will be sitting on top of the world, drinking out of that thermos, telling the story of our success while waiting for our families to bail us out. You’ll see.
(For the record, I don’t actually wear PJ’s and was only speaking metaphorically)