Blogger's Last Adieu

You're the only one,that visits every day. My series on the top ten things to see in Margate Bay remains unfinished. But you don't care that I gave up at number two. It's all the same to you.

I tagged each post in exactly the right way Still your index of my dreams and of all I try to say remains unfound. But I don't care that no-one else will see. It's all the same to me.

I've tried to talk tried to share, make connections through the air, Me and this girl from South Korea once swapped likes! But next day, hers was gone. My stats went back to one.

So, now that we're friends you should know There's no-one else for me to talk to even though you're just a bot. Just don't be shocked if next time you come around It says 404 not found.

----- Inspired by Neil Gaiman's 'I Google You'

A Life Free From 'Funny' Forwards

Tired of explaining why you don't respond to/forward chain emails? No need to panic, I've created one universal response to link to whenever necessary! Feel free to make use of this link if needs be. I'm not selfish. This is a public service blog after all.

Delete between {} as appropriate.

Dear {Mum* / Dad / School friend I haven't seen for years},

Thanks so much for forwarding me a note saying how we're going to {die in the apocalypse / be saved by the rapture / get free PCs from Bill Gates / lose weight with this one weird old tip}. I'm afraid I couldn't respond as I had my sense of {humour / taste / ability to give a shit} removed when I hit puberty. Life's just so much less complicated that way. It frees me up to weave decorative rugs from the remains of chain-mail authors' self esteem.**

Do I ever worry about missing out on something hilarious? Absolutely, but I simply console myself by chowing down a couple of dry Ryvita and the world soon seems rosy again.

I carved fifteen minutes out of my hectic schedule of seeing what my tweeps had eaten for breakfast and dedicated it to analysing your most recent communication. How fortunate that I did! It took that entire time to decode the flashing {rainbow fonts / hamsters / ascii art} that danced around the screen in such an uproarious manner. After digesting it (including all the spelling mistakes that mark it out as the genuine 1990s original!) I can see why you thought that I would be the perfect recipient.

There's no gentle way to say this, so I'm just going to go ahead and rip the plaster right off:

Please stop.

That didn't hurt a bit, did it? I even said please—I've been taking lessons on manners. Go me!***

However sad I shall be to lose this emotionally rich vein of communication with you, I haven't let it bring me down. I found the time to gather a couple of feral IQ points from down the back of the sofa, and put them to work brainstorming ways to fill the anticipated void in my life. At the moment it's a toss up between cataloguing my Fraggle Rock sticker collection, and writing a spec for the TV pilot I've been developing: Top Gear—The Ballet.

Rest assured that whatever I go with, the world will be richer for it.

Oh, but I'm so selfish, only thinking of me. What about you? How will you get by without this release valve for your second-hand hilarity? Will you inflate like a humour powered zeppelin, drifting along in search of your very own gale of laughter?

Don't worry, I can help. I know a nice man from Nigeria who's always eager to talk. I'll hook you up.

Your loving {ex-child/ex-friend/next voodoo doll victim} E.G. x

*I'm going to get roasted if my mum reads this. Srsly. **If you're feeling offended, I don't mean you. Your e-mails are hilarious. Unless you don't mean them to be, in which case they're extremely {informative / insightful / emotive} thanks for sharing. ***In fact, if you know me, you should probably stop reading right now.