Just wanted to get that out of the way.
Accusations of me being on Sabbatical are simply false, and frankly, out of line. I was working the entire time. I was recruited as a communication assistant to augment the marketing muscle for the launching of Maury Povich’s line of cashmere turtlenecks. Yes, I am the father(!) of some truly rich, compelling copy. Take this poignant passage from the Web site’s “Bio & Inspiration” section:
“For Maury, turtlenecks are more than a business plan – they’re a personal mission. He has been very active in the cold neck community for over a decade. He’s suffered from a chilly Adam’s apple since his wife Connie Chung retired and began spending all her days lounging around the house, sedentary and demanding. Alarmingly, the former news anchor now weighs well over 400 lbs., and is a competitive eclaire eater. With Connie’s time now consumed consuming, and with his own interest in paternity tests waning, Maury tossed his scarves to the wayside and embraced neck comfort not as an accessory, but as an innate, principal element of garments for the upper body. Yes, Maury’s wholehearted embrace of the fine art of turtleneckery bodes well for all our necks’ futures.”
I was paid handsomely, and I’m proud of the work I’ve done. Awards and money poured in faster than I could accept and spend.
But it’s time to move on. It’s time to let the fat fingers dance.
And so they will.
A lot of this blog’s fans, or Finger-Pullers for Justice, as they’re clamoring to be called, are asking, “Ol Fat Fingers Justice, how do ya do it? How can such skill, such deft maneuvers of wit, and might we add courage, come from such clumsily obese fingers? Do you have a magic keyboard that turns word turds in to literary missiles? Has a wicked witch cursed you with such brilliance in exchange for nights of weird, cauldron-hot love making?”
The answers… might surprise you.
First off, yes, you can always call me courageous. I’m not sure who else on the Internet is as brave and tenacious in talking about planning to tackle the world’s injustices from the comfort of their own bed as I am. It’s hard work congratulating myself for doing nearly nothing, but somebody has to not do it. Wait, what?
Secondly, no, there is no magic keyboard. Although it doesn’t hurt to get a few granola crumbs in between some of the keys, as it slows down typing. Trying to remove that crumbled oat from betwixt the “a” and “s” keys gives you time to reflect and consider rewording what was initially a very sloppy sentence structure.
Next, witches are not as magic as they used to be. Most witches used to come from smaller, local “mom and pop” witch shops, but they were bought up by large corporate covens during the massive deregulation of the Bush administration. So, much of the customer service quality has been lost, witching has been outsourced, and it’s become increasingly difficult to even speak to a real witch, much less be seduced and cursed by one. Most of the time you end up talking to a recording of a witch, or worse, some witch in India or some damn place trying to pass herself off as a Broom-Hilda Smith. Stop outsourcing American jobs! I’m tired of this phoned-in witchery!
Oh, and going back, I very much enjoyed a fan’s decision to use “word turds to literary missiles,” but you probably should have said “word turds to polished, golden statues of rhetoric.” But hey, it’s okay. I have yet to share with you my guide to blogging and blog commenting success. In no time at all, you too can be a loquacious, arrogant prick!
All it takes is anything and everything but hard work.
“Sign me up!” you say.
I hear ya! It starts with a strict drug and alcohol regimen to get you into peak blogging condition. Two shots whiskey; a few monster hits off a toasted Nutella, honey and banana sandwich; one chaser of green tea. Repeat as needed.
If you want to do a few squat thrusts to warm up the quads, don’t. You’re going to need those muscles to atrophy later. All part of the lifestyle, trust me.
I should interrupt by taking a moment to thank someone that made all of this heroism possible, who really helped build this fine-tuned freedom machine I call my blog. My blog coach, Chip “Baby” Bartleby.
He tells me to always start with attention-grabbing opening lines, zingers he calls them. A little, how do you say, razz-matazz? Yeah, a razzly-mazzly zingery-doo! You know, something to really grab the readers by the shorthairs, and maybe a little tickle-tickle.
Something with sex, violence, a celebrity name-drop, vague fear-mongering about what random thing is poisoning your children, dramatic punctuation(!?!), descriptions of fancy things rich people might have, and the subtle and classy suggestion of heaving cleavage.
If you’re thinking that last thing falls under the rubric of sex, you are correct. Mentioning sex twice is fail-proof, readership gold.
Oh, and don’t make it too long. When it comes to consuming media, attention spans are the currency, and Americans are incredible tightwads.
Another tip for successful blogging is to blog often. For example, anything less than once every 11 to 29 days is an abandonment of your loyal readers, and yourself. Basically, get your shit together, reduce the vodka smoothie intake, press a bunch of keys, sling some shit, hope some of it sticks.
Oh, and my goodness, how could I forget? Pierce Brosnan, ladies and gentlemen!
Pierce Brosnan reminds me of something Baby Bartleby is always crying about, which is:
Stay on Topic. A blogger should stick to a general theme or limit discussion to a particular area of interest. Most readers will not care that you had a weird dream about how young men in middle 19th century New England would stuff their pockets with mashed potatoes before a fight, as it was rumored to bring good luck and victory, a rumor started by silly ol’ Nathaniel Hawthorne.
While that is totally awesome, and totally true, it’s pretty much a non sequitur.
However, many readers may be interested in a particular area of skill or knowledge, theme or even mindset. For example, indie music, ideologically-driven political blogs, tips and tricks behind photography, and pictures of cats with what appear to be Hitler mustaches are all examples of blogging consistency.
Clearly, Baby Bartleby still has much to teach me about blogging. I can promise only this: you probably will not learn much from me. Oh, and I can promise this, too: launching a turtleneck line in the taint-blistering heat of summer was a terrible idea. Maury Povich should keep his day job.
Thank you for your time.