of them. However, if I had a post for every dollar I’ve made through this blog, I would have 0 posts. So think about that.
It’s interesting that I started here to mock of friends who had started blogs. They have all since quit. Half of them even left town. Well, who’s laughing now? Ha ha HA!
They are.
…entries. Call the neighbors and wake the kids.
It’s at this time I would like to reiterate that I except reader submissions. Email me, and pending multiple levels of approval, I’ll put up your thoughts.
Clearly, I’m running on fumes and could use the help.
This is my 899th Post. I have no idea what #900 will be. Truth be told, I’m wasn’t really sure what this one was going to be, so I proposed that very question to a few readers. Their response was as unanimous as it was passionate: dog wigs.
Dog wigs are absurd, and I’m not even talking about Dog the Bounty Hunter wigs. I’m talking actual wigs for actual dogs.
Oh, I could go on… But should I?
Lyrics are like poetry, but I don’t have to tell you that, Internet. No matter your age, songs can speak to you as if they were made just for you. Regardless of rhyme or reason, some songs just become “you,” in symbiotic harmony with your soul and dreams. This is not one of those songs.
(Is lyricism genetic?)
My niece loves the Miley Cyrus song, “Party in the USA.” She’s also 4 years old. When I was 4, my favorite song was either the “The Rhyming Song” from the Muppets or “Maneater” by Hall and Oates, so I’m not judging. (That sort of judgment didn’t start until I’d heard Stevie’s “Part Time Lover.”) Still, there’s some interesting imagery at play in Miley’s big hit. Let’s break it down, shall we?
In November 2009, a few friends of mine started blogs on Tumblr. In a fit of jealousy I created my own, refusing to be outdone by those more talented and creative than me. Now, years later, I am the last one. They have all since died and I am the only remaining warrior from that rebellious age. The songs can still be heard on the streets, celebrating the fallen, but I wander these hallowed halls like a ghost. Remembering…
My next post is number 800. Sure, it’s not a huge number, but remember, I’m not just putting up pictures of kittens and my lunch everyday like 99% of the rest of the internet. I’m actually wasting real time, putting words together and exercising my 1st amendment right to complain about other people’s pronunciation and announce celebrity deaths. This all started as an exercise to make me write everyday. It has since cost me numerous jobs, my first marriage, my left leg from the knee down, and the 2002 Academy Award for Excellence in Makeup. Yet still I persevere where all the others have died, possibly murdered.
So, the next one will be… something. Who knows. Why do I do this again?
Well, bless my soul, Internet! Today is 4/20, also known as “Weed Day,” “Hitler’s Birthday,” “Barney Gumble’s Birthday,” and “April 20th.” 4:20 is also the exact time the Krusty the Clown Show’s ratings skyrocket.
(I wonder why….)
I, on the other hand, am busy imbibing another drug: caffeine. You know that feeling when you lose the ability to focus your eyeballs? When they seem to sting, and everything you see looks like it’s got vaseline on the lens? No? It’s just me?
The world looks like a Barbara Walters interview to me today, and it’s because of the exhaustion. I ain’t high, I’m low: low on energy and sleep. It’s also not like work is that strenuous. In fact, it isn’t really at all. It’s that the universe has decided that I don’t get to sleep anymore. If it isn’t a car alarm, a party upstairs, or the Redhead telling me about Dancing With the Stars (a show I care nothing about) at 1 am, it’s the roaches. They scatter when the lights go on, though.
Everybody keeps winking at me today because I look stoned. Believe you me, Internet, I would prefer it to this. My joints feel like they’re burning. There aren’t any munchies in this office and I am jonesin’ for some Cheezits. Wee’d better go to the dispensary and get some edibles.
That’s enough adianoeta for now. (It’s a word; look it up.)
Shocking news, Internet. Last night while relaxing at the Normandie Lounge with Mike Blogoff and Buck Naked, I discovered that Mike has little to no experience with The Andy Griffith Show. This is inexcusable. Sure, he’s like 20 years old, but it’s not like I was around when Mayberry was the apple of America’s eye. It’s a sad day when you discover that Nick at Nite didn’t influence others as it did you.
“Right or wrong I’m here to fight, unless you run away with fright. And if you wonder who I be, it’s me, it’s me! It’s Ernest T! Whoo hoo!”
I shudder to think that future references I make about Kookie needing a comb, why Gilligan will always be Maynard G. Krebs, and why being a “Bub” is way better than being an “Uncle Charlie,” will go completely unappreciated. If all of these fancy download and On Demand devices are only being used to rewatch Buffy the Vampire Slayer, for the 3rd time, then technology has failed to improve our lives for the better.
Know your history. Know WHY certain sitcom plots are now considered old hat, because they were invented by these guys. Besides, some of it is just hilarious. Like Green Acres and Dick Van Dyke. Man, what a funny fall down drunk he was!
I wasted my 600th Post on this.
This is my 500th Entry. I have nothing additional to say on the subject.
We stand at the doorway to greatness, Internet. For 498 Blog entries, we’ve had some good times, but it was all just funnin’. Now it gets real. My next entry will be my 500th, and that’s when it’s going to happen. That’s when I’ll get famous.
(THAT famous.)
Unfortunately, the inevitable Biography and movie about me will be incredibly dull, because unlike most famous people, I don’t have any major crutches or issues that have driven me to be famous. Sure, my life has been a constant pursuit of fortune and glory, but I haven’t yet reached the levels I always imagined. It’s probably because I lack the driving force that makes people like Madonna, Sinatra, Bowie and countless others reinvent themselves to stay relevant. Some schmuck with a couple of essays on the internet and a yearn for the spotlight is all I’ve ever been. After my next entry though, I’m gonna be HUGE. A guy with 500 essays on the internet? That’s some Burt Reynolds level fame, Internet, and I’ll have done it without the cool dramatic tale that so often excites the public about famous people. So before I step onto the World Stage and claim my title of “Awesome,” let’s take a look at some of the reasons why I haven’t been famous yet up to this point, or some of the cool story arcs that won’t be in The Tucker Blogs Story:
November 4th, 2009. That’s when our correspondences began, Internet. We’ve laughed, I’ve cried, and you’ve laughed some more, right in my face. You’re so mean, Internet.
(So wasted.)
Anyway, this is the 400th Post to Tucker Blogs. Wow, 400 Posts… and 35 that were funny! Strip away all of the videos about Captain Kirk and strange foreign people, and you’re still left with a ton of typing. I could have written a book by now. I could have written a movie or a play. I could have studied and learned all about ornithology, then written a book about it. I could have even studied ornithology then written a book about something else entirely. My point is, the mundane drivel on here could have been put to better use. That is why this post, my 400th, is going to be about something. Today’s entry at Tuckerblogs.com is about a subject that’s very important to me: soda pop.
Boy, those Texans. Peep this bunk, Internet. It seems that the Texas State School Board, or as they’re known in Texas, “book learnin’ yahoos,” have decided that evolution, free market, and Thomas Jefferson are subjects no longer required to study. Phyllis Schlafly, a woman who’s against equal rights, feminism and smiling, is now more important than a Founding Father. There’s only one man who can save us, and that’s Black Jesus.
Black Jesus will frighten Texas. Black Jesus will offend Texas. And Black Jesus will kick some Lone Star ass. If we sent White Jesus (The Americanized one), they may do the unspeakable: ignore the core tenements of His message and twist into into something self serving. Shocking, I know. Who would use Religion like that? By the way, I’m not suggesting multiple Jesuses, like he’s Voltron. I think Jesus can be whatever the hell color he wants.
100 Posts, Internet! Suck on that, THE Joe Moran.com!
This is post #101! I’m still cooking, baby! To think that a basket weaver from the Ukraine could accomplish so much, and in English, too!
Wow. Big day today, Internet. Between the Press Conference and planning the Wrap Party, I’ve been knee deep in the hoopla. It’s been draining, frustrating, hurtful, and soul crushing, but I have finally found the strength to continue.
My next post will be my 100th.
Time flies, little Interwebs. I remember when we first met, back in the dial up days of the Innocent 90’s. I was in a friend’s kitchen on his dad’s computer when we first reached out to the world. The first website I ever saw was some sort of Government Tourism page for Ireland. It was all text. My friend exclaimed, “Dude, we’re in Ireland!” We weren’t in Ireland. The very next site we visited was a picture of a young lady, get this, without clothes on! What phases you’ve been through, Internet! Can you believe somebody would put something like that on you? Admittedly, this was long before 9/11, and times have changed.
Anyway…
