Saturday, March 15, 2008

False Idol

Thanks to a good friend's literary virtual slap across the face, I'm back on the horse.

That doesn't mean I'm enjoying the employment situation I'm in much more, but I have regained perspective. Plus, the Boss celebrated a milestone birthday this past month, and I can always convince myself he's one year closer to retirement.

Unfortunately, the emotions of the past several months have finally bubbled out and left me somewhat creatively drained. On top of that, I have been suffering from various illnesses the past month or so; most recently a mighty migraine the past few days. It's one that has left me dizzy and disoriented. Because of all these things, I have been unable to summon the will to blog more than about once a week for the past few weeks (as you can tell).

So I'm going to rely today on a blog entry I stumbled across in the 'sphere today. I got more than a good chuckle from it. Hopefully I can finish recharging this weekend and be able to journey into that gooshy mess that constitutes my imagination.

Without further ado, enjoy this humorous piece from The piece can be found HERE--apparently Huckabee's ambition knows no bounds, even his imaginary ambition.

Warning: Like several of the commentors, I very nearly had an accident.

As for my other problem, I'd like to usurp the words of J.M. Barrie to my own use:

Peter flung out his arms. There were no readers there, and it was night time; but he addressed all who might be dreaming of the Blogosphere, and who were therefore nearer to him than you think: boys and girls in their nighties, and naked papooses in their baskets hung from trees.

"Do you believe?" he cried.

Iggy sat up in bed almost briskly to listen to his fate.

He fancied he heard answers in the affirmative, and then again he wasn't sure.

"What do you think?" he asked Peter.

"If you believe," he shouted to them, "clap your hands; don't let Iggy die."

Many clapped.

Some didn't.

A few beasts hissed.

The clapping stopped suddenly; as if countless spouses had rushed to their computer desks to see what on earth was happening; but already Iggy was saved. First his voice grew strong, then he popped out of bed, then he was flashing through the room more merry and impudent than ever.

Unlike Tinkerbell, I will think of thanking those who believe--and do so now. I also won't mind too much about those who hissed. It just means I'm being read and heard.

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