Dead, But Still Talking

You might be wondering, if you’re one of the 500,000 people who come here every day, why I haven’t written anything for over three months. The despair must be corrosive for you all – here’s one email I’ve had from a lady in Scotland.

Dear Log,
On the 106th consecutive day without an update to your blog – which as far as I’m aware is the only blog on the internet – I let out a bellowing sigh. Normally this wouldn’t matter, but I was frenching my husband at the time, and he became inflated with my unhappiness. I don’t think my fragile relationship can survive this metaphor.
It isnae braw,
Belinda Getty

That’s terrible, Belinda, and I can only offer you an uplifting metaphor in response. Put on a billowing, elegant dress, and go to a Wetherspoon’s. Holding out the hemline of your dress, ask a passer-by to fill the fabric trough with as many condiment sachets as he can. Quick as you can – and you might find in-line skates or a friendly Roc will help you here – dash to the nearest church, and empty all the sachets into the baptismal font. Now, push your face, really hard, into the minty brown puddle of taste. Really hard. Break your nose, if you have to. Keeping your face firmly in place, hold your breath, and dance as energetically as you can, using both your arms and legs. Eventually, you will collapse from a lack of oxygen, and the inhalation of liquids.
If you come to, you will have every flavour there is in your mouth and lungs. That flavour, Belinda, is me. Lick your lips. That’s more me. Wipe your face with a towel. In 200 years, that pattern will be the flag of the United States of America.
I have no excuses for my three months away, nor do I have any right to expect anyone but this strange bastard to be reading this post. There’s one empty promise, though. I’m freelance now – and if my desirability as a writer for hire is anywhere near what I think it is, you’re going to be getting a lot of posts about what’s outside the window of this room.

This is what I see - It is not as nice as tree

This is my new life. I stare at it.

If you want me to write anything for you or your company, I’ve got a lot of experience, writing passable rubbish for people who don’t really know what they want. It’s my unique blend of uninspired adequacy that leaves everyone unsatisfied, but without actionable cause for complaint. 10p/word , no timewasters.

9 thoughts on “Dead, But Still Talking

  1. Log

    There has got to be a really intelligent joke I can make here. I feel like I’m being set up, very kindly, with an opportunity to look Wildean and thoroughbred. I don’t know… I don’t know what to do.

  2. Urtha

    Is Stephen P Gates the topless old man? Is Voodoo the problem? Will you still be writing for PC Zone? Can you save yclept as my word, for when I save 10p out of my pocket money?

  3. Bleh Bleh

    Do you recall when Log was alive and he’d write funny things under various assumed names and we’d all pretend they were different people? It was joyous, then.


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