A girl’s lament for Old Dirty Bastard

Apparently, my blog is boring now that I’m not pissed off all the time. At least, that’s what I’ve been hearing. There’s nothing that will strike less terror in a blogger’s heart than being accused of dullness. After all, this is an entirely self-centered and lazy-minded enterprise anyway, this blogging nonsense.

Still, I’m desperate for approval, and so in an attempt to spice things up around here, I asked a few friends for some input on what I should write about. One of my friends, a guy, obviously, suggested I write about Old Dirty Bastard, who passed away a few days ago, apparently after blowing one too many lines off a hooker’s bum, or whatever it was he like to do for fun. (Note to ODB’s legal team: I have no money. Don’t even bother.)

The problem is that I’m a girl, so I don’t give a crap about Old Dirty Bastard. I mean, I’m sorry he’s dead, and all, I guess, but … well, wait. How dirty was he? Was he, like, filthy? Did he smell? Or was it more metaphorical dirtiness? Was he a misogynist? I seem to have some memory of him both being physically repulsive and also kind of mean. So forget that. I’m still sorry he’s gone, of course, and I wish all condolences to his family and friends, but it would be kind of silly to pretend that I have a personal stake in his demise. (Pronounced “de-MEEESE”, the Robert Shaw in Jaws way, of course.) Cuz I just don’t.

So, okay. Farewell, Old Dirty Bastard. You were good, I’ve heard. And also, possibly not all that clean. And many people, mostly boys, thought you were interesting. Rest in peace. If you like that sort of thing.

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4 thoughts on “A girl’s lament for Old Dirty Bastard

  1. Wait a minute. Who are these assholes who say you’re boring now? You’re never boring! I could read about you counting the leaves outside your window. Someone’s just jealous that you’re happy, and for that I’ll bite them. Grrrr.

  2. Ahhh… the dreaded feeling, “Am I getting boring?” Answer no, but coming from me, that is no help, considering the source.

    What you need is to branch out ever so slightly into fiction… not making stuff up entirely, just flights of fancy. Create an alter ego that comes from that fearsome place of oh-what-if-I-had-not-or-what-if-I-did? Call her Fancy Smash or something and make her do the things you didn’t ever consider, take the option that you declined, but make her smart enough to recover. Sometimes I do this with fictional characters who keep wandering off on their own without consideration for my ideas of plot or theme. Example:

    Today Fancy Smash showed up at work drunk, again. It was great! Despite 11 pounds of gel, her listless hair still had that trace of green from last week’s accident with the peroxide. Fancy wore that baby blue blouse, still missing all the buttons South of the Tropic of Cancer that hit the exposition floor when she attacked that chunky datafarm expert during their recent conference, thereby falling off her 4 inch heels.

    Alternative: create same for friends where the original person is recognizable from the negative impression.

  3. please, please, please do not start making stuff up. you have not become boring or dull in the least bit. i look forward to reading your site every day (and it really sucks on the days you use the eff word a lot, then my company’s firewall blocks the entire site, so i have to wait until i get home) but alas, keep up the good (real) work!

  4. ODB (aka Dirt McGirt, or Big Baby Jesus to his friends) supposedly fathered as many as 13 children, and the name was sort of a joke b/c he kept having kid after kid. Personally, I think he croaked due to shock after checking out his most recent child support bill.

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