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.