Which One's Wynonna?

So I'm listening to some tunes and surfing the internets, going where the muse takes me, as it were, looking for inspiration, and Eureka!. Well, maybe not that good -- more like Pacoima!. This has to be the laziest fucking excuse for a blog that I have come across in quite some time, and that's saying something.

Shit, I thought I was a lazy bastard, but cutting and pasting an article and bookending it between two -- count 'em, two -- sentences, the second of which is apparently supposed to be some sort of witticism? That pretty much describes every post there. It takes more energy to post photos of cats. Check out the whole page for yourself, and see if you see even two whole paragraphs of original writing in any single post. I mean, I know how to read a fuckin' newspaper, pally, I don't need the extra milquetoast bon mot from Vanilla Thunder to choke it all down.

Really folks, if you're going to subject yourself to the deep thinking of the kool-aid chuggers, you might as well drink deep and hit the real foamers, who at least give you something (for the love of God, I have no idea what, though) of themselves. This just bugs me though -- these clowns have well over a million hits, for what looks like very little actual work. I mean, who do ya gotta fuck to get that kinda traffic? It's depressing, like realizing that anybody actually finds enough time in their lives to sit through anything called Deal Or No Deal when they could be checking out something more constructive, like Faces of Death.

One of these guys even wrote a book, not that I'm going to part with twenty-four hard-earned dollars to find out it's just a bunch of stuff from other books cobbled together with a couple of too-cute-by-half mini-quips to skirt the fair use laws. Am I engaging in a bit of gratuitous ankle-biting here? Perhaps, but they're selling ad space for cheap cut-and-paste jobs. It just rubs me the wrong way, like Matt Drudge thinking of himself as a newsman. People signing their names onto snippets of bloodless pronunciamentos on someone else's work, like they're proud of that shit.

I dunno. I guess I'm just put off by the sheer diffidence of it all. The Cult Of The Decider (oh hell, let's just call them "Deciderologists" henceforth, shall we?) has many temples throughout the Holy Hive of Blogistan, with a great many energetic high priests, priestesses, and batshit-crazy whirling dervishes. I just wasn't prepared for the eunuchs, I suppose.