The title applies to a story I'm not telling. You see, it's not at all interesting to read, a criticism I believe applies to most of my blog entries from the past year or so. I was reading over my old Xanga stuff and realized it was WAY more entertaining than all this dry crap. I should consider publishing under a pseudonym.
Meanwhile, I've realized that there is some value in allowing those truly shining moments of hilarity and wit, which I do sometimes have, to remain between me and the person I happen to share them with. Trying to maximize my audience tends to minimize the joke, and relationships are more important than webpage hits anyway.
Don't throw rocks at boys or girls, as it could be considered a crime. I think we can all agree on that.
Statistically speaking, it's pretty likely that the three dollars sitting on my desk has traces of hard drugs on it. Creepy.
Let the record show that I did not agree to catsitting.
THAT's more like it.
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