For countless millenia, bloggers have been mercilessly caricatured as slobs who write while “sitting at home in their underwear”. This facile criticism is well-deserved. After all, authors as revered as Victor Hugo and Ernest Hemingway clearly demonstrated in their writing practices the value of completely eschewing underwear — as many of us are painfully aware, uncompletely eschewed underwear is poorly digested and can bung up the digestive tract. The decadent bloggers of the modern era could do well to cast off their sinful underpants and adopt the virtuous, pure nudity of these famously chaste novelists. But I don’t claim to be any better than the average blogger — I’m still working my way up to that lofty, upright pinnacle of nudity. Currently, I’m flip-flopping around between moderately and severely nude conditions. My sincere pledge to you is to go completely nude as soon as possible, but I can only do so with your support! I’ll be selecting nubile maidens who can provide this support in a secure yet comfortable manner, avoiding any binding or bunching.
Anyway, now that I’ve been at this blog thing for a while, it’s starting to lose just a bit of its lustre. After you’ve been doing it for as long as I have, it’s inevitable that things might start to seem just a wee bit stale or completely lame. The initial excitement and enthusiasm eventually subsides, and the elation, the rush, the giddy feeling of being ‘high’ begins to fade as you become habituated to the host of illegal drugs you’re constantly consuming. The everyday realities of the blog-star lifestyle start to wear you down. Filling the yacht’s swimming pool with cocaine and snorting jello with squealing poutine-covered groupies starts to feel a bit flat. The thrill is gone. That’s when you know you’ve gotten too comfortable. You need a new challenge. After a long period of self-reflection in the last couple of minutes, I’ve realized that what I need to do, to inspire both my fans and myself, is jump over a shark in my waterskis. Some might be skeptical of the wisdom of this plan, but it’s important to remember that, after all, this stunt was pioneered by the coolest guy on TV ever, bar none: Fozzie Bear of Happy Days.
Update: ok, all taken care of, the shark jump thing went off without a hitch. I chose to perform the jump in the privacy of my own home, since it would obviously be crass and manipulative to turn this very personal process of inner exploration into a sweaty, slobbering media circus. The whole experience was touching and self-empowering in a way that wouldn’t have been possible if I hadn’t had full creative control over the process and the very precise amounts of sweat and slobber required. I just had to ignore all the naysayers and forge ahead. In the end, I can’t overstate how gratifying it was to prove to myself that I still have something to offer, and to show the world that it’s still too soon to write me off. I also wanted to show the world that even the monstrously fearsome and obnoxiously macho great white shark is as defenseless and whiny as an unwitting human test subject against a set of waterskis with high-speed rotating titanium blades mounted underneath.