I don’t know if you guys ever take the time to browse through the links I’ve provided for you over on the right, but you should. I’ve painstakingly poured over every single blog in existence on the Interweb, and sorted through all the poorly written, unfunny, and ethically and logically challenged conservative blogs — I’ve swum through shit to find you the pearls.
For instance, Clublife, Boobs… and Dooce are all really well written, and a nice cross section of life and writers from across the States. Falling Sky is similar, and also provides the international flavor around here. Mona and Trix (of Bated Breath) keep the temperature warm in the winter and steamy in the summer. Wade’s got a real talent for words for a guy who has never left Birmingham (don’t fall for his stories — he’s actually a brain in a jar, connected to a word processor and a wireless network card). Warren Ellis is the best writer ever.* And Something Positive is always late (sorry, Randy).
And the newest addition to the herd: Blog of Unfathomable Profundity. The best review I’ve heard so far: “I don’t get it.” But frankly, I think you should visit it, if you’re not afraid of laughing so hard you pee a little. Drennen�s words strike at the core of all that is good and humorous in the world, particularly in his tales of unrepentant pedophilia, and the blackface galleries he sometimes features� There are those who say the running commentary by the profoundly retarded eight year old girl is unnecessary, but in the hands of a master like Drennen, unnecessary is the new 30� Highly recommended by the amputee prostitute who hangs out in front of my apartment building.
*Oh, except for Stephen King and Chuck Pahlaniuk. And Neil Gaiman’s pretty good, so I should probably include him. Oh, and Cait Kiernan, while I’m thinking of it. Clive Barker, of course. You know who else is pretty good is Mick Foley, the wrestler. Yeah, he’s got some talent there. And Steve Martin, too. Jon Stewart is fucking funny, as is Al Franken. But Ellis is good, too.
Wade’s got a real talent for words for a guy who has never left Birmingham (don’t fall for his stories — he’s actually a brain in a jar, connected to a word processor and a wireless network card).
Actually, it’s my spleen in a Ziploc wired to an electric typewriter and old TTY transmitter.