Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Christmas Lights? In your ROOM??!!
I currently have Christmas lights in my room. Yes, I do. Don't ask me why; I wanted to. They're strung all over the bookshelf in my room. Yes, I have a bookshelf in my room. Don't ask me why; I wanted to. The Christmas lights actually look pretty, though, and the bookshelf has some books and some crap. They're both quite useful, I think. Unlike my dog, Belle.
Belle is a very, very easily upset old doggy. She's about twelve, and she is a cross between a border collie and a cocker spaniel, making her one of the few purebred spanleys. Yes, we made that up. Don't ask us why; we wanted to. (In case you hadn't figured it out, I'm going to repeat that alot throughout this blog post, and end it with that, because it will be funny. Ohhh... I shouldn't've said that. I should NOT have said that...) She has mental issues, and hates lightening, loud noises, and small girls. Also, she detests high pitched noises, and (Andy says she doesn't, it's just that I'm not nice enough to her) me. She's all black and white. And she's oh so cute. She's a lapdog, but she's getting really old, and it's just about all she can do to jump the four feet or so up to my bed. She does it though, just about every single night, every single time; what a cute puppy!
Well, back on subject, I have Christmas lights in my room. It makes it kind of bright, but I actually like the light; I don't like pitch black yet. Not quite yet. Andy does; yes, he really does. Don't ask him why. He won't tell you. Neither will I, for that matter. Not like I could. I don't know either. In fact, I don't know about a lot of people. I don't know how to write, either.
See, to write a good humorous blog post, you have to have material. It's mostly something you see somewhere; a crane truck stuck in the mud, sledding accidents, your dog falling down the stairs, etc. (No, that didn't actually happen. Yes, I think it would be funny. No, she probably wouldn't.) If you don't have material, you turn out with soem kind of vague slushpile, something nobody actually wants to read, something like this. After all, you don't actually want to read this, do you? It's getting boring, isn't it? Don't worry, I wouldn't dare to even ask you to continue reading as I launch into a dramatic and hilarious part.
If you really thought I was going to, you were wrong. Congratulations. You found out that you're wrong. You were wrong about the Christmas lights staying on the tree. You were wrong about the calendar not ripping on a nail. You were wrong about the car having enough gas. You were wrong about how strong that rocket thrust should have been. You were wrong with how much you were supposed to send the IRS, and now you're wrong about this. Yes, you most certainly are. Don't ask ME why; I wanted to.
Make fun of you.
Belle is a very, very easily upset old doggy. She's about twelve, and she is a cross between a border collie and a cocker spaniel, making her one of the few purebred spanleys. Yes, we made that up. Don't ask us why; we wanted to. (In case you hadn't figured it out, I'm going to repeat that alot throughout this blog post, and end it with that, because it will be funny. Ohhh... I shouldn't've said that. I should NOT have said that...) She has mental issues, and hates lightening, loud noises, and small girls. Also, she detests high pitched noises, and (Andy says she doesn't, it's just that I'm not nice enough to her) me. She's all black and white. And she's oh so cute. She's a lapdog, but she's getting really old, and it's just about all she can do to jump the four feet or so up to my bed. She does it though, just about every single night, every single time; what a cute puppy!
Well, back on subject, I have Christmas lights in my room. It makes it kind of bright, but I actually like the light; I don't like pitch black yet. Not quite yet. Andy does; yes, he really does. Don't ask him why. He won't tell you. Neither will I, for that matter. Not like I could. I don't know either. In fact, I don't know about a lot of people. I don't know how to write, either.
See, to write a good humorous blog post, you have to have material. It's mostly something you see somewhere; a crane truck stuck in the mud, sledding accidents, your dog falling down the stairs, etc. (No, that didn't actually happen. Yes, I think it would be funny. No, she probably wouldn't.) If you don't have material, you turn out with soem kind of vague slushpile, something nobody actually wants to read, something like this. After all, you don't actually want to read this, do you? It's getting boring, isn't it? Don't worry, I wouldn't dare to even ask you to continue reading as I launch into a dramatic and hilarious part.
If you really thought I was going to, you were wrong. Congratulations. You found out that you're wrong. You were wrong about the Christmas lights staying on the tree. You were wrong about the calendar not ripping on a nail. You were wrong about the car having enough gas. You were wrong about how strong that rocket thrust should have been. You were wrong with how much you were supposed to send the IRS, and now you're wrong about this. Yes, you most certainly are. Don't ask ME why; I wanted to.
Make fun of you.
