People stop me in the street all the time. Most of those people want money. I want money, too. It’s good to have common interests. It holds society together. Other people stop me to ask me if I know Ruth Buzzy. When I tell them I don’t they call me a liar. It’s true, I do not know Ruth Buzzy. I have never even seen her in real life. I can’t honestly say that I know she exists. As far as I know, she could be an animatronic character developed by Sid and Marty Krofft who leased it to Rowan and Martin for Laugh-In when her character of Scabby Chaferstein scared children too much on H.R. Pufnstuf. Sometimes people lick me in the street, too, even after they’ve called me a Ruth-Buzzy-not-knowing liar. Every once in a while, someone will stop me and ask me for blogging insight. Usually I tell them to make up what you don’t know or at least make up what you do know if it’s boring. That satisfies most of them. Sometimes I get a hanger-on who wants real insight. I end up spending entire afternoons with these sponges as I read to them from my blogging manifesto (it’s actually a discarded, semi-completed crossword puzzle book I found under a bus).
As annoying as these blogasites can be, they got me thinking that people may be interested in having a look behind the scenes of a big shot blog enterprise. Since that woman from Dooce.com is too busy actually writing her blog, I decided to expose some of my preparatory quagmire that eventually solidified into a shiny new blog. Plus, I couldn’t think of anything else to write about today. So, in the interest of time wasting conservation, here is the original mustering that led to my May 16, 2007 post, Predatory Rub.
So, what am I hearing about this robin that has taken up residence on the property. My property. Get off my property! It is OK if the robin stays. She has built a nest on the swing set.
Robins, at least this robin, must not know of the utility of swing sets. They are built to be climbed upon. At least this one is built that way. And it is climbed upon by predators. Not just any predators, either. This is a predator the likes of which has never been seen on this Earth prior to about a hundred thousand years ago. This predator has the ability to wipe out all other species on this planet (well, most of them – damn bacteria and cockroaches!), yet this bird finds it safe to build its nest, a nest to sustain her fresh squatted eggs, whose survival lie in balance on the edge of a poker chip, on the ledge of the fort portion of the swing set, which can easily be climbed by the most dangerous predator this world has ever known. I speak, of course, of a ten year old little girl. Shudder all you like, but it gets worse.
This nest is also in the reach of the little girl's father, who does not need to climb into the fort to attack the nest, which is a good thing since his knees ache. Once while the little girl and her sire were watching the mother bird incubate her eggs, the bird must have determined that these predators approached too close. So, she took off and let her eggs fend for themselves. The human father thought this an uncourageous act and pondered smashing the eggs just to teach that chicken shit bird a lesson. But, the little girl staid his mallet. When the two predators retreated, the mother robin returned wearing a tennis ball, serrated by beak, as an aegis.
“Why have you taunted our dormant predatory instincts by building your nest on our plaything? Don’t you know we could have you and your eggs for dinner if we so chose, and if we hadn’t just ordered from Domino’s Pizza? Curse you bird of temptation! Curse you for attempting to draw out that which society has repressed for thousands of years! Taunt us no more!” To which the daughter added, “Right after the babies are hatched and reared and are able to survive on their own, OK, Daddy?”
The father thought the demands to be a little bold, but was distracted by the smell of melted cheese. The robin and her eggs will live to be afforded an opportunity to survive. But not one day longer, thought the father as he set his hose nozzle on jet spray. The little girl enjoyed her untamed pets vicariously as she knew not to disturb the mother and her eggs. The father, faced with his unearthed predatory instincts, began treating store bought food in predatory ways by stalking canned hams.
There you have it. The first draft of a remarkable blog post. Fascinating, isn’t it? Thanks to unidentifiable drugs I found next to a crossword puzzle book under a bus and an innovative black market text generating software, I was able to turn what you have just read into an insightful, thought provoking and utterly hilarious blog article. There’s no secret, really – anybody can do it. Well, there was a secret until I told you about the drugs and the software and that gypsy I pay to help me organize my thoughts (and by “help me organize my thoughts” I mean “write the whole thing”). Shoot, now you know about the gypsy. Damn! I better shut up now, else I’ll have nothing to share with marauding people in the street.