Wednesday, November 16, 2005
Back Up Off Me, Yo
It was brought to my attention yesterday that one of the stories I cited in that day's post may have been--intentionally or unintentionally--misread and misrepresented by me.

These are very serious charges. I pledge to cooperate fully with any investigation into these matters and look forward to working with any special prosecutor (should one be appointed) to resolve this matter in a thorough and timely fashion. As my readers know, there is nothing I love more than the rule of law. Except maybe Fun Dip. Three flavors of sugar eaten off saliva-moistened solid sugar sticks. All that plus it's got "fun" right in the name.

I defy any American not to love Fun Dip. Maybe you're not sure. Maybe you're thinking "Oh, I don't know, it sounds kind of sweet. Maybe I'll just have some Pop Rocks. You know, the kind that turn in to gum."

Look, that's fine. I respect everyone's right to disagree. I personally would rather eat dog shit pie, but if that's what gets you over, great. This is America. Everyone has a right to eat whatever they want, if it is something disgusting and wrong.

Getting back to my original point, I would like to say that I resent the implication that I intentionally manipulated the material before me in order to fit my comedic premise. Yes, of course it's funnier if someone drives into their own pool and breaks their neck rather than dives into their own pool and breaks their neck. The former would require a series of events of almost inconceivable stupidity and probably an altered mental state either by intoxication, cognitive degeneration by genetic disease or exposure to sunblock while the latter only implies an inability to read the big white tiles with the single big black number on it indicating pool depth.

One has clearly got more potential to exploit than the other.

Some of you may have concluded that this is a case of a rush to judgment; that I so badly wanted it to say drive instead of dive that I disregarded all evidence to the contrary presented me by a vast complex of intelligence sources. Two in particular I would like to single out for recognition, code-named for their protection: "The Internets" and "My Own Goddamn Eyes".

The implication that I deliberately leapt to this faulty conclusion I reject. However I do see now that there was a problem with my intelligence sources. "The Internets" I have come to find out is full of half-truths, misinformation, outright lies and porn. Porn porn porn, everywhere porn. Scanning news items (already suspect in and of themselves) for blogpost material in one window side by side with another one streaming video of two ladies in full clown make-up working each other into a three-ring frenzy of grease-painted carnality might have been a mistake, in retrospect.

The other source, "My Own Goddamn Eyes" I will admit now have been suspect for some time. Not only can they not see more than 6 inches in front of my face without assistance from some kind of corrective lens, they are the same source that convinced me that I was about to meet Robert "Mike Brady" Reed at a supermarket in Laguna Hills several years ago. I apologize publicly once again, madame. I certainly regret that incident. Mostly I regret that lady's ability to throw a punch.

For those of you who may now rush to condemn me in hindsight, I say to you: don't be one of those people. I call them "Hindsight Condemners". All they do is look back on things that happened in the past and then pass judgment upon those things in a way that is disapproving. Unlike my own goddamn eyes, hindsight is always 20/20. And condemning, that's also 20/20. If you put the two of them together, you get 40/40 and everyone knows that if you divide a number by itself, you get 1. After all the math is done, Hindsight Condemners = 1. The loneliest number. Think about that. I have it embroidered on a pillow.

I will say categorically that there was no cherry-picking of news articles in order to get yesterday's result. The outcome may not have been what I had wanted, but the intent was pure. If it were up to those who would criticize, another post about Brad Pitt's dick might have come to power yesterday. We can't trust those people with the future of the Bucket.

And now look what you've done. By forcing me to use the word "cherry-pick" in my defense, you've assured a whole new wave of dirty googling of my blog. The word "cherry" in conjunction with the appearance of my pseudonym is sure to draw all kinds of perverts looking searching for a very unfortunate text string. To safeguard against this, I will have to sign off using my real name, and thus compromise my anonymity further.

See what you people made me do?

This post on the Narcissus Scale: 10.0


Korvath Ganymede MacLeish Horrington III


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