…when you bash other Bloggers publicly in a Post. Because you’re jealous or insecure. Because like most of us you feel like a two-bit hack with a laptop that fancies themself a writer. Your material is so much better. You are the new as of yet unrecognized freakin’ Hemingway.
It’s petty. It’s childish and cowardly. As many” likes” as you receive for your character assassination, people will lose respect for you. Bloggers that have just discovered you in this one post will pass you over. You will lose old followers. You will lose potential followers. Because you may do the same thing to them one day. Et tu, Brute?
IF you have absolutely no impulse control and insist on publicly calling someone out for the heinous crime of having thousands of followers and being hugely popular– level the playing field. Post a link in the comment section of their Blog. Give them a chance for rebuttal if they choose. Be chivalrous. These are simple playground rules.
Or… continue to be a turd and build your Blog on a foundation of shit.
You don’t know who can assist you in achieving what you want. Do not disregard anyone.
Thank you Diana for the “One Lovely Blog Award” nomination. You are a kind, beautiful person. I have great respect and admiration for your courage and honesty.
Diana’s inspirational and entertaining blog can be found here. https://mommyx4boys.wordpress.com
There are a few guidelines that come with accepting this award.
1. Thank the person who nominated you for the award.
2. Display the One Lovely Blog Award on your Blog.
3. Share seven things about yourself.
4. Nominate fifteen Bloggers you admire. Inform them by commenting on their Blog.
Seven Things About Me
1. I dislike footwear. My feet are bare as often as possible.
2. The smell of coconut makes me gag.
3. I can’t swim.
4. I never met a Reese’s peanut butter cup I didn’t eat.
5. I love musicals.
6. I believe everything happens for a reason.
7. Too much sunshine makes me sneeze.
My Nominees are as follows (in no particular order)
I have a very eclectic lineup. Each one beautifully unique and definitely worth a read.
Thank you again Diana and to everyone who makes WordPress a stronger community.
I’ve been asked to be a Dungeon Master. In the world of games I recognize this to be a great honour. On par with being the Monopoly banker. I am now tasked with the awesome responsibility of writing a game of Dungeons & Dragons. Unanimously chosen because I write very detailed grocery lists and I’m a gamer. A Video Gamer. The RPG addict.
I’m one of those. Slackers. Comfortably parked on my ass with a bag of Cheetos, bug-eyed for three days. Stabbing and hacking my way through a mythical land . There is no purpose to this activity. My grey matter heaves a sigh of relief as it turns to mush. Relaxation. Stress relief. That is the great allure. That and screaming “Die you dicksmack bastard!” at my television. My neighbours must think I’m a total bitch. A real classy broad.
I’m determined to hungrily sink my teeth in this project. I have a fertile imagination. There’s really scary stuff going on up there. My game will become legend. Spoken only in whispered tones among basement dwelling geeks. It’s a lofty goal. One I must accomplish. After I read the books.
I’ve never played the game. The concept doesn’t escape me but I need to learn rules, strategies and subtleties. Three books were reverently placed in my arms last night in a secret ceremony. I have sworn an oath not to reveal a single detail. You don’t want to mess with these guys. They’re not kidding around.
I refuse to be daunted by any obstacle. A few hours of reading coupled with my extensive knowledge of Role Playing Games should be all I need to write my Epic. I can’t wait to get started on my costume! I’m doing this properly. I love fantasy. I’m also a sucker for a good Fairy Tale.
No matter what happens… there’s always a happy ending.
Chances are you may find yourself outdoors from time to time. It’s a nuisance. There are people everywhere. People, animals and babies. Babies who are judging us harshly. Hatching nefarious plots for planetary dominance. Frustrated by their size, lack of hair and physical limitations. Babies are biding their time. Rubbing fat little fists together with gleeful malice.
Spit-up is not a result of excess gas. It’s a sign. Messy and revolting. Often permanent. An acidic stain of foreboding. Strategically planned for your best, most expensive garments. Tuxedos, evening gowns. This is the stuff baby revenge is made of.
Very few of us are in the know. Seth MacFarlane knows. Stewie Griffin is an “Agent Provocateur“. The bar has been set.
Having successfully navigated your way to the bus stop “avoiding eye contact” with people, animals and babies you accidentally raise your glassy orbs from a mobile communication device. A fraction of an inch. A hairsbreadth. Silently cursing your stupidity you glimpse a recognizable bipedal female. You aren’t certain it’s her. There is no frame around her. No visible chat box. Her head isn’t cocked to the side, eyes challenging you. Purpled pouty lips glistening with potential. You have no idea of her status today.
Sweat forms on your upper lip as she approaches. Is that anger? Does she know? Oh shit, she knows! All the lonely beer shizzled nights you’ve spent with her Social Media photo album “Me and my Baes–Mexico Trip”. Poolside shots, beach shots. Eighty-seven of them. Pfftt…no you’re not a creepy, voyeuristic stalker. She posted them. Her profile is public. She’s of legal everything age.
She’s standing beside you now. Her mouth is glossy pink today. She smells like a warm cinnamon roll. She smiles and says hello. It’s not as if you’ve never spoken. You are acquainted. The bus pulls up. She climbs on ahead of you, gentleman that you are. Carefully you avert your eyes never once resting them on her ass. You sit together amicably. The required number of “empty air–no accidental touching” inches between you being observed. Communication devices are produced. Ear buds inserted.
The bus rolls on. Somewhere a baby is gurgling–plotting.
broken glass bottle crawler
obnoxious in your pride
salt your wounds with tears this night
for your raven haired maiden fled across the sea
the flaxen-haired beauty
no longer pines
As ashes we fell from the heavens, under wings of Phoenix rising, drifting sediment
settling to saturate parched earth
Scars across the moon bled chilled white light, shimmering sun quivered arching flaming arrows
Wind embraced rain, pattering crescendo to deluge
As lumped grotesqueries from fertile mire we rose
from the marrow of the earth we sucked our bones
from clay we formed our molded flesh
from the Elements our souls given shape
From the ashes we emerge:back to ashes we return
For possessions idly borrowed require recompense
heavy restless sleep
crawls against your skin
twitch and moan
conscience prickles caterpillars
march like soldiers
sixteen boots times infinity
in formation required
squirm and roll
sweat soaked sheets
clinging filmy plastic
mildewed shower curtain
shame the water could not wash
sultry fevered dreams
cling like dew
Anti-Hero, jaded Juliet forlorn
…to a rose you say? Nay, I shall compare thee to a thorn
Comedic human tragedy, mocking feminine virtue true
Asp of Cleopatra, untameable tempest shrew
Ophelia’s flowery graveness comparatively stable
Avenger of maddening shadow, Hamlet would have deemed you able
Three witches bubble in toil and trouble unweaving in your plot
ad nauseam scrubbing bloodied hands, out damn spot!
Wife to Cymbeline, twisting lust for power
The reason able men turn sour
Shakespeare… would have penned you thus