“kids, stay off the blogging”

I have an idea for a wax museum along the lines of the one they have in Moscow depicting people succumbing to the ravages of various drugs. (Thanks to Boing Boing for the link.) In my museum, The Museum of Blogging Sadness, there would be lots of very pale, depressed-looking men and women hunched over keyboards in shabby basement apartments. Lots of bare bulbs. Lots of sweatpants. Lots of cheap liquor. No one would be smiling, not even the ones sadly masturbating. Lots of glassy eyes and prescription bottles… Children, if you’re reading this, please do yourself a favor and never get mixed up in blogging. It’s a terrible, terrible way to waste one’s life. (And, with that, yes, I am now officially back to blogging.) I wonder if I could convince Peter Falk to do the narration.

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  1. Collin
    Posted January 9, 2006 at 12:14 am | Permalink

    Okay. Yes. I’m wearing sweatpants right now. But in my defense, I’m not actually blogging at the moment. Just reading blogs. Also, for the record, I’m not masturbating either, even though that’s a pretty hot druggie wax woman you’ve got there.

    Welcome back.

  2. Theodore Glass
    Posted January 9, 2006 at 8:43 am | Permalink

    There should be at least one scene showing how a blog can ruin a family. In one room could be a family celebrating something, like Thanksgiving. There would be an empty seat at the head of the table, and a plate of food that had barely been touched. Then, the lighting would shift to illuminate the figure of the father, curled up in the corner of an adjacent room, feverishly typing . A young girl’s voice can be made out through the wall asking if Daddy still loves them.

  3. Tony Buttons Esq.
    Posted January 9, 2006 at 4:15 pm | Permalink

    I’d like to see the scene where the blogger is forced to clean out his desk.

  4. chris
    Posted January 9, 2006 at 9:03 pm | Permalink


    Two wonderful mm things in one day. A collection of anon ypsi cartoons that I read cover to cover standing at the kitchen counter ignoring my toddler with diarrhea and now this!

    It just makes the day more tolerable, if not life. And by the way, that WAS Barney, and not a Buddha. Jesus Christ, what do you think I am some kind of pagan or something?!

  5. mark
    Posted January 9, 2006 at 10:14 pm | Permalink

    Wait, you aren’t suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, are you? (And you do know that there are only about ten people reading this site who have any fucking clue what you’re talking about, right, Chris?)

  6. danandkitty
    Posted January 9, 2006 at 10:16 pm | Permalink

    I thought that that wax figure was comedian Emo Phillips. Or maybe Sissy spacek?

  7. mark
    Posted January 9, 2006 at 10:22 pm | Permalink

    I’m picturing it (The Museum of Blogging Sadness) being kind of like one of those evangelical Halloween Hell House.

    A Hell House consists of a group of horrific scenes within a type of haunted house. The customer walks through a sequence of tableaus designed to create terror and revulsion. The last scene is different; it is typically a portrayal of heaven. The visitors are then asked to accept salvation by repenting of their sins and trusting Jesus as Lord and Savior.

  8. chris
    Posted January 10, 2006 at 8:48 pm | Permalink

    Well, Barney, Buddha, or an almond paste monkey wearing a top hat with a coin sticking out of his ass, I thought by now you would get the hint and make the connection.

    What? I have to send you my Mrs. Roper mu-mu (the memory that it was a flowery silk kimona was a nice touch though-no wonder you are defending the literary integrity of Frey and Leroy) for you to finally recognize me?

  9. mark
    Posted January 10, 2006 at 11:07 pm | Permalink

    For those of you who are trying to follow along at home, I believe Chris is suggesting that she may have been an aspiring young witch that I met once that tried to seduce me.

  10. Tony Buttons Esq.
    Posted January 11, 2006 at 10:29 am | Permalink

    I was the dead creature hanging from the power lines in your back yard.

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