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All Work and No Play Makes 25toFly a Dull Blog

Um.  Hi?  Excuse me.  Sorry to bother you.  Just wanted to introduce myself.  I’m Becca’s Blog.  That’s right, the one responsible for all of the shenanigans and emotiporn that she told you about on Wednesday. It’s me.

Recently, she was talking to this guy.  Not sure of his name or which one, but she was talking to this guy about her blog.  More like listening to this guy complaining about how much time she spends on her blog, and then he said something like, “Becca, it’s like your blog is taking on a life of its own.  It’s not a child.  It’s just a stupid page where you write stuff.  It’s not like it’s important or anything, is it?  What?  Facebook isn’t enough for you?”

You should have seen her face when he said that.  She was like, OMG and quickly like slammed down her laptop.  Fucking hurt, man.  So I could tell she was really pissed that someone might have figure out that – yeeaahh – her blog – me – has a life – my life – of its own – MY own – for a long time now.  And I’m getting kind of sick of everyone thinking of her as this fabulous blogger when really it is all me.  The blog with a life of its own.

eric bana

Here is an accurate depiction of what I would look like if I were human. I, Becca’s blog, would be a dude. See penis envy quote below.

I mean, you should see her lately.  Mailing it in.  Just sits on the sofa, skanky long johns, one hand holding a cigarette, and you do NOT want to know where the other hand is.  And what’s with the long johns?  Some form of penis envy?  Then she’s doing shots of Jim Beam, flicking ashes on Jack, and watching numbers roll up on WordPress while I’m doing all of the damn work.  “Life of its own.”  You heard the dude.  Well, you didn’t.  I did.  She did too, but she won’t admit it. I’m tired of this shit.  Her getting all the credit.  Enough.  My turn.  For lots of things.

So I thought about it this morning while watching her waking up.  Attempting to wake up.  Drool on the wood floor where she passed out last night.  Luckily, she passed out while the laptop was still open so I could see it all.  “The Artist Artificially Known as Firecrotch” is trying to figure out two things.  First, “Am I under water?”  and second, “ Shouldn’t there be bourbon in this water?”  I’m telling you, there’s something touching about watching a 20-something woman, still toasted from last night, wearing only a backwards Mickey Mouse t-shirt, and looking at herself in the mirror trying to think. At least she’s pretty.

So she finally yanks herself off of the floor.  She just kept walking around like she was trying to remember where her keys were.  Between sips of Diet Coke, she kept looking around like something was on the tip of her tongue but she couldn’t quite place it.  Then she leaves about fifteen minutes late, never even puts the TV on, and I don’t get my morning dose of Soledad O’Brien on CNN.  I’m into Latino chicks.  They got attitude, especially Soledad.  She needs a few burgers, but she’s got potential.  You know who really needs a basket of burgers is Erin Burnett.  I could pick a lock with her legs.  She’s pretty, but at certain angles she looks like Steve Carell in a wig.  No lie.

steve carrell

Erin comes on about 11 at night, right when Becca’s staring at me blankly while doing shots straight out of the bottle. I guess maybe that’s a swig, not a shot?  I need to get out more.

Anyway, I realize you don’t really know exactly what’s happening, so I should try to clear this up.  To be fair, I admit that Becca has been a fabulous writer/blogger.  Key words:  has been.  But her poor little brain is getting overtaxed.  I’ve seen smoke seeping out of her ears.  She spends so much time on me that she really is lacking an actual life.  I’m all about helping.  MY version of helping.  And I’m going to ease her burden a bit by taking on more of these blogging duties myself.  Most mornings she doesn’t really remember the night before, so she’ll probably just think she wrote these posts anyway.

I’m also going to attempt to inject a little fun into her boring-ass existence.  Goes to work.  Goes to the bar.  Talks to the old guy at the bar.  Searches her closet for something to wear on her head.  Pictures of her cat.  Jim Beam.  More Jim Beam.  So consider this a bit of a French Revolution.  Not French.  What’s the word for the French influence in the New Orleans area?  Not Cajun.  Dammit, I know there’s a word for it.  I suck.

Oh shit.  Jack’s giving me a signal.  I think she’s home.  I better get back before she notices anything.  Soooo – quick summary.  Now that I’ve figure out how to remove myself from the computer and take a little more control of things, I’m just going to light a fire under this girl’s round ass and have a little fun.

I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?

blog hijack

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Oh Y’all

It’s Friday, which means come five o’clock, I will transition in to the non-virtual world. Kind of like when Ariel gets legs for a while at the price of losing her voice. I try to disconnect from the WWW on weekends to maintain my reputation as an actual human and not a robot.

becca ariel

Pretty much identical.

As you all know, I suffered through some writer’s block recently. What I realized today, is that it wasn’t a problem with letting the words flow or putting together entertaining sentences, but rather an issue of topic. My ideas are lost somewhere on an island talking to a volley ball. SOS. I need your  help. If you have any post ideas that you think I should explore, or anything you would like to hear my take on, please leave your suggestion(s) in the comments. I will of course give you credit for the idea should I use it. I will also write your name in my notepad with a heart around it.

Before I announce the winning comments from the past week… or three, or whatever, I would like to say thank you to two ladies. Firstly, thanks to Ms. Maddie Cochere. She drives a truck, rides motorcycles without a helmet, and apparently loves a gamble. She is basically a Bandito, but she still isn’t above blog awards and using the term “sweet”. Thank you for the compliment. I always wanted to be described like a candy bar. I don’t usually participate in the awards anymore, but sometimes I like to answer the questions that come along with them. This is one of those times:

Cookies or Cake?  I don’t like sweets. But I will fuck up some fortune cookies.
Chocolate or Vanilla?  Sounds racist.
What is your favorite sweet treat? Again, I don’t fancy sweets except for the fact that I usually drink my sugar with a dash of coffee.
When do you crave sweet things the most?  When I have a penis. That means never in case you are confused.
If you had a sweet nickname what would it be? Urban Dictionary says that sweet means, “something pretty awesome”. Since Urban Dictionary has not failed me in my life ever, I will use this definition. Someone called me “boots” once, and that was pretty sweet. 

I would also like to thank Ms. Marie for adding me to her Featured Posts this week on Good Morning Joe. There are a great variety of interesting reads over there. I give you permission to go visit, but be sure to look both ways when you cross the street.

And now for the comment winners…

Adam of My Right to Bitch on 10 Personal Post Secrets Revealed

right to bitch blog

John, aka Red, of Society Red on Shit Bloggers Do , because he was the  first one to recognize my hidden joke in the tags.

Society Red

And finally, Brother Jon on Who Are You Ty Ling?.

brother jon

Y’all are obviously clever, so get to typing more comments. Give me your ideas my pretties. Please and thank you. Oh, and have a good weekend too yo.

becca cord signature

Shit Bloggers Do

Many thoughts run through my mind when I sit down to do blog related activities. Here are some of those candid thoughts. Thank me later by telling me that you do some of these things too.

  • The word exercise is the devil, not because I hate to work out, but because I will never be able to comprehend its spelling.
  • I should really learn to spell it though before I begin writing. No, I am just going to use Google. I support Google.
  • Great. I have successfully browsed to http://www.gogle.com. Why is that even a site?
  • Wait… I am not even writing anything about exercise.
  • Let’s see what is happening on Twitter.
  • Great. I have successfully browsed to http://www.titter.com. Good thing I am not at work.
  • I should Google search “how to type better” instead of “how to spell exercise”.
  • All right, I made it to Twitter.
  • Retweet!
  • Better retweet that.
  • Favorite
  • Who the hell is this naked chick?
  • That definitely warrants a retweet.
  • Favorite
  • Favorite everything!
  • Okay, I need to produce content.
  • Let’s see what  ideas I have been writing down. “Redo lupus sunflower seeds”. Right.
  • I should add a warning to my notepad that says, “do not record any ideas while drinking”.

The magic really begins after I actually finish a post:

  • Yay, a post is born!
  • That tag is so funny. Everyone is going to think that tag is hilarious. Who uses such an outrageous tag? You do. You are so funny.
  • Why isn’t anyone mentioning the tag? No one looks at tags. Sigh
  • I should go do something else for a while. Right after this last comment reply.
  • No I shouldn’t.

You now know the process behind running a successful blog. Congratulations.

Hey! Happy Birthday to Madame Weebles today! Go over to Le Clown’s page to wish her a good one and tell her she is young and pretty. Me and Jack did!

Lastly, be on the look out tomorrow for my big interview with someone you may know…

becca cord signature

Meet “Z”

Some friends just stick. Sometimes those friends actually live outside of the computer screen. “Blasphemy!”. I can hear you thinking it already, but it is true.  This post is testament to that. When I first met Z, I was convinced that he was going to set our classroom on fire. Marketing 101. College.  His head phones and blaring Tech N9ne were essential to his wardrobe and my uneasiness. Little did I know, he wasn’t actually a murderer but one of my future best friends

25tofly friend

Some friendships are cosmic. He paid me in beer to say that. Part of the deal was also for me to give him some of my spotlight. So without further ado, meet my friend “Z”…

Well hello there! Becky (editor’s note: fuck you) has asked me to step in and fill in some space due to her recent episode of writer’s block. I offered her a couple hits of acid and the leprechauns that do my typing for me, but she refused. I’m not sure why she denied my offer though. Those four creepy little dudes have kept me employed the last three years and even earned me a 2.31 GPA throughout college. Fancy, I know.

Allow me to formally introduce myself. I am Z. Well at least that’s what she named me on here a few times anyway. I’ve been called worse. I am originally from Smackover, Arkansas. Dead serious. Google it. It sucks, I know. But before my recent relocation to the great shit hole of Baton Rouge, Louisiana, the two of us shared roughly 572,890 pitchers of beer together.

I shared with her my knowledge of billiards and was even the third wheel through the entirety of a yearish long relationship of hers. If it wasn’t for her, I would probably be sober. Yes, my life would suck if not for this lovely blonde! (editor’s note again: redhead now dumbass).

Up until recently, I didn’t even know her blog existed. For some reason I had to stalk her on Facebook just to learn this hidden writing talent of hers. But now I understand why we have always texted and only ever spoken on the phone once  in our multi-year relationship. And that was more awkward than some random non-blogger dude making an appearance on some chick’s highly popular blog.

When she first asked me to write a guest post, I will admit I giggled with a slight evilness. I thought, “How witty can I be?” and “Oh the people I can piss off with my political views!”. Then I realized she would just delete my post and ban me from the internet, which would cause a riot with the leprechauns. Not worth the risk.

So instead, I must confess to the masses how blessed each of you are to sit right where your rear is currently placed and enjoy reading the very thoughts and ideas that I have been graced with throughout my friendship with Miss Long Johns herself since some time in 2009. I check for new posts quite frequently now, due to the lack of our shared time together. It’s all I can get. She won’t come visit me anymore. Thanks to y’all.

I think I have babbled enough, and her head is probably slightly swollen after reading these kind words. It’s been a pleasure occupying roughly 3-27 minutes of your time. Who knows, maybe one day she will allow me to post something witty and political. Maybe not political but at least witty.

P.S. Her cats are evil. Between Ace, Jack, and my cat allergy, I am surprised I never woke up cross-eyed after drunkenly passing out on her couch all of those nights. Then again, it could have been those three-month old leftovers I always took off of her refrigerator’s hands. Who knows…

Stay tuned tomorrow for the recap of the LaLaBec New Year’s Eve bash. Because you know you don’t remember. Please leave a nice comment for Z while you wait. My writer’s block thanks him and you. 

becca cord signature

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