| Monday, February 03, 2003 |
 | The perceptive listener may be noticing slowly that my grip on sanity, generally tenuous at best, has been slipping badly lately. I blame for this a combination of American McGee's Alice and blognobrot. Allow me to clarify. For some reason, webloggers have been forcing me to think about their naughties lately. Now, for some of the more beautifully formed webloggers this is a positive pleasure. Wil Wheaton wearing naught but a slinky thong and a Klingon mask, singing a happy tune as he searches for the PAX network on an enormous remote control, will bring only pleasant dreams, of course.
But in rapid succession lately our poor headses have been forced to cope not only with lovely naked Gerard's devotion to Sleepy Sex, and a series of revelations about size and usage from another weblogger so soul-blasting that I actually can't bring myself to link to it (all I'm saying is, it's pretty small), but now Ed has broken surface to tell us about his algolagnic bloodletting. No, of course he doesn't call it that. This isn't Flowers for Frigging Algernon you know.
And I just had this stomach lined, too. Fair play and much credit to these honest explorers into what we might describe as the theory paper, though.
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