So a month or two ago, I decided I wanted a pet. And at the moment, I have me a nice, perfect literary pet.
But first I hemmed and hawed, perusing the pet store. I thought I wanted a cat.
And boy did that cat want me. Worshiped me like a dog. But I said tough titty to the kitty and then fluffed onward.
Next I thought about a hamster.
But I couldn’t find any monogamous hamsters. And, being a dude who won’t take swinging pets, I moseyed onward.
Next, I thought I might want an iguana.
But then I was all like “Holy crap iguanas are f***ing ugly what the f*** was I thinking!” And, tiring of the process, I managed to plug onward.
I considered a goldfish.
Sweet newborn baby Jesus f***ing nope!
And in utter dismay and disarray, I even considered the old standby. A dog.
Yes. A dog. The pet for people who want their love handed to them on a silver platter while the whole slobbery platter full of love is gift-wrapped with heart-covered entitlement paper and a big bow repeating the word “spoiled” over and over.
So. OK then. Maybe I won’t get a pet….
But I really wanted a pet.
Since I never liked the letter “D” much anyway, being a grade-slave in grade school who had a type “B” personality, and liking the letter “L” because, heck, it’s the first letter of “The International Language,” I decided to get a blog.
Yeah. I know what you’re thinking. I said the same thing to the pet store owner.
“Say. That looks a lot like a baby dog.” And the pet store owner says “Heck no. That’s a baby blog. Just look at that WordPress blue pajama top!”
“What’s he like?”
“Oh,” says the man, basically nice. “Funny. Inconspicuous. Changes appearance though sometimes, like a chameleon.”
So I was all like “Well OK. You’re the pet specialist. How much?” And I pulls out me wallet.
“Ten thousand dollars, my fine fellow.”
I slapped the man.
“Ouch. You slapped me!” “How much?” I says.
“It’s free…” he says.
So out the door I go with my new blog, while over my shoulder I hear “Can’t blame a poor man for tryin’….”
So. I get back home and what’s the first problem my new blog has? Yeah. It’s hungry.
“Now now now,” I says. “Be a good little bloggie and don’t eat Daddy’s computer now!”
That look on my bloggie’s face almost made ME cry. So I was all like “Well… it’s just a PC, you cute little guy. Go on and eat it. I always wanted a Mac anyway.” That made him happy again.
So I got me a nice Mac.
But then I started to worry. What if that’s all my little bloggie eats? I got really nervous. So I found the following picture online, showed it to my new pet, and gave a stern look coupled with a finger wag.
“That’s a bad bloggie!” I says. And I think he agreed.
I was proud of my blog, all of a sudden, and wanted to show him off. So I looked around. But I couldn’t see anyone. We were all alone in my house. “Is anyone around?” I called. “Take a look at my great new blog!” No answer. But my blog looked at my new Mac with hungry eyes.
I could imagine it eating me out of house and home. I could imagine maybe having to sell my new Mac in order to buy a bunch of crappy PCs so that my bloggie wouldn’t die.
But the very IDEA made me shudder.
“We have to feed you more, little guy,” I says. “We gotta help you grow up big and strong so that everyone will come look at you and maybe donate a bunch of crappy PCs for the privilege. If you blog it, they will come.”
So I started trying to feed it other things. I fed it memes.
I fed it games.
I fed it thrones.
Well, really it only drank FROM the throne…. I pondered.
Then I fed it “Game of Thrones.”
Well, just part of it. The shitty part. Boy did I like watching my blog devour THAT part!
But my little bloggie was still hungry. With him on my lap, while I stroked his cute little head, I sat in my nice chair and I pondered some more. What would a nice little bloggie like to eat that would make it grow up big and strong? There has to be SOMEthing out there, right?
I asked my little bloggie, but it didn’t have answers, only a desire to do what I told it.
“Good bloggie!” I says. “But that beer’s for Daddy! Alcohol and blogs don’t mix!”
Sometimes I fed my little bloggie other people’s stuff.
Oh come on! I always gave credit where credit was due! I provided links! Or I improved on the original idea before pretending it was mine!
And sometimes I just poured out my heart to feed my little bloggie.
And… once… I had a major disconnect and tried to feed the honor of a family member to my blog. Luckily my blog, good little bloggie that he is, threw it up again a day or two later. It wasn’t that hard to clean up the mess, thank the Lord of Light….
Yeah. Sorry. My bloggie told me not to picture it vomiting. Bad press, it said.
And yes: sometimes my pet talks to me, orders me around, and asks me questions.
And basically? Basically, my bloggie and I are doing OK. We’re not flush with food, but he’s growing, slowly and day by day. And soon enough I’ll have enough visitors to get him all the crappy old PCs he could ever eat.
Say. Reader. Do YOU have a crappy old PC?
I dunno. Old age aside, I think the head of the Tyrell family might be the only person George R.R. Martin couldn’t kill if he TRIED.
I’m thinkin’ maybe these kids are gonna call their mother and have her complain to the principal. No kids should be chained up in class. You know: like slaves.