Playing With Matches

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Whenever the Mighty Mighty Diesel takes a breather, I like to seize upon his absence as an opportunity to lecture about him –and thusly the entire blogosphere- extensively.

See, nowadays new blogs are poppin up everywhere and all the time. I’m willing to bet at this point there are like fifteen or twenty of them -all industriously ripping off my idea to have an online diary, and paying me, um, zero in royalties.

And I'm fine with that really. There is no real need to thank me ... from the very conception of the concept of “blogging,” I knew it was too great a gift not to share with the rest of Humankind.

-But I cannot, in good conscience, let said Humankind forget the history behind it.

As an example, I invite you to take the following quiz:


HINTS
v

One of these two will transport you to hellish wastelands, and subject you to unimaginable atrocities.

The other will only write about it.


One of these two would wipe out the entire salad bar, and then make out with Princess Leia.

The other is made of Latex and rubber.



One of these two is a visionary of internet comedy.

The other is in a DVD my kid made me buy.


One of these two was in a TV series.

The other runs a weapons factory for irate golfers.



One of these two made an outrageously funny DVD.

The other is somehow cashing in despite "Pet Detective", and Lemony Snicket's "A Series of Unfortunate Budget Surpluses."



One of these two is a highly-pressurized windbag with a reflective surface, containing a gas that makes you talk funny when ingested.

(In this case, both answers are correct. I can't tell the difference either.)



***

Now for any of you that took this quiz and didn’t score like four million points, I think you really need to do some homework. You know, like, “study” or something. Don’t write a blog without knowing the cold hard facts surrounding the glorious history of blogging: it would just embarrass us both.

So where was I?

Oh yeah.

Diesel.


***

See I warned Diesel implicitly about Antisocial Commentary from the Secret Files of the Mattress Police.

“D,” I says. “You have to scale back the awesomeness of this book. If you’re not careful, they’re gonna make you write another one.”

But Diesel can be pretty stubborn when it comes to advice.

“They wouldn’t dare,” he says smugly.

“D, I’m serious,” I insist. “They made this guy Hemingway write like three books.”

“That's impossible,” says D. “No human mortal could endure even reading three books, let alone writing three.”

“I’m totally serious.”

“Have they made you write any books?”

“Hell no,” I smirk. “I’m on to those pricks.”

“What’s your secret?” he asks.

“Bad punctuation, grammar … the occasional smattering of misspellings. All buried deeply in unreadable pedantic and wordy nonsense."

I pause.

“I think it’s more of a gift, really.”