Fans? I rub my hands together greedily at the thought that there are fans of this blog. My amusingly pessimistic ruminations made extra likeable by the presence of humility have steered their way into the hearts of those who like to read, but not too much.
I hate when people write like in the above sentence. It reeks of presumption--presumption that self-aggrandizement, loquacity, and a stale sort of cynicism hoping to pass for wit are appealing to anyone. If I was going to whine and be boring about it, I'd take a goddamn pen and do it in a bound book of blank pages to keep to myself. I mean, who the fuck cares to read shit like, "Why it is that people have to smoke so close to the building entrance because it defeats the purpose of non-smoking policies?" If you're going to be too lazy to supply an answer, then why bore your readers with a question that serves as mere observation? But you say, "No, dear Sylvia, it was meant to be a rhetorical question." I reply, "My apologies, dear thinker! Your fine rhetoric, then, is bound to save the lives of multitudinous potential second-hand smokers!"
Your readership sustains this blog. Your readership saves lives.