Vox Proletariat

Lately I have been reverting more and more to asshole behavior, which, if you are one of the two or three readers who who have known me this long, I used to journal about more often and even gained some fame*.

Those were good times for writing, but the site has since been disestablished, mostly because I see no reason to pay ten bucks a month to bitch. You can still find it cached in some different places, but I wouldn't recommend wasting that kind of time. The site basically revolved around Wild Turkey, mountain biking, and stupidity. In fact, because of the environment my vitriol was crystallizing in, I had all kinds of stupidity to talk about.

I am still a little amazed at how hard it was to maintain that sort of angry continually after i moved back to Colorado. With 285 sunny days a year and no traffic (or a reason to actually drive) I just could not maintain the aggression necessary for that kind of funny.

There are a few aspects of the site I miss:

• No comments. Now, I love comments, and have the requisite ego boost when I see that number crawl up into the teens. Unfortunately, my style of writing and journaling doesn not lend itself to large numbers of comments. I could try and change that, but honestly, I don't care quite that much. It would have to do with being funny and improving my grammar. Also, commenting on everyone esle's (and I mean everyone's) stupid pandering bullshit with pictures of cats and diatribes about "that guy on the bus who was SOOOOO mean."




• No fancy colors. Black, white, red and yellow, bitch. Since I programmed the whole thing from scratch (OK, copying and pasting and scratch), I had to keep it simple. There were three colors, not counting the background. And that background was black. You could be anywhere on the site in two clicks. I designed it as the anti-blogger. It was mean and simple. Dangerous looking, but sleek. It was not a place people shared stories of kittens. And I singed off with "Bitches."



• Drinking. Really, the drinking. Back in those days, I was known to put down a bottle of Turkey in a night. If I tried that now, I would wake up in the hospital, if at all.



• The name. Come on. That is the coolest goddamn pseudonym a non-WWF Superstar has ever used.



• The fanbase. There is something reassuring about women liking you for no other reason than your ability to convey emotion. Every fifth entry or so, I would talk about Freddie King, Andres, or Otis Taylor and how they applied to the homeland I pined for. I would invariably get an email consiting mostly of OMGs and smiley/frownie faces. One exception to this was Anne Arkham. She said something like, "Bitch, Otis Taylor is from Chicaaago."



• The supporting cast. Mostly old military friends. None of them got away from it quite as clean as I did.



• I miss talking like that. You would have to have read it to fully appreciate the awesome power of my potty mouth (Casey would never say that OMGs!!11!) and how funny I used to be.

So, why bring this up? Well, mostly I just thought about it more than usual. And Buddy guy just fired up The Devil In Her off the incredibly nasty and blacksnake moaning artblues project that is Sweet Tea, and by god fucking shit, I need to get laid.

*"Fame" here is relative. I will not live forever.