Saturday, January 30th, 1999
It occurs to me that the point of a homepage is either to have a point
or to acquire a certain dubious street cred by having no point at all.
My website, The Behemoth, aka. Roger, falls into neither category, but
instead lurches unsteadily and, frankly, ungracefully, between the two,
never certain at any moment whether tis better to suffer the slings and
arrows of outrageous fortune or just to shove fortune's balls up its
ass and face the full fury of the Law with head unbowed, hair
untrimmed, and biceps glistening in the California sun.
Recently, Roger has been a little minimalist, and let me tell you, it's
a sad day in Mudville when Roger's feeling a little minimalist.
Speaking of which, that little Mudville crack is the weirdest
expression. Because almost everyone
recognizes it, but most of them don't know where it's from. And for
good reason, too, because the poem ("Casey at the Bat" or maybe "Casey
At Bat" or maybe "Casey the Bat", by God only knows who, and fortunately
so, because who ought to be shot) is really stunningly bad. And look,
when I hear someone say, "That's the rub," I feel goooood
[duh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh], because I think, yeah, you go Shakespeare.
You fucking go. Damn right they're still quoting you five hundred
years later. But frankly, God only knows who simply does not deserve
that kind of cultural universality for writing a badly-rhymed
poem about baseball, for Jesus Christ's sake.
This here coming up is a game. Yeah, that's right, a game. It relates
to paragraph 1 of webpage 6.
Pick a link, any link. Pick your nose if you have to. I'd rather
have someone pick his nose discreetly than have a huge ass booger
hanging out of it. Maybe one day when I figure out how to do those
web surveys I'll put that one up. Would you, my audience, rather
see a nose being discreetly picked or an overripe booger in
desperate need of harvesting?
Okay, fine, not you, fuck off.
The little webpage that went
wah-wah-wah all the way home.