Monday, April 05, 2010

Dancing With Myself

- No, no, no and no. This simply will not do any more. I am not standing for it. Once a month blogging? What is this, 2007? And don't you even dare trying to use Watch With Mothers as an excuse again. You only write for them once a month as well. Is there not a single thing rattling around in that ginormous skull of yours that could be turned into some scintillating text?

- Er, yeah, sorry about that. I've been around, other places, you know. Sorry, who am I talking to here?

- Other...? I knew it. I knew it. I can't believe it. You've been cheating on me, haven't you? Again. With that whore. That flighty painted Jezebel, Twitter. Did she dress up for you? Oh, she can look like Tweetdeck, can't she? Did you do it on your phone? My God. You disgust me.

- Hey! That's hardly cheating. I've been on Twitter for over a year and I've still made time for...hang on, what... Cheating on you? Are you a personification of Blogger?!

- Well, if you don't know, I'm not going to tell you.

- Right, you're a personification of Blogger. Great. Good. You're a huffy, stereotypically female impersonation of Blogger, accusing me, a straight female, of cheating on you with another female, Twitter. I'm not quite sure what that means, actually.

- No point asking me. You never tell me anything any more. Just scraps, that's all I get recently. "Oh, here's what I think of Battlestar Galactica. Oh, I bought some boots. Oh, I went all kiss-arsey all over Collins and Herring cos one of them follows me on me on stupid Twitter."

- Stop doing that stupid voice. And put down that handbag. I don't even have a handbag.

- "Oh, I don't even have a handbag! I'm so unconventional!!"

- OK, OK, I'm sorry. I get that you're angry. I'm not exactly sure why, seeing as you're a non-sentient piece of software, but I'll run with it. You're right. I've been wasting all my thoughts in little bursts on...well, not here. But I'll be better. I promise. How about this...I'll do a blog every day now, *every day*, till I can't do it any more. At least a week, and I'll aim for a month. Would that make you feel better?

- ...

- Hmm?

- What, like Richard Herring?

- Yes, like Richard Herring.

- Or like Mark Watson?

- Yes, or like Mark Watson.

- Well... OK. Tell you what you should do as well. Maybe grow a Hitler moustache and do a comedy show about it? Or change your name to Mark Watson, Little Miss Originality?

- Passive-aggressive point taken. Wow. You really are quite the snarky little cow, aren't you? But I know you're only doing it to spur me on to greater heights, so I appreciate it.

- Er...yeah, that'll be it.

- Right then. Guess I'll see you tomorrow, for what will surely be an interesting and exciting experiment! Yeah? Yeah? Hello? Why are you crying?

Buckle up, peeps; I may have finally lost it...

2 comments:

Ishouldbeworking said...

I SWEAR to you I've never so much as looked at Twitter. But I HAVE taken your recent relative taciturnity to be aimed soley and squarely at me. And I'm not one to be lightly spurned.

justrestingmyeyes said...

In a word: eek!