Over the past few months I have been trying really hard to get into the "Belly Laugh Bloggers" association. Only the very best of the best funny bloggers are members, so it means a lot to me. They only give you three chances, spaced one month apart between tries, and I have already been rejected twice. Admittedly, this is mainly because only my cat thinks I am funny. So this post will be my "do or die" attempt at membership. Cross your fingers for me. Or, if you live in South Africa, hold thumbs. If you live in Winchester, touch wood. If you live in Newark, hold your breath (it stinks in Newark.)
The thing is, in addition to membership, they also give your blog a rating, just like the movies, and I want to have the dirtiest rating possible, NC-17 (they don't have an XXX rating) - because the dirtiest blogs are the ones that get read the most. According to
Ettarose and
Chica anyway.
Those of you who read this blog, and my past failed attempts at other blogs, know that I am disadvantaged in this area. I WANT to be profane - truly I do - but my christian mother instilled too much class in my psyche to allow for much of that, even these decades later.
Fuh... fuh .... fuh...
See?
But I REALLY want to be accepted into this prestigious Belly Laugh Blogger's organization and be able to proudly display their really cool badge in my sidebar. This would be good for at least 9 new followers, I'm thinking.
What to do?
As is often the case, the answer was deceptively simple: Go read some Australian blogs. Duh. Reading Australian blogs will quickly dull your senses in general, or any sign of class or morality you might have. And so I did.
I settled on a tame cooking blog from the desolate Northern Territory (Near the Tropic of Capricorn ::wink wink nudge nudge::) that was so far out in the sticks even God didn't know it existed, so that any theft from the blog I might deem necessary would never be discovered in a million years. Especially if I "forgot" to link to it.
Anyway.
This is to say I have learned my lesson: twice rejected means I can't submit my own material. I'm just not good enough. Even I get that. Hence the theft of good material from a remote blogger who (a) won't even know I stole his or her post, and (b) is too far away to do anything about it even if he/she discovers what I did. Win-win, right?
Right now you may be thinking to yourself, "But he just told the world his entry is stolen material. What an idiot." Or something similar. But no. Entirely untrue. Here's why: See... what the Belly Laugh Bloggers admissions folks do is use a spider robot to crawl entries instead of having an actual human read them. Just like Google does when they rate your blog pages. (Belly Laugh Bloggers is a really huge organization, probably even bigger than Google, and they have all the same technology to do this.)
There is one major difference from Google, though, that I hope to capitalize on, and that is you can fool their 'bots with the repetitive use of key words. Google HATES it when you do that, and have trained their slimy 'bots to downgrade your page rank when you try it. But this loophole is still open with the Belly Laugh folks. Confused? Meh.
Keep reading. It may clear itself up.
I explain this only so you know, when you read the below Official Entry (final entry), should you choose to do so (and you may only read it if you are over 18 years old and not from Utah), that what I am trying to do is (a) gain entry to the coveted club; (b) obtain a really dirty one-time blog rating so a lot of people will think my blog is totally hip. Plus, as a bonus feature and for insurance purposes, the material is stolen to boot. Win-win-win.
Without further ado ::drum roll with rim shots here:: here is my final (and, hopefully, successful) entry. Cross your fingers. Hold thumbs. Touch wood. Hold your breath. Praying is not appropriate.
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— Relax Max's official "Belly Laugh Bloggers" membership application post #3 —
My Recipe for Australian omelette
[Submitted by Matilda Waltzing —Alice Springs, NT]
Ingredients:
2 fucking eggs
some fucking salt and pepper
fucking chives
1 fucking knob [?] of fucking butter
Directions:
Heat the fucking butter in a fucking omelette pan.
Fucking break the fucking eggs into a fucking bowl.
Fucking whisk the fuckers and add some fucking salt and fucking pepper to taste.
When the fucking butter is hot, add the fucking mixture to the pan.
When cooked, take the fucking thing out.
Eat the fucker.
Note from Mrs. Waltzing: Fucking parsley or fucking chopped scallions may fucking be substituted for the fucking chives if you fucking want.
A person who believes in God, in the traditional way, has often been taught in his religion that God "always was and always will be." It is easy enough to accept that God always will be. Apparently the human mind can see that as reasonable. However, the other part, the part about always having existed, is something that we can't wrap our minds around, and must take it "on faith."
