Thanks a Lot, MooCow

I hate you, MooCow. When I saw your blog, I thought 'Great, what better companion for a blog named the Daily Cud than a blog written by someone calling themselves MooCow?' Then I actually read your blog. Oh. My. God. I hate you. With the fire of a thousand suns. Your blog knocked my socks off. Not in the good, lets make the babies way, but more in an I hate you and want to put worms in your bed kind of way. Not the great big nightcrawlers that would be easy to pick out, but those tiny red wrigglers that would be impossible to round up completely so you would still be finding worms crawling around in your sheets for weeks kind of way. (Notice I said worms and not bun(spiders)nies. I don't hate you that much.)

Your blog is so awesome. It makes this pathetic excuse for a blog look like it was written by monkeys on crack. I really love my blog, but I'm not afraid to admit when I have met my match. If blogs were the Little Rascals, my blog would be Alfafa, and your blog would be Spanky. If blogs were talk shows my blog would be Sally Jesse Raphael, and your blog would be Oprah. If blogs were superheros your blog would be Superman, and my blog would be, I don't know, Stapler Boy or something lame like that.

I like finding new, interesting blogs, but your blog is more than just interesting. It's absolutely mesmerizeing. It's your fault I spent my ENTIRE day off yesterday sitting on the couch reading your archives instead of cleaning house and doing laundry. Even your comments are interesting, which really sucks because usually I can just ignore the entire existence of the comment buttons, but no, not on your blog. On your blog I have to actually stop and read all the comments, too. It's your fault Baby Jesus is crying. Oh, wait, that's not your fault, that's President Bush's fault.

Now, where was I? Oh, right, I hate you with the fire of a thousand suns and everything. On the bright side, I was inspired to finally blog about the legendary cripple-junkie fight yesterday. I had been thinking about blogging it for a couple of weeks, but hadn't felt really inspired to actually do it. Maybe next I'll blog about the Great Flood of 93. You haven't lived until you've paddled a canoe through your livingroom.