Step Off, Mutha

Liz and Killer set the ground rules.

As you might imagine, Killer loves me. That's why I like it when he approaches me about a "sensitive" topic. He's gentle. He starts with hints. He pretends like it's really my decision. It's sweet.

But Killer and I are mismatched cobloggers. You see, he cares. A lot. He is the perfect blog administrator. He watches the numbers. He goes out and tries to solicit new readers. He tries to force, I mean, mentor me to use hyperlinks so that "we" can connect to your posts. He tells me that it's courteous. He strives to make us number 1 on certain Goggle searches like "MooseKnuckle". He makes sure we have at least 6 fresh posts per week. He brings a lot of love to the show.

I, on the other hand, only write. I am the humble talent that depends on my manager to tell me when it's time for me to take the stage and when it's time for me to leave. I show up drunk half the time. I'm often late. I can't always remember my lines. Thank god for Killer.

We were together on Sunday. He told me that he felt bad about "stepping" on my Catfish Jones post. It is a pretty good story, and I had noticed the lack of comments. He takes the blame saying that had he not stepped on my story, I certainly would have gotten more and better feedback. He knew I was dangerously close to something fatal. Talent can be so emotional!

But really, I don't think about such. I might post 3 entries in a row. When the muse is hot, you gotta oblige. He says I should save them and post them later. Give our readers a chance to absorb the post, reflect on the post, comment on the post. Don't shoot the wad.... hold it, hold it...

That requires exercising writer's patience.... something I just don't have. Hyperlinking requires knowing a code... something I would rather not use a perfectly good brain cell for. Soliciting readers from new places takes lurking and whoring yourself out... something I save for weekends.

So what you end up with is Killer Rants! A combination of a man who loves the technique of blogging, the competition of increasing readership, the beauty of the technology- and then there's this chick who likes to tell stories.

Killer, you are the Yang. Thanks for being the "ROCK" here at Killer Rants! That being said, I have to advise: if you step on this post before 4:00 Wednesday evening, IT'S ON! And the talent can be pretty nasty when it's called for. Nobody puts Baby in a corner. NO BODY!

The Reason for the Rant

The first time Killer made a demand of me, I had to agree to drop off an unmarked suitcase filled with KY Jelly and Speedos at his door.

Another demand has been made.

Why I Rant
A Report By Liz

At first, I thought I was too old to blog. I thought it was only for college aged kids and junior high girls. We had slam books, they have blogs. The generation gap widens.

Killer had to tell me what a blog was. I immediately fell in love with the word. BLOG. I still like how thick it feels on my tongue. I visited Killer Rants (this is the original template, by the way) and loved Killer's writing and his mom's comments. Back then, it was pretty much just Killer's mom, his brother in law, and me leaving comments. Even when it was only being read by his family and one friend, Killer still talked about his balls in almost every post. Does anyone else find that strange?

After much encouragement from Killer, I started on my own blog but HR found out about it and began speculating who I was "ranting" about. They never said anything directly to me. I'm sure they save all that for the court proceedings. My toes curled, I puked a little in my mouth, and then I called it quits, much to my dismay. That ended my own venture.

By that time, I was enjoying the writing and reading that I found on "the Internets" and knew I was going to miss writing. So Killer concocted this idea that he and I merge our considerable "talents". An invitation was extended.

Killer is the Maverick to my Goose. And much like Goose must have yelled time and time again in the quiet of the barracks while "You've lost that lovin' feeling" played softly in the background, I screamed out, "I'm all in!"

Now, I read, and practically write, every day. I like the community that has formed here at Killer Rants and, even though the title of this blog suggests that Killer is in charge, I like imagining he is my personal blogging bitch. Only writing to entertain me. I like my own writing too. I'm not patting myself on the back here, I'm just saying that I really enjoy going back through the archives and finding things I've written. Things that otherwise would be lost.

But instead, stay here, just waiting for HR to stumble across them again.

The Insanity of Sweet Slumber

Liz asks: Was it all a dream?

This afternoon I woke up with two thoughts piercing my tiny brain. If I don't write them down now, they will be gone forever. We will discuss the merits of that later.

The first thought I had was a joke. I had made this up during my REM sleep and apparently my subconscious thought it was hilarious. It's not. It doesn't even make sense. I'm sorry you have elected to read this. You may think less of me in the morning.

"If a rooster and a waterfall got into a fight, who would win?"
"The rooster. Cocks could care less if the other person was wet or not."

Now, to call that A JOKE is to abuse the concept of what a joke is. But in all sincerity, when I was rousing from sleep around 1:00 this afternoon, I woke up thinking, "My God. This must be what it's like to be Dave Chappel." I thought for a few dazed moments that I had just dreamt the funniest joke EVER in the history of man.

I'm not proud of myself.

The second, almost simultaneous thought, was an address to Killer. Like many of you, he enters my dreams too. I have a challenge for you, Killer of Killer Rants! By Thursday of this coming week, will you please write a post that contains somewhere in it these words:

It was at that moment, while everyone shifted uncomfortably, that Killer came to the sad realization that there was no laugh track to accompany his comment.

In my waking moments, I saw Killer as part of a Far Side cartoon where that was the only statement on the page. Complete the image, please?

I have my own idea, but it involves a rooster and a waterfall and I think we'd all appreciate me keeping that to myself.