Booooooooooring
Anne and I have declared that, as of today, the Internet (and by Internet, we as usual mean "Livejournal") has become boring.
That's right: I have had enough of your dinner plans, your vague linking to news stories, your knitting projects, your pictures of your pets, your "I'm trying to find myself" posts. I'm just not feeling it, people. I need DRAMA. I need DISCORD. I need SEXY PICTURES OF LADIES IN THIGH-BOOTS SWORD-FIGHTING hot industry buzz.
Seriously, when the most exciting thing I've encountered online is that a gaming conference has been cancelled, and I have played maybe fifteen minutes of videogames in the past ten years, that is a sign.
A sign that you are all slacking terribly.
So.
Here is your mission. For twenty-four hours, beginning this Friday at midnight:
make sh*t up.
I'm serious. Do you not have cancer? Well, you do now! Happily married? You just caught your spouse in the shower with two schnauzers and a German post-industrialist named Hans! Publishers throwing checks at you every half hour? Those checks are now officially kickbacks for smuggling three bricks of cocaine into Canada inside of your kid sister's Hello Kitty pillowcase in a desperate attempt to pay off the hit you took out on Frank Miller.
Work with me here, people.
Because a Livejournal is a terrible thing to waste.
Tell your friends.
That's right: I have had enough of your dinner plans, your vague linking to news stories, your knitting projects, your pictures of your pets, your "I'm trying to find myself" posts. I'm just not feeling it, people. I need DRAMA. I need DISCORD. I need SEXY PICTURES OF LADIES IN THIGH-BOOTS SWORD-FIGHTING hot industry buzz.
Seriously, when the most exciting thing I've encountered online is that a gaming conference has been cancelled, and I have played maybe fifteen minutes of videogames in the past ten years, that is a sign.
A sign that you are all slacking terribly.
So.
Here is your mission. For twenty-four hours, beginning this Friday at midnight:
make sh*t up.
I'm serious. Do you not have cancer? Well, you do now! Happily married? You just caught your spouse in the shower with two schnauzers and a German post-industrialist named Hans! Publishers throwing checks at you every half hour? Those checks are now officially kickbacks for smuggling three bricks of cocaine into Canada inside of your kid sister's Hello Kitty pillowcase in a desperate attempt to pay off the hit you took out on Frank Miller.
Work with me here, people.
Because a Livejournal is a terrible thing to waste.
Tell your friends.