The Lost Blogs Read online

  Still, I cannot help but wonder if years down the line I will find myself regretting the abandonment of such a business opportunity. That someone else will take such an idea and use it to great effect, while I find myself mired in legal papers and problematic issues…

  Maybe tea. Maybe there’s something for Samuel Adams in the business of tea.

  Perhaps.

  In the meantime, the brewery has two months left before the doors are shut—if you so feel determined to savor our product, you must act quickly. For after this, your chance of sampling a lager under the name Samuel Adams will never come again!

  Of that, I am sure.

  From: http://www.abbottandcostello.com/blog/

  Subject: Our Newest Blog Comedy Routine

  Hey folks, Abbott here! Wanted to thank all our great fans for supporting us over the years by giving you the first look at our new comedy sketch! We think you’ll like it. But if you don’t, don’t send me any thoughts to [email protected].

  Abbott: So, technology is pretty amazin’, isn’t it, Costello?

  Costello: You know it, boss.

  Abbott: The way people can share their thoughts from their own personal diaries…

  Costello: I don’t wanna read any of your personal thoughts. That scares me.

  Abbott: Oh, relax! The thing is, you gotta get a whole buncha things goin’ before you can just start writin’.

  Costello: Oh yeah? I didn’t know that. Like what?

  Abbott: Well, you need an I.P. address.

  Costello: I don’t know about you, but I know where I pee and I don’t need any stinkin’ address to fig’r that out!

  Abbott: No, Costello—not your home address… You gotta let people know that URL!

  Costello: First of all, I’m not the one askin’ you to tell people where you pee—and second of all, I’m not the one who’s ill! You are ill! Not me!

  Abbott: Costello…

  Costello: What.

  Abbott: I didn’t say you were sick. URL!

  Costello: What, like mentally ill?

  Abbott: No, Costello, not mentally ill.

  Costello: You’re telling me that in order to share my own thoughts with the public…

  Abbott: Go on…

  Costello: I gotta… give out my “I pee address” and give ’em the ol’…

  Abbott: URL thing.

  Costello: And I’m sacrificin’ my own career and doing this for what reason?

  Abbott: To get comments.

  Costello: To get comments?

  Abbott: Yes. If you let people know your LP. address and that URL… People will come and leave comments.

  Costello: And tell me that I’m a deranged lunatic, most likely for telling them that I pee.

  Abbott: Whether or not you tell ’em you’re a deranged lunatic is your own business, Costello… I’m not gonna tell you how to live your life!

  Costello: But you are!

  Abbott: I’m just telling you how to get people to read what you have to say. To get you a whole bunch of hits.

  Costello: (Flinches here) Who’s gonna hit me?

  Abbott: Not hit you… Hits.

  Costello: So, more than one person is gonna hit me?

  Abbott: Well, if you’re lucky—hundreds and thousands.

  Costello: What!?!?

  Abbott: It’s a good thing, Costello.

  Costello: I don’t know what kind of world you’re livin’ in, buddy boy, but I don’t consider having people come to my I pee address and watch me and tell me I’m ill and leave me comments and hit me… to be a good thing.

  Abbott: Well it’s better than span.

  Costello: I like Spam.

  Abbott: You don’t have spam.

  Costello: Well, I’ve had Spam.

  Abbott: Once you have spam, you always have spam.

  Costello: I had Spam last Christmas, then didn’t have Spam until Easter.

  Abbott: You had spam in December, then no spam until April!? That’s not possible.

  Costello: Ask my mother!

  Abbott: What does your mother know about spam!?

  Costello: That’s her business! She makes sure everyone in my family gets Spam!

  Abbott: Well, Costello—I can’t say I was ever more disappointed in your mother than at this very moment.

  Costello: That’s not very nice.

  Abbott: (Deep sigh here) Here’s the thing, Costello. If you don’t want hits…

  Costello: No, I don’t want hits!

  Abbott: And you won’t give out your I.P. address or let people know that URL…

  Costello: I refuse! I ain’t no sicko!

  Abbott: Then the only other way is to give out links to others…

  Costello: First Spam, now sausage links! You hungry or something?

  Abbott: I’m not talking food, Costello. I’m talking links.

  Costello: Well, I don’t know what country you live in my friend, but where I come from—links ARE food.

  Abbott: I guess, figuratively, that’s sorta true.

  Costello: You betcha bipper!

  Abbott: Well then, Costello—I’m not gonna tell you how or where to give out those links. You do what you wanna do.

  Costello: I will! And I ain’t givin’ nobody nothing, just to come and read what I gotta say. They can come if they want, or they don’t hafta. But I ain’t getting hit, givin’ out food, or tellin’ them that I’m sick or even telling them that you are ill!

  Abbott: Well, I’m sure they don’t care if you’re sick or not… But they do wanna know that URL.

  Costello: Which I’m not!

  Abbott: Not, what?

  Costello: Ill!

  Abbott: I never said you were ill.

  Costello: You did, just then!

  Abbott: You’re scaring me, Costello.

  Costello: Aggggghhhh!!! I think I’m havin’ a heart attack!

  Abbott: So, then you ARE ill!

  (Costello faints. Abbott picks him up and drags him offstage.)

  From: http://www.salvador_dali.com/blog/

  From: http://www.patton.com/~george/blog/

  Subject: Give Up? Never!

  Pardon my French, but this is all a bunch of bullshit!

  Hell, I don’t care what you think about my words as long as it gets through your sickening, thick skulls! There’s a war out there raging… A war that’s taking its toll… Communication is breaking down, and without communication—a cohesive group of men can’t fight their way outta a piss-soaked paper bag.

  I’m talkin’ about all these crybaby wimps who joined the Army’s Blogging Webring where all they had to do over the course of a year was throw something up once a week for their troops… A quick update, a quick note. Somethin’ to keep morale high—because without morale we might as well all go home and stick our heads in the friggin sand and wait for someone to blow our asses through our mouths.

  Left and right, I’ve seen it. All these crybabies, givin’ up on the blogging. Long posts and passages dedicated to “not having the time to blog,” “not feeling creative enough to blog,” “not having hands, which were shot off in battle, and not being able to blog”…

  It’s a bunch of goddamn bullshit if you ask me.

  You don’t give up because you aren’t feeling it. In war, you don’t wake up one day and tell your commanding officer that you’re not gonna fight because, well, you just don’t have the time or because you didn’t expect it to be this much work. No! So, if you don’t do that on the battlefield, after committing to this Army project, how can you do the same thing? In fact, all over, and it ain’t just enlisted men—these pansies are givin’ up at every turn because they just aren’t feeling it.

  I say to these fools, you might as well shoot yourself in the head while you’re at it—because if you give up this damn quickly when the going gets tough… Well, then, I don’t want you backing me up out there in the real battle.

  Not feelin’ creative? No time to do it? Want to give up on your blog? Well, go ahead
! But don’t write me some boring, tired, long article about why. Because if you’re giving up, everything you’re writing about is bullshit anyway. Give up and go away or stick with it and be a man!!

  Stand up to the fear and the second-guessing and the lack of confidence! Stand up to your ability to be overcome by laziness. Stand up and do something and get that thing written.

  Maybe then, someone will give you some goddamn respect!

  From: http://www.edgarallanpoe.com/blog/

  Subject: The Visitor, Part 23

  I’ve attempted to contact the local animal control authorities three times on this day, without any luck whatsoever.

  If you’ve stuck with my ramblings over the last two weeks, you have most likely been privy to that which has caused a great deal of stress in my household. My initial description of the events in question can be found here and here. Simply put, the most troublesome of all flapping creatures found its way into my home through an opening in the outer structure—and has been the cause of quite a bit of chaos over the last ten days.

  At first, the rapping and tapping echoed throughout my chamber—the kind of knocking which resembled a human hand. I peered through the door many times those first few days, constantly at odds with my work and my obsession in finding out which pint-size rascals of the neighborhood were trying to pull the so-called wool over my eyes.

  But before long it became clear to me that a flapping creature had found its way into my attic through a hole in the chimney. And as irony usually presents itself, the hole was too small for me, yet just small enough for our little ebony friend. There has been knocking and tapping and rapping and scratching and screeching and scraping and it is about to drive me to madness.

  My writing, it seems, does not benefit from the repetitive sounds being offered forth by this creature whom I cannot dispatch. My writing, it appears, cannot find its voice as long as another living creature resides above my head. The madness it instills … The tapping in my skull…

  I must attempt at contacting those who can help me, once again, in this matter. Do you know of a solution to get rid of the clapping and rapping and tapping that plagues me ever more? Send a note here if you have a solution that may be quite sure. I must dispatch my ebony friend or else the distraction will most definitely cause my work to suffer.

  For what literary masterpiece can come from such pedestrian problems?

  From: http://www.mozart.de/blog/

  Subject: European Tour Continues…

  I’ve not found the time to write as of late, and for that I apologize—but it has been almost a year away from home while on tour in Europe. This tour has monopolized my time and caused me to neglect that which you are reading now.

  I will be performing in London in a matter of days, but I have spent the last few hours updating the concert music files for your listening pleasure. There are some wonderful shows available to listen to, including my performances in Munich and Mannheim.

  The Mozart Message Board has been filled with questions regarding my future plans, which I have not had the time to answer until today. If curiosity has gotten the better of you, click here for an audiocast that you may listen to at your own convenience. I will attempt to record and provide audiocasts on a monthly basis through the remaining months of my European tour, so that you may all keep up to date on what’s happening with me and my music.

  You may or may not have read Salieri’s Blog, which contains unauthorized links to audio files of my performances. I personally have not visited the site, but I have heard it is poorly designed, has a lack of interesting features, and there is jealousy running rampant through his words. I’ll advise all of those who are looking to listen to the music of Mozart to visit my music vault and listen to the performances in the quality they were meant to be heard. Rogue copies of my music, as presented by Salieri, do not do justice to the music—instead, giving you a lesser product whose tone (I’m quite sure) does not live up to these crystal-clear versions of my performances.

  The act of providing what amounts to unauthorized copies of an artist’s music seems to be a criminal act of sorts—and those who freely acquire the files of my music in such a way should be held responsible for such actions as well. If you want to experience the music of Mozart, purchase a ticket and come to see a performance instead of taking part in Salieri’s less than respectful offerings. (That is all I will say on the subject of acquiring illegal music files.)

  Finally, I must put to rest the rumors that seem to flow freely from a variety of European gossip sites that I am a crude, promiscuous, unrefined dolt. I do not deny my love for women, of course! How I would be lying to suggest such things. But crude? Promiscuous? Unrefined?

  Well, maybe there is some truth to it all!

  Hope to see all of you at my next performance in London!

  From: http://www.johnwayne_gacy.com/blog/

  Subject: Happy Haikus for a Clown!

  Circus dogs. Balloons.

  Jokes and pratfalls and laughter.

  Tee hee hee. Tee hee.

  Da-da, da-da-dum!

  Can you hear the circus song?

  I’m dancing! I am!

  Working 9 to 5.

  A way to make a living.

  Having a job sucks.

  I’m a happy clown.

  I’m happy on the outside.

  But on the inside?

  Red paint and white paint.

  Yay! I like to paint my face!

  Hey! Stay in the lines!

  Just ’Cause I’m a clown,

  Doesn’t mean I need a dog.

  It’s a one-man show!

  Where is the laughter?

  Why have they forsaken me?

  Poor pitiful clown.

  The balloons have popped.

  I let all of the air out

  Don’t try to stop me.

  Cotton candy! Yum!

  Do you like cotton candy?

  You’d better like it.

  Any thoughts on JWG’s haikus? Send me your contact information, along with your address, phone number, daily schedule, social security number, and I’ll come to you.

  From: http://www.martinlutherkingjr.com/dreamblog/

  Subject: Today’s Dream.

  I had a dream…

  A dream that, well, now that I find myself trying to share this dream here on martinlutherkingjr.com, I find my memory does not serve me in the way I wish it would.

  I had a dream…

  … filled with visions so much like paradise, that while I slept I believed that such images were real and concrete… Images I awoke from, images that I rose up from having, images that besides the general “paradise” theme, I have no idea what they were.

  I had a dream…

  I’m sure it had nothing to do with falling, like this dream, and I’m fairly certain it had nothing to do with my children, like that dream. Sometimes if I just sit here and try to empty my thoughts I can come up with the subject matter of the dream at hand so all my friends and family and readers can tell me what they believe the significance could be… But today, as I write these words, dear friends, all I can tell you is that—

  I had a dream… One which my mind can’t grasp or remember. I had this dream last night, and yet today it is a mere shadow of a fully realized world of the night before. Sure, every once in a while when I’m doing something like brushing my teeth or buttering a piece of bread I get a flash of the dream, and then it’s gone like it had never been there in the first place!

  I had a dream and recall awakening in the dark of the night, sitting up with my dream log and turning on the light and attempting to find my way to the pen on my bedside table so that I could write down the images and the elements so that when the daylight came, I would be able to write those images here for all to see. So that we could, together, share that vision and dissect it…

  What symbolism did such a dream contain? Did it contain images of water, wind, walls or guns? Did it communicate through me my stresses
and concerns and worries? Would the lessons of such a dream help me in my waking life, in combating those who seek to stand strong against the civil rights movement as it pertains to the freedom of all who stand in my corner?

  I had a dream… but that doesn’t mean I’m ever going to remember it.

  In the meantime, maybe you’d enjoy checking out my previous dreams, which include the one in which I am falling off a tall building in Alabama and then land in the ocean where I swim around with the fish or the dream where I’m playing a tuba and flute at the same time while hopping on one foot and singing “She’ll Be Comin’ ‘Round the Mountain” or the dream where I eat a thousand hamburgers.

  Peace.

  From: http://www.florence_nightingale.com/blog/

  Subject: Party to a Wounded Dog

  Mother and Father had the most exquisite social engagement of the season yesterday evening, with most of the well-to-do around London arriving in ornate carriages and bearing wonderful gifts for the family. Mother told me I would have to stay upstairs during the event, as it was for the elder members and not for children like me and sister.

  We watched from the window upstairs as people came and went that afternoon, trying hard to keep our eyes open as the night enveloped the sky—of course, we were startled when deep into the evening we heard the sound of a crying dog in the distance. We rushed down in our nightgowns onto the front drive—and there we spotted a dog that a carriage had hit.

  I took one look at the blood and blacked out.

  Mother was standing over me, holding my cold palm when my eyes opened again—but all I could see was the poor dog’s wounds and it made me so sick that I couldn’t bear to keep my eyes open. I cried and I cried (although my sister did not) and my mother and father assured me that the dog had not suffered and was now in a better place.

  But the blood. I could not keep myself from thinking about it. Seeing it. The oozing red thickness of it all permeated my thoughts. It was a living nightmare for me, and although Mother and Father have done their best to wipe the image from my mind, I must be candid when I say that if I never see such things ever again in my lifetime, it will not be too soon.