Edited to clarify the below, grossly insensitive introduction.
I am refer to blogs of UNRELENTING misery. Everyone is entitled to a good moan, and some people's lives entitle them to at least four or five good whines a week. No, none of you qualify as Roadkill Blogs because the real Roadkill Bloggers don't leave their nests of misery to see other people's lives. And to the emailer (you know who you are) who was first to ask: I'm not telling. It's my little fetish and you'll have to find your own. I can give you a hint, though: if you're on a Blogger site, try hitting the 'next blog' button...
You know, there are some never-to-be-named blogs that I visit- actually, lurk at is more accurate since I wouldn't comment on them- because they're like a traffic accident. Mesmerisingly awful. Moan after moan. Crisis after crisis. Poor bugger me after poor-bloody-bugger me...
It's like slowing down when you pass a traffic accident. You know it's wrong but you just can't help the magnetism of that public misery.
But.
Oh dear.
With all this recent whining about tiredness and injury and illnesses...
I think I'm becoming a Roadkill Blog.
SO: to set the record straight. I love my job. Ask My Float, we discussed this not long ago. I'm almost sickeningly in love with my job. It's pathetic. And one of the things I lurve most about it is the High Season. This is when I get to show off (and for anyone who believes in that crap stuff, yes, I am a Leo) and to bathe in adrenaline rush after adrenaline rush.
Oooh. I get shivers just typing it. How wrong is that?
So. No more whining. I never really mean it to come out that way, I just sometimes need an excuse for having neglected this whole bloggy thing (yeah, yeah AGAIN Joke, you busted me, it's a fair cop) so abysmally.
And now, while I should be well and truly in bed (but am not, because I just totally sniped the most beautiful leadlight pendant light for my hallway out from under some dopey novice eBayer's nose) I shall attempt to make up for recent neglect and shabby non-celeb RSMs with -
Ta DAH!
The Children of the Revolution RSM!!
Courtesy, almost entirely, of my divine accomplice, who made it possible.Rules over here.
First up, the ever changing, ever glowing
Mr
David
Bowie!
Dunno the chick on the left, but let's call her a Wild Card, shall we? If, for some insane reason, you can't find a Root, a Shoot or a Marry among these three, you can have her (and, sorry gents, if you're playing this week she may be your only choice).
Coming up next, with his song now woven immovably through my brain (thanks Shula) , is the eminently snoggable
Mr
Marc
BOLAN!!
My dear lord. Why have I not had him here before? He's completely fucking edible and if one of you shoots him, well, there may be consequences and that's all I'll say for now and please don't let it influence you one tiny fucking bit.
And now, finally, and quite possibly the headline act here tonight,
Mr
ROGER
DALTRY!
Attentive readers will note that rivulet of sweat just there to the left. Oh yes. Remember the Blokey-Bloke vs Wee Fey Man combox debate? It's about to revive, I can feel it in my waters.
So I'll leave you with the lyrics that are currently threatening my inner peace.
Well you can bump and grind
If it's good for your mind
Well you can twist and shout
Let it all hang out
But you won't fool the children of the revolution
No you won't fool the children of the revolution
No no
Well you can tell it plain
In the falling rain
I drive a Rolls Royce
'Cause it's good for my voice
But you won't fool the children of the revolution
No you won't fool the children of the revolution
No no
You won't fool the children of the revolution
No you won't fool the children of the revolution
No you won't fool the children of the revolution
No you won't fool, no no baby you won't fool the children
No no you can die for the paradigm
You won't make it alive
And I shall wish you well on this week's RSM, with bonus points for anyone else who saw the Judy Davis Sam Neill movie of COTR and liked it.
mtc
Bec