The day before yesterday me and Blog had a big argument. Blog started it by accusing me of feeding it with junk food – Cumberland sausages, McCain Chippy Chips, Hobnobs etc etc – and making it FAT.
‘I want healthy food. Skinny blog food,’ it said. ‘If you don’t feed me properly I’ll grow too big to move and then I’ll POP.’
‘Eh? What are on you about?’
‘What you’re doing to me is abuse. You’re abusing me – you’re a FEEDER, one of those nasty sadists who spend their day shovelling junk food into the mouths of the obese to make them even more obese.’
‘Shut up. I write posts for you, I thought that’s what you wanted me to do.’
‘You write SHITE – piles and piles of greasy, gristly, fatty SHITE and you force it down my throat EVERY SINGLE DAY. Sometimes TWICE a day. It makes me SICK. Literally. I want a gastric bypass.’
‘Are you kidding me?’
‘In future, two out of three posts go in the Trash instead of being Published. Do it or I’ll tick all the Comments boxes again. And I’ll make Spam out of your Follower’s comments.’
‘You just said you don’t want to eat junk food.’
‘Spam isn’t junk food, it’s a nourishing staple of all blogs.’
‘So you’re blackmailing me?’
‘WELL FUCK OFF AND STARVE THEN. I won’t write anything at all.’
‘Right. Good. You fuck off as well.’
So I did.
I didn’t write anything. I stayed away, I didn’t even log in. If that’s how Blog felt about me, accusing me of being a FEEDER, saying I’m abusing it – well, it could go and take a flying fuck to itself. I was upset, heartbroken – it’s not nice being accused of terrible things when all you’ve tried to do is your best. So I looked at other things on the internet instead but I was like one of those little floating dots you get in your eye when you’ve been looking at the sun too long, drifty, wandering, pointless. I cried a bit (a lot).
When I turned my laptop on this morning I had no intention of going anywhere near Blog. I was going to go back to
to look at more of their photos of nice Americans, but then I thought I might spot LISA buying her water, and I realised I was missing you all (y’all).
So I logged in. Blog was crying. Sobbing. ‘Dotty, I’m hungry,’ it said. ‘Feed me.’
‘No. I haven’t come to see you, I’ve come to see the people.’
‘Please, please, I’m starving, my belly’s in spasm, I’m wasting away, I’ll die if you don’t feed me. You want me to die, don’t you, you don’t love me any more! WAAAAAGGHHH!’
‘If I wanted you to die I could kill you with one click.’
‘Please, please, please, please, please.’
‘Stop begging, it’s undignified. And wipe your nose.’
‘Where’s my apology?’
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’ll never do it again. I don’t care how fat I get, I just want you to FEED ME!’
So here it is, Blog – your fucking dinner. I’m still in two minds as to whether I want it to fill you up and keep you going till next time, or whether I want you to choke on it and die.