Throws Down The Gauntlet

Okay, you pigs. You spam-saturated slugs who keep leaving ridiculous comments about weight loss programs or Malaysian funds frozen in US banks or questions about what size of male anatomy I prefer. Because of you, I now have to moderate the comments left on my blog.  Why is that? Because you are all pigs.  Satan-spawned pigs, I might add, grubbing through the trash for some other poor blogger to run into.  Yeah, I know--you left me alone for the most part over the last few years but now that you've found me, that's it.

This calls for a declaration of war.

WAR I tell you! Seriously!  No more advertisements.  No, I don't care how white your teeth are, that there are hot girls in my town or that you have Super Bowl tickets you're giving away.  *Yes, that's right. You just heard me turn down Super Bowl tickets. That should tell you how pissed off I am.*

And I am ESPECIALLY not interested in hearing from any of your fly by night vanity presses masquerading as legitimate publishing companies and hoping to scam some poor ignorant writer into thinking that you'll publish sight unseen my fabulous magnum opus that will send me to dizzying heights of success just like Stephen King.  Don't know what you tools think you're doing, but you're not dealing with an idiot here. I'm not a high school kid locked away in her room sighing over the millions of dollars I'm going to make when I write my book about the Jonas Brothers.

Trust me. You're wasting your time.

So now I have to moderate comments and I'm pissed.  I shouldn't have to do it. It shouldn't even be a remote possibility.  But because some jackass decided to leave a comment on my blog about WRITING to tell me about all these great Iphones and Ipods I could buy for him for a fraction of the cost (cause, you know, I'm obviously all about stolen goods too) that means the rest of you have to suffer through the inconvenience of it too.  I'm sorry.

Blame it on the pigs.

Snowball, you have met your Napoleon. (Sorry, Orwell)  Minimus has been banned. And Squealer? Well, Squealer walked over here on his hind legs and farted in your face. 

That's it for this blog. No more spam.  And, if someone tries to get around it, there'll be pork in the treetops come morning and sausage and ham for lunch. (Sorry Goldman, but it is one of my favorite lines ever)

NO. MORE. SPAM.  Got it? Good.