Hey, you, if you're here that means you wandered onto the site I've made as a mock-up for the real blog I'm planning on putting up later. Which means you're not only probably very bored and disappointed at this anticlimax, but also rude, because you're butting your large, probably Roman nose into my experimentation. What, did you come over here to laugh at my silly blog with it's silly formatting and cliche, pre-set template? You're mean. The only reason I'm still talking to you, meanie, is because I want to have enough text here to determine how looks set against the background I've picked. And my template isn't cliche, it's awesome and you're just jealous. So go find something else to do, Covetous McEnvypants. And don't steal my template, my sister already did that once and I'm going to cut the next person who does. You strike me as the kind of person who doesn't like getting cut. And if you are the kind of person who likes being cut, firstly, you're gross, and secondly, you won't like it when I do it. Actually, considering you're apparently the kind of person who sits around reading a strange, half-formed blog that serves no purpose other than to senselessly insult you, you probably are a masochist and therefor definitely like being cut. Go away and eat some peanut butter, you're making me uncomfortable.
That was a long paragraph, and I want to see how it looks with breaks, too, so I'm starting another one. That's the only reason. It's not because I want to keep talking to you, because I don't. You smell, probably. Like bad smelling ferns, as my friend Chase Bradford Lowell would say. See that? I have friends. Friends who aren't you and they're way, way cooler. I bet you don't have any friends at all, and that's why you spend all day on the internet reading blogs to try to convince your lonely soul that there are people out there just like you who you can connect to through a 17 inch, pixellated screen, and that's what gives your dreary, Hot Pocket-filled life any meaning. And now you feel empty inside because you thought you might have found that connection again and instead you've been caught in the grip of a ridiculously caustic, irrationally judgmental internet denizen with perfection diction and grammar who won't stop casting aspersions upon your character, psyche, physical appearance, and general personal hygiene.
Your mother.
