Dear Evil Discussor... Is your blog really starting to suck balls?

Yes. Though some might argue it has sucked balls for a very long time. Perhaps, even sucking balls since its inception. And the fact that I myself wrote this question makes it even somehow more ball-suckier, wouldn't you say? This blog sucks balls in the way a guy might desperately try to suck his own balls, but never actually achieve his ball-sucking goal, always just barely unable to reach his balls for to ball-suck. See what I mean? My point exactly. Ball-sucky. If you're even still reading this ball-sucking blog, then I feel somewhat sorry for you. Perhaps it means that you too are, in some way, trying to suck your own balls (or if you're a lady, your lady-balls), each day hoping that your neck might crane just that little bit further, your lips might get that little bit closer, your metaphorical ball-sucking dream might get that little bit realer. But with each and every new day, the disappointing reality that you will never realize that dream. That your balls will always be hanging just that little bit out of reach. That you are not as nimble as you hoped and thought you might be. Or perhaps it just means that you're bored at work. Me, I only wish that that analogy had made any sense, that I could've wrapped up that thought just a little better, and that maybe, that that last paragraph wasn't so long.

Truth is, babycakeses, the joy is gone. I don't feel much like blogfucking anymore. You might come knocking, but the answer will now be "No, Evil cannot come out and play." And no, this is no desperately sad cry for attention goodbye tomfakery like last time. This is the real deal, my blogface doucheheaded blogtard nation. See, I can't keep up this demanding blog schedule. Emotionally, it's too draining. Nor do I care for you so much anymore, my sweet sad beautiful wildebeests. It sounds harsh, but come on, I called you "sweet sad beautiful wildebeests," and that's pretty loving, yes? I've let you toy with my lovestick for a while, but now you must let go of it. You must let go of my lovestick. You must. I've loved you all, but now, must yank my love away. Like a newborn babe from its mother's tender and swollen teet. And though it might cause us both much grief and unimaginable pain, and though that 'swollen teet' bit was pretty unnecessary, such is such, and so it is, and also, be that as it may. Besides, I conquered this bitchface of a blogworld, and now must move on to other forms of conquerage and recreation. Mourn me. Miss me. Dis me. Kiss me. Love me. Love me. Say that you love me. Or just pretend that you love me. I don't care. The dream is over. The douche has landed. The fucknose rides again. Does anyone else want to write this? Does anyone else want to go through the pain and anguish, the mental slavery, the suffering involved in coming up with the funny, the hilarious hilarity, the evilocity, every day or four? Cause little old Evil sure don't. He believes it's time he puts an end to this blogfoolery.

Who was Evil? Who was the man you loved and adored and dreamed of fellating? Who you shared your each and every morning with during those wonderfully fleeting, sepia-toned, wistfully hazy days of Spring/Summer/Fall '06? Who was he? Where did he come from? And why the fuck why? How did his blogstar rise so immediately, yet, like a Nigerian airliner, crash and burn just as fast? What powers did he possess, besides the power of sucking bad? Why must he leave so soon? Will he be back? Will we ever meet again? Has he even really left? Was he even ever here? Where'd he go? And, who the fuck really cares?

No one will ever know the answers to these questions, mon freres. No one.

Well, actually, not true. I will. But still. That doesn't help you, really.

So, yeah. Anyways. OK. Bye.


Yours,
E.D.