I have a guest post over at Anne R. Allen’s mighty blog today, where I rework a very old festive song classic and make it all about writers at Christmas. Without writers there would be no Christmas, and without blogs there would be no place to put this sort of daft joke. I know, I can’t believe my luck either.
Ten years ago, we had woefully little to get truly offended about. There was little pleasure to be had in face-to-face confrontation, given its general ickiness and constant threat of physical violence. But now we have LOADS to get offended about, every day of the week! Whoever says that things aren’t better nowadays obviously just doesn’t have enough friends online.
It’s HIGH CONCEPT JOKE TIME! A group of unfashionable narrative techniques attend their weekly support group, unaware that impending disaster is about to tear their world apart. Can the Omniscient Third Person Narrator refrain from commenting on everyone else? Will the Prologue From The Future ever get to finish? And will One-Liner Bob get to have the last laugh?
We can’t get enough of these modern historical TV dramas! Such feisty heroines! Such swashbuckling storylines! Such bosoms! Seriously, there are bosoms everywhere! Wouldn’t it be fabulous to have such excitement in real life?
But hold on a second… what would this mean for your olfactory well-being? Your ultra-modern duplex? Your HONOUR?
The lovely folk of The Annual Blogger’s Bash Awards have sashed me up with the Funniest Blogger prize. Just to prove that I’m an equal opportunities blogger, I’m posting something which might be more funny-peculiar than funny-haha. And why wouldn’t I? What else is a blog for, if not the ill-fitting and bizarre?