My gratuitously mysterious readers

The classicists among you may know this story:

In ancient Sparta, a boy stole a wolf cub. The story doesn't say where he stole it from or why - perhaps he just a stupid and/or kleptomaniac Spartan; I don't know or care. Stop making me digress.

Anyhoo, as this possibly retarded Spartan boy tries to hide the cub under his tunic, the cub begins gnawing away at him. As he digs deeper into that yummy tummy, he starts taking bigger bites and basically eats this kid's stomach. Since some people were looking for this mysteriously missing cub, the boy would not tip them off. He did not show a bit of fear or pain as this beast ate him. Eventually, he dropped dead.

The moral of this ridiculous tale is something about Spartan virtues, not displaying pain...or any emotion for that matter.

Now, in a seemingly MASSIVE turnabout, this entry is about my blog. No, not because it's a blog entry, it's about my blog.

I just posted my last entry, a brilliant and incisive indictment of the film industry. Within one minute of posting it, there were 23 views. I only have one subscriber, who I've already pointed out is a most discriminating and clever young man. But I'm not going to praise you anymore, subscriber-boy, so pump up your ego elsewhere.

So who the hell are these people who are pouncing on my blog less than a minute after it's posted? No longer am I content to let the wolf cub of my curiosity gnaw away at my stomach; I want to know who the hell these blog-stalkers are. I figure either CSIS is keeping tabs on me, or some of Josh and Adina's comedian buddies are dying for new material to crib from me since I just left them hanging for a fortnight.

If that's who you are, I commend you on your fine taste on who you're stealing jokes from, but you suck. Get your own material. If you can't think of funny stuff to say, you're a shit comedian.

And if you're CSIS… when did you guys get an internet connection?

So, who the crap are you, anyway? Just admit you love me and subscribe to my blog. It's too great to be a guilty pleasure. Admitting you read it will knock you a few rungs up the social ladder.