A Tale Told by an Idiot

Friends, fellows, followers: lend me you ears. I come to you a liberated woman, let loose upon the internet. Mine is a tiny voice, adrift upon vast waves of pointless pontificating. The sea of the internet is great, and all I can hope to do is cling hopelessly to the flotsam of our beloved West Side Stories website. Thus I must thank you for staring blankly at the letters on this screen. Though not written in blood, rest assured that they come from the deepest recesses of my soul.

I’ve been trying to decide for weeks how to get readers hooked on this blog. My final objective is to turn everyone I know into a mindless word-junkie, so addicted that they spend every moment hitting the refresh button on the website’s home page. So, I thought to begin with a simple argument. I will guarantee four things if you read this blog:

1. Sarcasm. Come on, really? Sarcasm a part of who you are, not a stylistic choice.

2. Philosophy. I’d like to keep it metaphysical and deep, perhaps touching on Dorthy Parkers landmark: “men seldom make passes at gals that wear glasses.”

3. Optimism. I, for one, hear enough whining and complaining in every other facet of my life.

4. Pessimism. Well, I did just complain about complaining in number 3.

I will be happy to inform my readers if this blog ever gains a purpose. For now, I leave you with an insight into writing from the immortal P.G. Wodehouse:

“I just sit at my typewriter and curse a bit.”