"Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure."

I've been seeing a quote for some time: "Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure..." After great reflection, I've decided there are a few things I'm more afraid of than being powerful beyond measure. One of them is being eaten. By bears, rabbits, other human beings... anything really. In fact, the less intimidating the creature, the more horrific the death would certainly end up being. Being eaten by sharks would last minutes. Being eaten by ants? It would take weeks before they finished off just my calves. Terrifying. I am more afraid of being eaten by ants than being all powerful. Another fear is forgetting things, big things. What if one day I lost my cell phone, forgot all the passwords to my accounts, and forgot where I lived? Horrific. I'm so embarrassed to ask strangers for help I'd probably end up driving around aimlessly, wishing I'd bought a GPS and hoping to stumble into the right neighborhood, until I after a couple hundred of miles on surface streets I eventually ran out of gas, where I would then be forced to park and sleep in the back of my car until the proper authorities found me. It could take months. Yeah, maybe it is unlikely I forgot all that stuff on the same day, but it can't be any less likely than becoming powerful beyond measure. There are probably other things that I fear more too -- never being able to fall asleep again, getting hit by an airplane, becoming lactose intolerant, etc... I could go on, but I guess my point is when I really think about it, I'm not all that afraid of being powerful beyond measure. I guess I'm just weird.

Spoilers

Dear Spoiler on the Back of that Honda,

Thank you for keeping that car safe.

Without you, when that Honda starts pushing 250 MPH on the freeway, that car would be in tremendous peril, capable of spinning out, flipping over or getting airborne any second.

Thank you, spoilers, for giving everyday drivers that sense of security they need by providing downward thrust.

Some contend that you are simply for stylizing. While it is true you can make cars look super cool, we all know your real purpose. Science. And safety.

Sincerely,

Another Appreciative Driver

Science. And safety.

George Foreman

Dear George Foreman,

This letter isn't about your grill. It's about your 10 children. Five of them are boys. All five are named George. They all have the same middle name too.

Thank you for doing something I would never think would be done.

I sure hope nobody at your house has a lazy eye though, as that would cause serious mayhem. You would never know who was talking to who.

Either way, I bet everyone in your family is crazy. And that you would make great reality TV.

Sincerely,

Somebody who will give their kids different names

Over Highlighting

Dear Over Highlighter,

We all know that to accent, point out, or call attention to a certain part of any type of written document, highlighting has become the favorite choice of many. Although other methods are available, that simple bright yellow background stands out amongst competitors, literally.

But what you, Over Highlighter, are doing, qualifies as abuse. You rush through papers, casually highlighting everything as if everything were important. By the time you reach the end of the page only a sparse few words are left untouched.

You are not a highlighter, you are a lighter.

By the time you have finished you will not be able to really tell anything. Just like when you started, nothing stands out.

The only thing you have managed to accent was your own foolishness.

Idiot.

Sincerely,

Don't Highlight Everything Please

Powder Puff Football

Dear Powder Puff Football,

I like you. Every year the junior and senior girls at my high school faced off in the Powder Puff Championship. It was a nice competitive event that required practice, physical toughness, and males willing to put on skirts to become the cheerleaders.

I enjoyed the way you gave that one girl who had always been a little short for her weight, yet 6’ 5”, a chance to shine in front of the whole school. She was that really nice girl who seemed to have gotten more genes from her dad's side. It was as if she'd been bred her entire life for that game. For many years she probably felt uncomfortable with her size, at times a little out of place, and then comes along a game seemingly created for her to dominate. And dominate she did, hammering petite valley girls filling in at running-back and tight end. Then on offense, she'd create holes offensive coordinators dream of. Maybe she'd never score or throw a touchdown, but she'd leave the field in a wake of bruises and broken nails. It was the classic underdog story, played out every year by an atypically large underdog.

Not all the spectators pay attention to your subtle footnotes such as these, but some do. I remember one particular year, when the game ended and our hero walked off the field with her head held high, I noticed a cheerleader who was also overcome by emotion as mascara ran down his face.

It was a powerful image, one that has been seared into my memory ever since.

Thank you.

Sincerely,

A Fan

Protesters in Trees

Dear Protesters in Trees,

We all know that in today’s world, forests are being cut down at incredible rates to meet consumer demands for paper plates, cardboard boxes, and baseball bats.

Thank you for fighting the fight to save the trees not from the halls of congress or through well-organized boycotts, but by simply choosing to live in them. It's true: the best way to stop a tree from being cut down is to be in one.

You have plenty of faith and plenty of conviction and plenty of patience (there's only so much you can do in a tree). You have much to admire. In fact, I ask if we have more to learn from you.

What would happen if your sit-down intrusion style of protesting carried on to other controversial issues? Let's say... air pollution.

Maybe your same tree sitting idea would work on the freeway. All the people who hate pollution and want cars to stop using roads could go and sit on the freeway and 4 in the morning when there is hardly any traffic and then as the cars come they would have to stop and then think about the consequences of their dirty commute. I bet lots of people would ditch their cars right there, guilt overcoming their conscience. And if the cars don’t see the people in time and run over them, it would definitely be the driver’s fault -- for recklessly killing an innocent protester exercising their first amendment rights.

It might work just as well to promote Gun Control. It sure would be hard to go and shoot at the local range if you see a smiling, tie-dye shirt wearing, bearded 35-year-old man jump in between you and the target.

You tree sitters might be on to something, the power of the space that a human body occupies is great. And let that be a lesson to us all.

Sincerely,

A Man Not as Valiant as You

"That's The Best Part!"

Dear Person Who Says "But That's The Best Part!",

No, the cartilage joints of this chicken bone are not the best part. That would be the meat, the part I ate.

"But That's The Best Part"-Person, I know you get off being a culinary rebel, one characterized by extreme hate of wastefulness and being unusually proud, but you don't have to force it on the rest of us. You go ahead and eat the orange peels, shrimp tails, steak grizzle, and chicken leg cartilage we leave behind.

We know you get joy out of digesting things no one else does. It's nice that your humility makes you feel so proud. Congratulations.

We know you just want to make a point -- which is that you will eat pretty much anything you can and pretend to like it. Well, point made.

Sincerely,

Non-Chicken-Cartilage Consumer

Fake Plants

Dear Fake Plants,

Thank you for providing the beauty of nature without any of the environmental benefits. I'm getting tired of all that fresh air regular plants have been spewing. It's so nice to look at a tree with the comfort of knowing it doesn't need dirt or water.

You know what I'd like? Fake animals, that's what. A nice, fake plastic dog. It would look nice, same as a regular dog, but I wouldn't have to feed it or pick up its feces. That's what I need. That's man's real best friend: plastic dogs.

And then I could get a fake cat and a fake turtle and a fake bird. Fake plants, you are onto something. Maybe someday our civilization will be so advanced, we'll even be able to have fake children and stuff. All the beauty - none of the work. That's what we need.

Sincerely,

Somebody Stuck Inside

Girls' Night Out

Dear Girls' Night Out,

Well played.

There is no aptly named male equivalent. Man party? Dude gathering? Sausage fest? The only images conjured are negative ones. The implication clear -- girls didn't want to hang out with us... we couldn't get dates... this party sucks.

You on the other hand, Girls' Night Out, seem organized and exclusive. You've got your stuff together. I don't really know what you do, but I imagine it's a super fun time that involves trading tampons.

Yes, the men may have a better slogan, Bros before Hoes. but you have the better hangout name. In fact, men don't even have a name. And until they do, they don't have a chance.

Sincerely,

Stuck at a Dude Party

Annoying Neighbors

It's time for another excerpt from Mr. Forthright, whose latest manual is How to Get Your Neighbors to move. We pick it up during his chapter "Moderate Intrusion."

Moderate Intrusion

-- Making Your Presence Felt --

Welcome to moderate intrusion, the next level to getting your neighbors attention and getting them out. And when I use the word intrusion, I mean intrusion.

What is intrusion? Let’s break down the word.

In-trusion. In obviously connotes that we’ll be going into something. If we rearrange the letters of trusion, we quickly learn that it spells iruston. Iruston, or I-rust-on, means that a person speaking in the first person is rusting, or corroding, on something. Therefore, intrusion means that someone corrodes into something else. What is being corroded on or, if we take a more literal definition, in? Privacy. When privacy corrodes, it is being stripped of its material and structural integrity. Now, what helps things corrode and rust? The answer is moisture. Just as water leads to rust in the scientific world, water is an important part of privacy invasion.

For example, your neighbor may own a pool. One of mine does. Do I have a pool? Yes, diving board and everything, but I don’t use it. I prefer to use my neighbor’s pool. Why? Liability. If I drown in my neighbor’s pool, it’s his fault. If I drown in my own pool, I have no one to blame but myself.* Why would you swim in a place you’re liable when a place somebody else would take the blame is right next door? Most neighbors don’t want me to use their swimming pool. That’s why I don’t ask. It’s easier to say, “I’m sorry,” than it is to say, “Mind if I drown in your pool?”

*unless I die while playing Marco Polo, in which case I can blame him

Once your neighbors realize you aren’t going to heed their wishes and stay out of their pool, they’ll likely build a fence around it. But no worries, water can come into play again; flash floods destroy fences .

Never underestimate the power of too much water too soon. Where possible, try to embrace flash floods. See if they can’t help you tear down the barriers that are keeping you out of your neighbor’s yard.

I don’t believe in fences. Fences treat symptoms instead of the cause. Sometimes I let nature take down fences for me, and sometimes I facilitate nature and speed up the processes of time by doing some demolition of my own.

-- FACT: I build bridges, not walls, in part because I flooded most of the neighborhood --

All it takes is a few hits with an automobile and most fences can’t stay upright. Why would I want a fence between me and my neighbor? All fences do is prevent me from borrowing their things and make my efforts in the neighborhood watch program slightly more difficult.

I’m all about borrowing things. And you should be, too. It’s going to make your neighbors angry, sure, but one of the overlooked benefits of borrowing things is that you then never have to buy things.

Do I own tools? No. And I’m not in the market to buy any. People on my street have already done it for me. In fact, I don’t even own a television -- I just watch my neighbors, as should you.

“But how do I make sure my neighbors let me in their house to watch TV?” I hear you asking. You don’t ask. I don’t. And even if they don’t let me in, I can watch through the windows. I have a remote that can control their television from incredible distances. It has a six foot antenna. Yes, it is illegal. I had it specially made in Russia. It may have not been cheap, but it’s way cheaper than buying a television and paying for cable.

I steal that family’s wireless Internet too, and why wouldn’t I? There’s plenty of bandwidth to go around.

-- FACT: Bandwidth = Bandobesity

Bandobesity = Fatmusician

Fatmusician = Elvis

...There’s plenty of Elvis to go around --

I want you to be borrowing as much stuff as possible. Borrow tools, borrow food, borrow cars and borrow kids if necessary. If there’s a “Bring Your Kid To Work Day” at the office and you don’t have any kids, you might as well share in some of the neighborhood’s wealth.
Hey, you have to put up with their noise, so why shouldn’t you at least benefit from them every once in while? Yeah, I am advocating kidnapping. Get over your negative feelings about it. It’s not the evil it’s been made out to be, trust me.

Parents these days sometimes forget how to be parents, instead wanting to be friends with their kids. That’s why I admire kidnappers -- those are parents who aren’t afraid to play the villain. And have you ever met a kid raised by kidnappers? They’re usually very well behaved. I stole a kid once. Really cute kid. His first words were, “you’re not Daddy.” When he was older he asked me, “not my Daddy, where do babies come from?” I told them most came from unattended grocery carts.

So, what am I getting at? Let’s stop being so judgmental. Just because a parent adopted their child doesn’t make that kid any less theirs just because they hadn’t given birth to it. Likewise, just because a child is stolen doesn’t mean he or she is any less their parents’ little angel.

Anyway, when I’m not borrowing my neighbor’s children....

Continue reading's Mr. Forthright's How to Get Your Neighbors to Move here

Dieters

READERS: My friend Mr. Forthright sent me another excerpt from one of his books -- How to Lose Weight Through Hibernation, here's the part where he talks about how exercise made him fat. Check out the book by clicking the link here.

-- The Problem with Exercise --

Let me tell you my story. Ten years ago I was a lot younger than I am today. Around that time, I was what doctors like to call: morbidly obese. In other words, I was about to die from my own girth. I weighed around 900 pounds, and that was without shoes on. It was a precarious situation; my bed frame had to be custom made. Custom is, in fact, an appropriate word; the steel needed to fortify my bed posts passed through customs because it was imported from Russia, the only country that made steel strong enough for my obesity.

How did I find myself in such a predicament? It all started with a cycle I couldn’t break.

Years ago, when I weighed just 200 pounds, I decided I was unhappy with the way my body looked. I was bombarded on television and in magazines with images of the “ideal” body, and I was not that “ideal” man. I was average. And so, in pursuit of a good body, I decided to start exercising.

I had heard my entire life that exercise was the key to weight-loss. But here’s the thing they don’t tell you about exercise: it makes you hungry. Really, it does. Of course, they don’t want you to know that.

All that moving around can really take it out of a person. One minute you are running, the next you are craving deep-fried butter. Did you know that most gyms are owned by fast food restaurants? It’s true. They know that as soon as they can get you exercising, they can also sell you a double-double. Thus began my vicious cycle of exercising and then overeating.

The more I exercised, the more I ate. The more I ate, the more weight I gained.

Being the fool I was at the time, I thought the solution to my growing frame was more exercise. So, I exercised even more. But that was not the solution. EXERCISE MADE ME FAT. I went from two hundred to three hundred, and then pretty soon I was up to four and then five hundred pounds. I was losing the battle with my own body.

Those were difficult years. I became ashamed of the way I looked and rarely left the house, instead choosing to do a thousand sit-ups in the privacy of my room (and then binge on potato chips). I tried everything. P90X? The name proved prophetic -- my P (pounds) were X (multiplied) about 90 times. The Bowflex? After a month I had gained so much weight the machine’s bench was the only thing flexing. Nordictrack? I don’t have anything clever to say about the name and how it related to how much fatter I got, but let’s just say I was much too big to ever fit on a chair lift and go actual skiing. I’d stay up late, watching infomercials and making the seven, six, five, just four(!) easy payments to buy new machines while working out on the ones I already had for hours on end. But it only got worse.

I remember hitting rock bottom. I ran a desert marathon at a shade over eight-hundred and fifty pounds. As you might expect, I didn’t make a great time, on account of my weight, but I did finish. But to have the energy to finish, I ate over sixty PowerBars on the run. By the end of the day, I had gained over fifteen pounds. I went home and looked in the mirror and didn’t even recognize myself. If I had known what I know now, I would have stopped exercising that very moment. But I didn’t know any better. I was an ignorant fool. And so, I kept going.

Sure, my family tried to get me to stop. “We’re worried about you,” they’d tell me, “you’re so active.” But it was to no avail. I was an addict to my own destructive behaviors. And like I already mentioned, I was pretty close to dying, exercising myself to the grave.

But then something fantastic happened. I fell asleep.

****

You can read the entire book by Mr. Forthright by clicking here.

Creative Types

NOTE TO READERS: The following is an exclusive excerpt from the brand-new book by Mr. Forthright, "How to Make It in Hollywood: A Guide For the Delusional."

****************************

- Step Six: How to Copy Creativity -

On the Value of Plagiarism

Creativity is learned through the rigorous imitation of other forms of art.

People think Michelangelo’s Sisteen Chapel was pretty good, but most people don’t even realize that the entire thing was traced using that really thin paper after a trip to the Fifteen Chapel. While some people think that fact takes away from the grandeur of the work, it only adds to my personal respect for the artist.

Look at it this way. If you are so creative that you aren’t copying something else, people won’t know how to interpret or understand it. Everything is viewed through the lens of what has already been experienced. The mere act of creating requires that we have something there to begin with, some type of raw material. The best raw material is not original at all, it is something else that has been done. Therefore, you’re much better off producing Land Before Time 13 instead of Really Original Movie A because no one is going to understand Really Original Movie A. They also won’t see it because it has a really terrible name. “But what about Land Before Time 1? That was original, right Mr. Forthright?” you say. Nope. It was based on the history of Dinosaurs, which is not original at all. History is not original, as it usually already happened. Land Before Time 1’s unoriginality was the key to its success. Its originality was the catalyst of its sequels.

Unoriginality is the only real originality. If you remain unconvinced, let’s go a little further this time.

Wealthy Producer Advises:

“$equels! $equels! $equels!”

What is creativity, anyway? Let’s look at the roots of the words. “Creat” and “ivity.” The letters of “creat” can form a number of other words, including CAT, EAT, ATE, RAT, and RECAT. If you EAT or ATE a CAT you would be RECAT-ting, which is the art of turning one form of a cat into another. “Ivity” implies the process of continually RECAT-ting. Thus, creativity is the method of converting something into something else that is very similar, or more simply put, the process of digesting felines.

This explains both the popularity of sequels in the industry and the abundance of cats. Ultimately, cats and sequels are the essence of being creative. This is why a sequel of a movie featuring the king of all cats, Lion King 2: Simba’s Pride made gobs of money despite being released directly to DVD. It was the essence of creativity. On a related note, it’s probably one of the ten best movies ever made.

To makes things easy on you, I’ve RECATTED a CREATIVITY checklist. If your idea(s) meet these requirement, they are hence deemed to be sufficiently creative:

- The work is eerily similar to something else that was highly creative
- The work can pitched by saying: It’s _______ meets ________
- The work is universally understood
- The work features at least one character who eats cats
- The work is a sequel or has a sequel ready
- The work adheres to the steps outlined in this work
- The work does not question the steps outlined in this work
- The work thanks the author of this work
- The work has checked this checklist

If anything at that list jumped out at you, it might be because you are fighting the natural creative juices inside us all. Please don’t fight back. There’s a story inside of you that needs to get out, but in order to do so it needs to be very similar to something else. Remember this and you will be fine.

Reader question: What can I do about writer’s block?

Answer: Writer’s block occurs when a writer runs out of ideas. However, it’s nearly impossible to run out of ideas when you are taking other people’s ideas. Writers who suffer from a lack of ideas are clearly trying too hard to think. They need to be spending more time reading other people’s work and borrowing the worst of it. Once you have gotten to the point where you have already stolen everything, you need to start stealing from yourself.

In your own path along my guidelines toward creativity, you’d do well to study the most successful movies. Blockbusters are the best examples of creativity in the market, as evidenced by their financial success. (And if you disagree with that, you’re a communist*).

*This isn’t an asterisk, it’s a red star, comrade.

A Self-Imposed Deadline

Dear Self-Imposed Deadline,

Could you maybe just cut me a tiny bit of slack just this once? I know, I know... you've let me off the hook before, but I mean it this time. I'm going to respect you more in the future. I promise.

I just don't know what I was thinking when I made you. At the time, you seemed like a good idea. Seemed like you wouldn't be a problem. But you know how things get sometimes...

I was really meaning to meet you, I swear I was... sure, I got a little distracted, maybe didn't focus like I should have, and then, one thing led to another. It's a hard thing. Sometimes I get so carried away meeting other deadlines, the ones other people set on me, that I forget about you.

Anyway, maybe you can loosen up this time. I'd certainly appreciate it.

Sincerely,

Deadline Imposer

People Flipping Out About Christmas Intruding on Thanksgiving

Dear "No Christmas in November" Fanatics,

Calm. Down.

Why do you care if somebody listens to Christmas music in November? Or if a store decorates for Christmas right after Halloween? What does it matter if people want a season instead of a day?

What do you want them to do? You want them to dedicate their Novembers to Thanksgiving? You want them to have a tree in the house and throw a bunch of dead turkeys on it? Thanksgiving is a day. It's meant to be just a day. It's not a season! We're all grateful one day of the year and then we can go back to our decadent, over-the-top gift-giving and commercialism that Christmas alone provides us. The holidays have to adjust to the times. Gratitude is out and surprising-your-spouse-with-a-new-Lexus-with-a-red-bow is in.

Bam. That's a holiday I can get behind for more than month. Step up your game, Thanksgiving. If you don't want to get run over, stay off the railroad tracks.

Look, if you want people to respect Thanksgiving, make Thanksgiving earn it. I'm talking about Thanksgiving not just being a day I wake up, eat too much and watch television -- I'm talking about a day with a mythical fat man who comes down the chimney. I want a bunch a good Thanksgiving movies, including at least one with Will Ferrell. I want thanksgiving music and I want more football games, more food, and yes, some presents.

I want a holiday that does more than simply remind me of when pilgrims gave the Native Americans small pox. "Here Indian, please accept this blanket I just sneezed in," I can hear a little pilgrim boy saying. That's not a stocking-stuffer, that's a death sentence.

Sincerely,

The Christmas Spirit

The Guy Behind Me Honking

Dear Guy Behind Me Honking,

There's somebody in front of me. Instead of hitting that car, I have chosen to remain in this current spot on the road. I am sorry this inconveniences you and has put me in between you and your destination.

I wouldn't blame that car in front of me either, though. There's a car in front of them. And there's a car in front of that one to. Notice how it goes on as far as we can see? In many countries, we call this phenomenon: "traffic." One of the interesting things about traffic is that honking does not help its dissipation. If honking was an actual aide to the situation, I would gladly join you and your community of honkers. Alas, I fear that you are doing nothing. The roof is leaking and you're sandbagging the perimeter of the swimming pool.

When you're in a line at the grocery store, and there's twenty people in front of you and one register open, do you just start yelling out? "GO! GO! GO! GO! GO!" And how's that working out for you? Does that speed up the cashier? Is that moving people through that checkout any quicker? I'd imagine not.

Stop being a nuisance to public roads.

Sincerely,

The Rest of Us

Cap'n Crunch

Dear Cap'n Crunch,

Thank you for ripping the roof of my mouth to smithereens.

Cap'n Crunch, you are the cheese grater of cereals. Sometimes I tell myself, "my mouth is feeling a little too smooth" -- and that's when I go to you, my sugar-laden dice-o-matic. Is there any way we can just rename you Cap'n Mouth Dynamite or Cap'n Serrated Squares?

Ummm... delicious, you are just what I want for breakfast, Cap'n Crunch, a nice helping of mouth sandpaper. For lunch, I think I'll finish the job with a piping hot pizza whose sauce will burn whatever you manage to leave behind unscathed. And then for dinner, I can drink some vinegar. Ummm... delicious.

Just because it's called breakfast doesn't give you the right to actually break me.

Sincerely,

My Mouth

Fact: Cap'n Crunch used to be call Serg'n Splinter....

but was upgraded in military rank for its extreme mouth-destroying skills

Little League

Dear Little League,

I remember the year the coaches stopped pitching and the kids started pitching. That was the year I started getting hit with the ball. And then I started being afraid of the ball.

I think my batting average went from .759 to about .195, a precipitous drop to say the least.

Or maybe it wasn't the kids pitching that threw me off. It could have the slow abandonment of chants, such as "Hey, Batter Batter, Hey Batter Batter, Swing" or "First Base Look at Me, I'm a Monkey in a Tree," and of course -- "We want a pitcher, not a belly itcher!"

Yeah, on second thought, I think that was what it was.

Sincerely,

Little Leaguers Just Like Me

Women's Shoulder Pads

Dear Shoulder Pads,

Thanks for making it harder for me to get a job.

When I used to go into business interviews against women, I always thought my broad shoulders presented my most distinct advantage. But once you came around, I lost my edge. Damnit.

Shoulder pads, you really level the playing field. Sometimes I see people, thinking, "I don't think that women has the testosterone she'll need to survive in this business environment," but then she puts on a blazer and those exact same people are like, "never mind."

Curved shoulders are cliche. Straight shoulders are straight up awesome.

Thank you, women's shoulder pads, thank you indeed.

Sincerely,

Fashion

Terrorists

Dear Terrorists,

I know your strategy. Instill fear, make us nervous, scare us. If we are afraid, you win. If I am afraid to fly... you win.

That's why I'm not afraid to fly. In fact, I fly all the time. I even crash the planes I fly (which is easy because I'm not a trained pilot) just to prove that I'm not afraid of flying. I do it regularly. Nothing phases me anymore, terrorists. I refuse to let you win.

And that's why I'm not afraid of a pipe bomb under my car. How do I know I'm not afraid? I put a pipe bomb under my car just last week. NBD. You hear that? NBD. I'm not afraid of blowing up in my vehicle because I've already been down that road. Baby, that don't phase me.

Do I fear the public water supply being contaminated with biological weapons? Let me answer that question with a question of my own: if I was afraid would I poison my own neighborhood's water? Of course I wouldn't.

Sorry terrorists, but this is one battle you can't win. I have no fear.* Your tactics will not affect my life.

However, I do need to find a new car... and go to the hospital... and find a way to pay for those planes.

Sincerely,

The UnTerrorizable Man

*Literally, I own the shirts.

Bloggers In Search of Awards

Congratulations Bloggers,

You have each just been awarded the:

Yes, the BLOG EXISTS AWARD! Who gets the Blog Exists Award? Only the best blogs that exist, that's who.

So, if you are a blogger, and your blog exists, here's what you do to claim your prize:

1. Right click and save this meticulously-designed button award and post it on your blog.

2. Give me free publicity.

3. Repeat No. 2.

4. Give out the Blog Exists Award to everybody you know who blogs.

Pretty easy, huh? Not only that, but it's a lot of fun!

The next time somebody "leaves little something for you at their place"*... you can only hope it's this award. There are hundreds of other fictional blog awards out there, but this is the only one that's been designed by yours truly, and thus, the only one that benefits me, and thus, the only one that matters.

Sincerely,

Committee for the Awardmentation of Blogs That Exist Everywhere

*Anyone else a little creeped out by this phrase? If somebody said this in the movies, I'd expect the character who "went over to their place" to get shot or raped.