If It Ain't Broken, Don't Blog It

I don't know if it was my ISP or Blogger, but some outfit was having some problems. First, my site counter would not load. Easy enough, I clicked over to the counter site and loaded a new one. Then after pasting it to the html edit page, Blogger would not republish. So I thought I would click on over to my Blogroll and catch up on some reading in the cyber library. No luck! The links wouldn't load. This went on for about an hour and a half before order was restored.

Then reality hit me like a ton of bricks. I didn't have a clue what to post tonight. I had the dreaded writer's block, or in this case Blogger's block. After staring at the screen for a few minutes, I remembered some advice I was given once. The cure for writer's block is to start writing about a passionate subject. Passionate subjects can be a broad generalization. I can be passionate about a lot of things. Passion can evoke thoughts of eating, watching sports, listening to music, etc. Oh yeah, sex too!

What passions do other people have that could inspire them to write if they were so inclined? Would their passions be of any interest to a visiting Blog reader?

Let's see, a police officer could write about ... the history of donuts? Would a fireman come up with an essay on the best marsh mallows? Obviously an auto mechanic could compose an interesting account about rear ends. A worker for a town's DPW could discuss the most comfortable models of trucks in which they've slept. A photographer would probably give a dissertation on the negatives of that field.

What about the Blogger? Can you say ramble? What is a blog but paragraphs, sentences and words? I can have some fun with words, a la Norm Crosby!

Someone once said I had an intersecting but mixed up way of using words. They said I should talk to someone for advice. "I don't need constellation," I was quick to reply. I was indigent at such a congestion. My speaking and writing is my lavoratory where I practice conception. I like to think that I am quite clear in my conservations with people. I always avoid dangling popsicles and I never end any sentence with a proposition.
....I abdicate copulation control. There are just too many people in the world today. It pains me, like a confusion to the head, to see humans copulating. It compounds me. I say conflagrations to those who precipitate in adaptions. There are too many organs in need of replacement. On this tropic of discussion, I try not to flatter myself because self flatulence stinks.
....Before the writer's blockade ruins my contraception, and I forget my erection of subject maternal, I think I had better end this compost.

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