I've long regarded blogs as a form of expression: the kind that people can read whenever they please and the kind that usually has little consequence. I suppose I think they're of small consequence because I rarely delve deeper than what's currently on the surface of my mind, nor do I care to make myself look like a biased dork with a hairy back and small penis. That's why the posts I try to make look serious are short-winded. I'm uncomfortable revealing my inner workings and letting people read into them like a bad novel. I try to think that this doesn't really hamper my blog's content or popularity (in fact, it probably does- but don't tell Dan). But when I look at Jerry's gargantuan posts, where he ponders probation and his feminine failures (akin to the alliteration?), I can't help but say, "Golly gee whiz, if I talked about my life, maybe I could have really long posts!" But if I did, people would be probing me about the things I posted, and when you get to the bottom of it, most of my complaints about life are very brief, and very trite. So I won't bother. You, Savage Reader, are going to have to deal with my taciturn posts.