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So we meet again, Blogee...

The days go by and the months drip away, and I have the sense that my life, very much like my blog, is going nowhere in a big hurry. I don't like running. So I've decided to turn the tables on life. Yes, for years it has outwitted me, but it shall soon see me as the victor.

I shall not fail!

But now I must retire, for my kitty, Gorgeous-lamb st. elmo's fire III is hungry for his savory elegant seafood loaf.

Chapter Three: Another chapter

It's all a lie, a great big lie! I do have asthma! I do!
- Eddie Caspbrak

When I look back on all the things I could have done with my life, I get uncomfortable, and I have to shift my legs a bit. The same sensation occurs whenever I have to urinate. Is there a connection between my past and my bladder? I find passing water increasingly difficult as I progress in my age. It involves a very stern push on occasion, which may be a result of not keeping up with my kegels routine. I long for the days when urinating required no forethought or effort to expel the golden fluids from my bladder. This sudden "burst" of nostalgia brought the phrase "Blast from the past" to mind. But the Urban Dictionary has given it a different meaning:

BLAST FROM THE PAST - The act of giving your grandfather a blowjob and having him ejaculate in your mouth.

"Hey dude, you want to hang out?"
"No thanks man, I'm going over to my Grandpa's for a blast from the past."

Useless. So looking back on happier days of carefree pee, I wish I'd have payed more mind to Kegels. I shall regret that to the day I die of health complications due to a callused bladder. My legs are doing that thing again. Talk about "Southern Discomfort".

I'm leaving you now.

Byeee.

Prologue

The blog, as it is described by the Urban Dictionary is:

"A page on the interweb, regularly updated by someone who, ostensibly, can find nothing better to do with their time."

"Senationalized minutiae."

And so it was with great reticence that I, S. Little, set out to publish a blog. I have often been criticized for my unwillingness to move forward, as it were, with the rest of the world. I still refuse to accept handicap accessibility being installed in historic landmarks merely because Betty or Myrtle can't climb the bump in the landing without traumatizing her monopedal robotic gait. If a chair lift wasn't intended in the papal basilica of St. Peter in 1626, it shouldn't be considered now. But I digress. This blog was created for the express purpose of exposing the actor/writer S. Little to the world, as he so attempted in the early 90's with his unpublished memoirs "Full tits and minge: back to the discotheque". But who is S. Little, I hear you ask? He is a man of no extraordinary abilities, but merely one of modest acclaim and infamy; how curious you are. So here, I invite you, the bloggee, to meet Mr. Little, the blogger, and to praise or damn him at your own discretion.

For a dramatic reading of this transcript, please call me.


Editor-in-chief ... Mr. B. Arkell