Blogger's Guilt.

Sometimes I feel the odd tickle of blogger’s guilt when I check my ‘stats’ on Blogspot (I don’t do it often, but basically you can see your traffic and what particular posts got looked at today or this week or this month, etc). Well a lot of my posts here are nonsensical – no, it’s true! – and I know this and you know this, but today alone two different people ended up looking at a post I wrote like 6 months ago about how I had a dream that I was hiking with Nancy Reagan. And you just KNOW that both of those people left this blog shaking their heads and asking themselves, “What in the holy hell was THAT about?”

Also today five people have read a short play that I wrote about Donald Trump and Sarah Palin and Donald Trump’s hair all having lunch together.

And two poor souls (certainly accidentally) ended up looking at a post I once wrote about how the yellow submarine that the Beatle’s sang of would be just terrible for inserting Navy SEALs.

So, on behalf of all of the editors here at Standard Kink, I would just like to offer a hearty apology to anyone who has innocently stumbled onto this blog while looking for biographical information about Nancy Reagan or Donald Trump’s hair.

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Nancy Reagan Hikes Good.

Last night I had a dream that I was hiking with Nancy Reagan. I have nothing funny to say about it. She was a pretty good hiking companion considering that she’s like ninety years old. Not surprisingly we didn’t have a lot to talk about, but sometimes you don’t really want to talk a lot while you’re out there in nature.

I was a little upset though because she had gotten a job as a gear-tester for Backpacker Magazine and I was jealous that she had scored such a sweet gig. She had all this cool new stuff and she was using a GoLite Jam pack (which I TOTALLY WANT but can’t justify spending the $150 bucks on). Stupid Nancy Reagan.



At one point she wanted to give me a trail name and she wanted it to be “Dandelion” and I had to ask her exactly what kind of dirty hippie she took me for. Otherwise we managed to avoid talking about politics, which is good because it means I didn’t have to scream at an old lady, which – despite appearances – I do not actually enjoy diong that much.

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