My twentyliest blog post.

Oh the sheer joy of accomplishment, for THIS is the post that shall earn me the gold blogging badgey thing of doomness! 

I can't believe I've finally arrived at this moment from the sweat of my brow and risking the pain of arthritic fingers as I carry on a tradition that goes way, way back to the dark dark day of Thursday before last (or whenever) that the latest crop of users from the SpaceyHaze (including myself) have begun their migration here fleeing the entropy the dying web.

And as such, packing up their belonging such as a backlog of old blog posts to be unpacked here - like setting up setting up a carelessly boxed up batch of brick-a-brack on a new shelf without even having bother much to wipe off the dust from the last shelf they sat upon undisturbed for more years than intended.

But as it stands, the fluid, flowing, if but facetious and non-sensical fashion, of self-deprecating pedantically written blog posts like this one is what must propel me into the future EVER ONWARD to the beckoning beauty of that shiny shiny platinum badge!

Fewer, slimmer, noneness, will be the reposting of old blog posts going forward. Even as I must make a desperate choice between a slower roll versus an even greater decline in blog post quality for the long haul towards pixelated platinum greatitude. 

Oh, spite! must think the poor individual futilely reading the wild scrawlings of a mad woman on her quest towards twenty, and now forty blog posts. And if you be counted amongst the unfortunate who have actually suffered to read THIS DEEP into this clap trap, comment 'Get those fish sticks off of the highway!' down below in the comments, that we may come to greater empathy for one another - the doomed. The damned. The poor and bored with naught more to do but read weird blog posts in the small hours of the morning. 

Another paragraph here, to further mask the instructions with, lest someone just skip to the last paragraph thinking of finding greater meaning.

I wonder, now that the USA is turning 250 years old, if people will go about painting fire hydrants to look a little like continental soldiers like they did back in '76 around the time of our two-hundredliest. 

What an odd thing to have done.