To Blog, or not to Blog, that is the question.
Whether 'tis nobler on the web to suffer the quips and beratings of outrageous comments,
or to take umbrage 'gainst a sea of conservatives
and with a derisive word negate them.
To type, to read
And by a reading to say that I know more about the universe than you do
Tis a fictional affirmation devoutly to be wished
To type, to read. To read, perchance to be read, aye there's the rub
For who knows what readers might come when we have online posted this mortal drivel?
Must give bloggers pause, for who will respect that which makes calamity of so long a posting?
For who would bear the quips and scorns of lurkers;
The conservatives' harangue,
The liberals' belly-ache
The insolence of adolescent sages who spurn logic for a raised lighter and empty keg
When he, himself might his quietus make with a bare delete key?
Who would relevancy bear, to grunt and sweat under a self imposed need for truth and accuracy, but that the dread of being branded 'wrong' puzzles the will and makes us rather paraphrase long dead poets, than fly to news reports the details we know not of? Thus conscience doth make linguistic Onanists of us all, and entries of great wit and merit with this regard are turned to animated frogs, and pointless bitching, and lose the name of action.