“Each weekday, we select about ten new blog posts for the Freshly Pressed section of the WordPress.com homepage. These posts represent how WordPress can be used to entertain, enlighten, or inspire.”
This is a blurb from the WordPress people….entertain, enlighten, or inspire… and that is what I try to do. But alas, I have never caught a whiff of the lofty Freshly Pressed aroma.
All of us try to make it into the Freshly Pressed zone. It means, in a sense, that we have made it into the big time.
But I never do.
Just a boring piece of shit here.
But who has actually been noticed and identified as one who entertains, enlightens, or inspires?
Fisting girl did. That’s right, a girl who eloquently expressed her love for having the fists of ISIS warlords jammed up her ass did the trick.
And she was featured.
And I read it.
What the fucking fuck?
Personally, I am a bit weird. I don’t want anything jammed up my ass. Anything within three feet of my can is a no fly zone. I DO respect gay people, but I don’t share their joy for things buttrified.
So, while I write joyfully about childhood memories from the fifties, or girls who broke my heart from the sixties, I was missing the point. My arse, and its hole, were of much greater, much more intense interest, to the half million writers on WordPress. (Trust me, no one wants to see my ass)
So, as many of us writers do, I start to think about the selection committee..those folks who decide who among us are the elite.
At first, I pictured all sorts of so very thin cats sharing a hookah, wearing tiny, round Steve Jobs type glasses, and sporting backpacks filled with ramen noodles.
But then I thought some more. And this has to be it. A dozen fucking chimpanzees at computers, pressing random buttons, eating bananas, and sticking things up each other’s arseholes.
The chimp group leader, J. Fred Fucking Muggs, directs the group in chimp style frolicking, practical joking, and bumfuckery.
Then J. Fred, blindfolded, hits a fucking button, and wham!…that baby is a Freshly Pressed selection.
I actually considered making up a story titled “The Lost Boys of the Maldives”, the kind of esoteric horseshit that might make the selection crew moist in the drawers, but I just couldn’t phony it up. Not that I’m not a phony….if you saw me delivering lines to hot babes, you would appreciate how phony I could be.