Ok, here I am dutybound to blog something which, for me at any rate, is always a pleasure.

Call me every dirty name under the sun but there are times when I just LOVE name-dropping and having been poking around one of the few blogs actually worthy of the time, I'm taking this opportunity to bomb google with a link to THE blog. Not just any blog, but THE blog.

The mother of all blogs.

Now here's something you don't know.

In my other bit of blattery, I chided the BLOG god because of an extended period of introspection and he finally got jack of it - and rightly so I might add - and let me know in no uncertain terms what he thought of it. Funny thing is though, another subscriber thought it was him and cursed me out black and blue. The BLOG god was being introspective, the other bloke was, correction IS, seriously in danger of disappearing into his own navel never to be seen again.

He took a swipe at me after the third in the Self Help trilogy of my newsletter came out, but only because he doesn't have the means to come after me with a gun.

In this battle of egos, I'm left wondering where I sit. On one hand, the BLOG god told me off and that was fair enough, but this other bloke went ballistic. Touched a nerve I guess. I love my subscribers and fortunately I haven't lost this chap, but his ego must have taken a pounding for him to come out swinging like that. My ego was, on the one side restored to its rightful place in the natural equilibrium, but on the other, it wasn't remotely budged by this other chap - whom it must be said I hold in fairly high esteem as well - who went right off thinking I was writing about him.

Here's why I wasn't moved:

There's a place for poetry and it's not under my eyes. I hate poetry. Despise it. I like odes, but poetry is for cancerous old browniehounds entering their dotage and taking the opportunity to behave like teenangsters and I spurn them openly.

I'm also not fond of teenangsters.

Am I dithering a bit here? I suppose I am a bit but I have an excuse and if any of you had taken the time to explore where those hyperlinked words go, you'd understand instantly why I have taken this opportunity to express these loosely connected thoughts here.

Here's the bit that got me:

I ran across the following via Technorati while ego-surfing for CBO links. David Churbuck, the blogger what wrote it, is an old pal (more about which below), but we'd been out of touch for years. So, just for the record, I had nothing to do with this glowing endorsement.

So that's why I've taken this opportunity to splatter CBO links all over this particular entry.

Incidentally, and this is a confession and a half on my part, I replied to the email I received with words to the effect that next time any of my beloved subscribers badgered me to put out one of my newsletters, I'd tell them to fuck off. So, just to set your minds at rest, I was not in anyway directed to make amends for my latest screed nor was I admonished in such fashion that I feel or felt obliged to resume my place in the general scheme of e-things. No. The reason I am so blatantly fawning - yes fawning - is because unlike the preceeding episode which precipitated my three in a row rant against navel gazing, the linkages above all lead to something I not only enjoy immensely, but reckon anyone brave enough to click on one of those links will also enjoy just possibly enough to even thank me for pointing them in the right direction.

After all, this is the bloke who started me writing on the internet in the first place.

Don't like it? Blame him. I'm sure he'll give you the same response I will for wasting his time but will be fascinated to know who sent you.

Would that you did because you'll thank me later if there's even a shred of decency about you. Lord knows there isn't one about me.