Rebirth of the Smart Centipede

Almost one calendar year ago, a friend of mine inadvertantly convinced me to start a blog. I used it as a personal Bikini Atoll, setting off my comedy ordinance to see what impact I might have on potential audiences. Things went well. Until last month.

The site I chose to host my blog, due to operating system incompatability factors, was iBlogs, a pathetic wretched site which has been mired by bugs and glitches for all of its miserable existence. Well, the good news is that iBlogs finally died sometime in the past week. After WEEKS of not being able to view the blog except for an odd random successful attempt or two, my brother got one final fleeting glimpse at our beloved blog, and said "hey, I got into the blog," and I foolishly assumed I'd be able to access it at a later date.

Today's attempt drew nothing but a search engine, leading me to understand that iBlogs has died it's internet death.

I lost an entire year of blog entries, and it has been some of the funniest stuff I have ever written.

Therein lies the explanation for what you are about to read;

-ahem-



FUCK YOU IBLOGS!

You are nothing but wretched ass scum, the leavings of an all-too-hasty wiping of the rectal portal of egress, the filth encrusted glaze of fecal material left over when one has Taco Bell and is too hung over to adequately swab the poop deck.

I sincerely hope that the "people" who run- excuse me, RAN- iBlogs have died in some kind of fiery vehicular mishap, spending their last fleeting moments on this planet begging for the sweet release of death as their flesh is boiled into ash and their bones cooked like potter's clay, those miserable bitch-fucks.

I hope you all spend an eternity wandering the rings of Hell, engulfed in flames and wrapped in razor wire and being devoured by hungry spiders who are liquifying your innards only to let them congeal and heal to be reliquified again, you miserable fuck bites.

You've taken a year of my work and flushed it down the internet's yawning black shit hole without giving any of your bloggers a warning of a potential problem or a chance to retrieve their personal data. I hope your days are filled with the stench of a canyon of fecal matter rotting in the eternal midday sun, and your nights are filled with the haunting screams of every murdered child in history, you sopping wet fuck holes.

Gone are my personal musings on Ashley Judd, my favorite questions from my time at Nike, my satires of Jesus and Mohammed, the sheer bliss created by my updates on my angler-fish diamond stalk surgery, the genius of my unedited appearance on the Comedy Central Roast of William Shatner. All the neat stuff I've felt the need to share with my readers over the past year is gone, dust in the wind. Lost to the absolute bumble-fucks at iBlogs and their inability to maintain a functional fucking website.

-ahem-

The Smart Centipede is down.

But not out.

And not for long, at any rate.

Like a phoenix from the ashes, this new blog will arise to take the place of the old blog.

I can rebuild it.

Make it better.

Stronger.

Faster.

Hold tight, dear readers. The first steps of this new born may be rocky as we get our bearings, but once we are back at full steam, the ride will be like no other.

We'll talk again soon.