The Byronic Man Worships Rofeeb.

But he does so grammatically:

You can also start to feel insane, because you’re tinkering with little bits of audio that you’re trying to trim and sync up, and so you run it back and forth and back and forth.  It begins to feel like you’re looking for satanic messages in an 80’s metal album.  (note to self: hide subliminal messages in commercial to subscribe to The Byronic Man.  Also, to worship Satan).  Especially when you spend a long time on one tiny point, you can hear it echoing for a while after you finish. “I’ve never seen this before!… rofeeb!… before… rofeeb!… before… roff… fore… roff!… fore…”

Rofeeb giveth, and Rofeeb taketh away.

The Good Greatsby Owns the Packers

But he’s prepared to buy low and sell high:

I should make clear, just because I’m prevented from owning another team doesn’t mean I wouldn’t be willing to sell my share back to the Packers in the event someone wants to give me a majority in an NFL team for Christmas. (Note: Please don’t buy me the Miami Dolphins. Or the Seattle Seahawks. Or the Chicago Bears as long as Jay Cutler is the quarterback. I’ve asked around and nobody is sure whether the Carolina Panthers and Jacksonville Jaguars still exist, but if they do, I’m not interested. Cincinnati Bengals need not apply.)

Note that he does not mention the Vikings, which is rather a glaring omission for a Cheesehead. Or he completely dismisses the notion that anyone would want to own the Vikings; the sagacity of which I cannot dispute.

Helping Your Kids With Rhyme

I am about to be a father. The Good Greatsby has wonderful advice for teaching kids with rhyme:

Flirting:

Don’t blow off a lady when you learn she has a mister; relax, play it cool, she might have a sister.

Sleep safety:

Check under the bed before you count sheep, you never know where monsters may creep.

Vampire peer pressure:

Sucking blood makes you a dud.

Fashion:

No man is a fox wearing black shoes with white socks.

You should, of course, read the whole thing.

The Black Hole of Murdered Words: A Love Letter to an Anonymous Man Who’s Funnier Than I Will Ever Be

Regected Riter (sic) may well be the funniest writer’s blog out there; certainly in my experience. Anyone who’s ever had to eat a rejection letter should love AG’s hilarious cut-and-paste of his own rejections (which he thereby, in his own terminology, transforms into regections). A salient example:

Dear AG,

Thank you for applying to the We Are Edgy Because We Wear Our Sunglasses Indoors and In the Dark Lab this year. We enjoyed skimming through your work while hung over and on the toilet and getting to know your voice by pretending to read Not As Edgy As We Are.

But that may not be the best part. The best part may be AG’s ludicrously apt cartoons, usually of himself, in MS-Paint. Such as this gem from his most recent post, discussing the oft-given bit of writerly advice, “sometimes you have to kill your darlings”:

I hate him for being this funny. Which is how I justify stealing his art.

I don’t know how many people ever considered using MS-Paint’s very amateurishness as a satirical device. I do know that I have to lock my jaw into place to prevent the laughter from exploding out of me in big loud “HA’s”.

So I salute AG: One Of the Funny Anonymous Ones.