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Yet Another Acid Logic Column

Well, here we go again. Time to put on a determined face and spew out yet another rant about a subject I donít really understand, or another verbal assault on those weaker than me in a desperately obvious attempt to bolster my ego and assuage my insecurities. Time to vent my anger at a universe I donít comprehend to an imagined audience who probably have only a limited interest in my well being and find me a vaguely amusing personality worthy of fifteen minutes of their attention before they move on to the next internet cultural oddity, be it midgets having sex, Turkish bachelors, or "The Superfriends" saying "wassup!" Time to take fingers to keyboard with zombie-like zeal and perform a task that Iíve come to anticipate with the same zest I apply to a prostate exam.

Iím kidding folks, itís magic every time.*

But, I dunno... itís different today. This time I really have nothing to say. Of course many of you are now saying, "Who are you kidding, Wil, you NEVER have anything to say. Do you really think you contributed anything of value in your piece on mustard? Was the world in any way enriched by your "discussion" of bioengineered tomatoes? Do you think anyone really cares about your thoughts on the Teletubbies? At best you present a blandly witty interpretation of the sort of oh-so-cynical Buddy Bradly type personality that had its heyday in the mid-nineties and is now fading from popularity. Cease bothering us with your whining and either empty your cache or get off the pot!"

Well... geeze, you didnít have to be so hard on me. Sure, sometimes Iím overly negative and apply unreasonably high standards to the world that I fall far short of myself, but I really thought there was something more to all this, you know? I had no idea you found me so... shallow. Donít I contribute something of value to your lives? Donít I offer at least a breadth more understanding to this complex world we live in?

"Oh, PUH-Leeze!" Your response rings in my ears. "Look Wil, we can stand you when you stick to this two dimensional, ranting town-crier personality, but when you try this sensitivity crap, when you look for some purpose in your limited literary lamentations, the whole thing goes belly up. No-one wants to read some simpering artiste, whining about how nobody understands them and blah, blah, blah. That stuff went out with Alan Alda relationship movies and John Denver ballads."

Hmph. Well, I guess if thatís all I mean to you, if thatís all you get out of this relationship then Iíll just have to try and stand and deliver. What would you prefer, my dear? A ten paragraph dirge poking fun at Microsoft yuppies who try and justify their middle class lifestyles by portraying themselves as common rabble, spouting themes of Marx while downing their $3.00 espressos and $6.00 microbrews? How Ďbout an indictment of West Coast drivers comparing their navigational abilities to that of radar-less bats? Or a condemnation of the current music scene's love affair of bland, oversaturated Latin music while it decries bland, oversaturated country music with the same breath?

I can do it, I suppose.

But my heart's not in it right now.

(* Please note: this joke was blatantly lifted from a Bill Hicks comedy routine, thereby showcasing even more of my comedic unoriginality and creative depletion. If you would like to plagiarize Bill Hick's material, go here:

Wil Forbis is a well known international playboy who lives a fast paced life attending chic parties, performing feats of derring-do and making love to the world's most beautiful women. Together with his partner, Scrotum-Boy, he is making the world safe for democracy. Email -

Visit Wil's web log, The Wil Forbis Blog, and receive complete enlightenment.