Okay, you know what? I’m as egotistical a bastard as they come, but apparently even my self-love has its limits. After skimming through four years of Whatevers today for the Hate Mail book, I appear to have reached that limit, since by the end of it I was rolling my eyes at my own writing and thinking, boy, you’re just one smug son of a bitch, aren’t you? Yes, that’s a pretty good sign to take a break for the rest of the evening. Hopefully I’ll look better to myself tomorrow. Or maybe Monday.

9 Comments on “Overload”

  1. Are you sure you don’t want one more bite of ego? It is wafer-thin. Are you sure I can’t tempt you…?

  2. I’m with emeraldcite – that’s rather the whole point of visiting your snarkilicious blog. That and your tasty wordsmithing skills – thou dost have a way with the verbiage. My fave snippet is the indelible image of the Magnadoodle in an MRI. I think I actually hurt myself when I read that the first time and it still makes me giggle even today. Pure literary gold.

    And remember, we were here before you got filthy rich and fan-ficably famous. So, you know, we don’t just love you for your money.

    And dude – you’ve literally blogged your way into authorial financial stability. If anyone deserves to be smug it’s you. And, of course, Cory D. You two will have to slug it out over who deserves to be the smuggest, though. I’m calling it a tie and going to bed.

  3. I get like that after about 15 minutes of reading my own shite. It makes revision difficult: I can only sniff my own gaseous emissions for a short time before they start smelling like… well, you know.

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