Every time I check my stats, my rating has gone down. Good thing this doesn’t bother me at all.

Was it something I said, or didn’t say? Is it because I have a slight tendency to mock the stupid, and cry over the victims of evil? Did I offend you? Do all the lopsided links that dance around on the blog give you seizures? Should I ask for help in getting the layout laid out?

Some of you don’t like my blog. But that’s ok. It doesn’t bother me at all. No, not at all. The world is full of all kinds of people, and some of those people don’t like my blog. Well, there are lots of blogs out there that I don’t like, either. So I guess we’re even.

It would be nice if people liked my blog but it isn’t absolutely necessary. Not a bit.

And it doesn’t bother me that people don’t like my blog and are giving me bad, bad ratings. I don’t blog for popularity. (Obviously. . . . .) (Apparently.)

I don’t blog because I’m beautiful, or smart, or thin, or knowledgeable. I blog because there are things inside me that are rampaging to get out, and if I don’t blog I’ll explode. No, I’m not talking about alien seed that will burst through my chest and wrap you in waspish slime so you will be fresh when you are eaten at a later date. That was Sigourney Weaver. She’s the same age as me but she looks really good. That doesn’t bother me either.

Okay, that one was a big lie. I’d LOVE to look like Sigourney Weaver. If I had Genuine’s millions, I’d pay some guys to carve me up like the turkey we’re all going to cut into tomorrow. I’d pay them to slice, trim, grab handfuls of fat and throw it in the body bag, shorten, lengthen, enlarge, reduce, and more or less turn me into someone else. Someone who looks more like Sigourney Weaver, but who is really me.

Sigourney, if you are reading this blog, please give me a high rating. Um, I mean, please don’t panic; our fingerprints will still be unique and nobody will confuse us as I will be the one wearing the dowdy K-mart fashions and carrying a kid on my hip, and you will be the one surrounded by hot bodyguards, and wearing Versace. With aliens in your chest, and Bill Murray levitating you in your living room. Sigh.

The kid will be borrowed, as my own kids are grown up and living on their own, as you all already know because I’ve told you so. But I love to borrow other people’s kids, both to give them a break, and to get to hang out with a kid.

Got any kids to loan out for a couple of hours? I’ll meet you in the K-mart parking lot. I’m driving a maroon Honda, and I look exactly like Sigourney Weaver. You can’t miss me.

Fair warning: I’ll fill your kid with candy and chocolate shakes and junk burgers, let him press all the buttons in the toy store display cases, ride that little bitty merry-go-round till just before the junk food shows itself again, wear the Burger King crown in the mall, and buy gummi worms. I’ll return him to you filthy, loaded with sugar, and falling asleep standing up. Oh, and probably with a few creative cuss words added to his vocabulary. On the other hand, you have had some TIME to yourself, and you’ve napped, or shopped, or seen a movie with an R rating, or hung out with friends.

Even weighing those creative verbal outlets he’s got now, I bet you’ll take me up on it.

Yeah. Me and Sigourney Weaver. Just like THAT, we are. People confuse me with her all the time.

It doesn’t bother me at all.

You know, just like you guys who have brought my rating down don’t bother me at all. You don’t need to feel bad. I’m fine with your opinion.

It probably serves me right. When Blog Explosion first started, I thought a ‘1’ was the highest. Sorry, some of you out there.

(Unless you’re strictly politics or an advertisement trying to pass as a blog; I gave those a ‘1’ on purpose.)

I need Harold Ramis. Where is Harold Ramis when you need him? Who you gonna call?

If we didn’t have refrigerators we’d have to wrap our food up like aliens do, to keep it fresh for later. Maybe we’d evolve a gland that spewed silk. Or saran wrap. That might be kinda cool. If I could spew silk, maybe people would rate my blog higher. Not because it was any better. Because they’d be afraid of me, with my silk-spewing powers.

Sigourney Weaver, with silk-spewing powers. Could it get any better than that?