I recently chanced upon and visited a site called http://www.blogthings.com. This is a place where there are all manner of stupid things you can do to entertain yourself. Majority, if not all of these things are utterly idiotic and a complete waste of time. The ‘things’ come in the form of mini quizzes with (deceptively) seductive, curiosity-inviting titles that lure you into the trap where you begin your downward spiral. You do the so called quiz and once you have your ‘result’, you are then persuaded into believing that this is the coolest thing to have on your blog.

Of course if you are daft as I am, you will do this.

Having committed this act of idiocy, you sit back feeling very pleased with yourself that you have actually posted on your blog after several weeks and now your horde of 47 million fans will have some juicy scraps on you to feast on until you decide to indulge them again with your brilliance. Right.

What you don’t realise immediately is that now everyone will certainly be forced to agree that you are indeed stupid for a) visiting such uncool, teenybopper, Barbie doll IQ sites like these that are expressly meant for delighting 8-year olds, b) actually doing these quizzes (says a lot about your IQ, babe) and c) being a glutton for punishment by posting the ‘results’ of your quiz for all and sundry to read (because you honestly believe that is nothing better to do than make fun of yourself and show the world just how big a moron you really are).

Thanks to Blogthings.com, I have unwittingly set out on a journey of self discovery and have chanced upon many an interesting tit-bit about myself. Among these I now know that in my past life I was A Charming Dancer who lived in Alaska and was Killed in Battle. Can somebody kindly enlighten me on how a dancer (and that too one so charming) could get killed at the battlefront? Bullet through the brain while doing the can-can, perhaps? Or tripping on a grenade while fixing my lacy garter? Or maybe, this was not a battle in the basic sense of the word but has a deeper, more profound meaning. Like a battle of wits where I lost to a more intelligent person (it’s shocking, I know), or a domestic battle where, upon hurtling the iron saucepan at my drunken, fart-odoured, corpulent husband for getting me pregnant yet again, I am fatally scalded by the boiling water in it. I must remember to look for things like that in this lifetime in case I decide to be violent with my non-existent husband.


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