Saturday, January 31, 2009

Today is my last chance

Over the past few months I have been trying really hard to get into the "Belly Laugh Bloggers" association. Only the very best of the best funny bloggers are members, so it means a lot to me. They only give you three chances, spaced one month apart between tries, and I have already been rejected twice. Admittedly, this is mainly because only my cat thinks I am funny. So this post will be my "do or die" attempt at membership. Cross your fingers for me. Or, if you live in South Africa, hold thumbs. If you live in Winchester, touch wood. If you live in Newark, hold your breath (it stinks in Newark.)

The thing is, in addition to membership, they also give your blog a rating, just like the movies, and I want to have the dirtiest rating possible, NC-17 (they don't have an XXX rating) - because the dirtiest blogs are the ones that get read the most. According to Ettarose and Chica anyway.

Those of you who read this blog, and my past failed attempts at other blogs, know that I am disadvantaged in this area. I WANT to be profane - truly I do - but my christian mother instilled too much class in my psyche to allow for much of that, even these decades later.

Fuh... fuh .... fuh...


But I REALLY want to be accepted into this prestigious Belly Laugh Blogger's organization and be able to proudly display their really cool badge in my sidebar. This would be good for at least 9 new followers, I'm thinking.

What to do?

As is often the case, the answer was deceptively simple: Go read some Australian blogs. Duh. Reading Australian blogs will quickly dull your senses in general, or any sign of class or morality you might have. And so I did.

I settled on a tame cooking blog from the desolate Northern Territory (Near the Tropic of Capricorn ::wink wink nudge nudge::) that was so far out in the sticks even God didn't know it existed, so that any theft from the blog I might deem necessary would never be discovered in a million years. Especially if I "forgot" to link to it.


This is to say I have learned my lesson: twice rejected means I can't submit my own material. I'm just not good enough. Even I get that. Hence the theft of good material from a remote blogger who (a) won't even know I stole his or her post, and (b) is too far away to do anything about it even if he/she discovers what I did. Win-win, right?

Right now you may be thinking to yourself, "But he just told the world his entry is stolen material. What an idiot." Or something similar. But no. Entirely untrue. Here's why: See... what the Belly Laugh Bloggers admissions folks do is use a spider robot to crawl entries instead of having an actual human read them. Just like Google does when they rate your blog pages. (Belly Laugh Bloggers is a really huge organization, probably even bigger than Google, and they have all the same technology to do this.)

There is one major difference from Google, though, that I hope to capitalize on, and that is you can fool their 'bots with the repetitive use of key words. Google HATES it when you do that, and have trained their slimy 'bots to downgrade your page rank when you try it. But this loophole is still open with the Belly Laugh folks. Confused? Meh.

Keep reading. It may clear itself up.

I explain this only so you know, when you read the below Official Entry (final entry), should you choose to do so (and you may only read it if you are over 18 years old and not from Utah), that what I am trying to do is (a) gain entry to the coveted club; (b) obtain a really dirty one-time blog rating so a lot of people will think my blog is totally hip. Plus, as a bonus feature and for insurance purposes,  the material is stolen to boot. Win-win-win.

Without further ado ::drum roll with rim shots here:: here is my final (and, hopefully, successful) entry. Cross your fingers. Hold thumbs. Touch wood. Hold your breath. Praying is not appropriate.
— Relax Max's official "Belly Laugh Bloggers" membership application post #3 —

My Recipe for Australian omelette
[Submitted by Matilda Waltzing —Alice Springs, NT]


2 fucking eggs
some fucking salt and pepper
fucking chives
1 fucking knob [?] of fucking butter


Heat the fucking butter in a fucking omelette pan.
Fucking break the fucking eggs into a fucking bowl.
Fucking whisk the fuckers and add some fucking salt and fucking pepper to taste.
When the fucking butter is hot, add the fucking mixture to the pan.
When cooked, take the fucking thing out.
Eat the fucker.

Note from Mrs. Waltzing: Fucking parsley or fucking chopped scallions may fucking be substituted for the fucking chives if you fucking want.


Anonymous said...

Are you absolutely and entirely sure this isn't a Gordon Ramsay recipe? Or maybe he's been giving lessons to the Aussies.

Two followers. ;)

Unknown said...

Ha to Sheila. Well it just so happens I know one or two of the judges. For the right price I could whisper lovingly in someone's ear and perhaps take a walk in a dark alley and well, you know. Just sayin, for you......

Lidian said...

I agree with Sheila, this must be from Gordon Ramsay's repetoire.

Anonymous said...

Maxie - you're not dead!

Relax Max said...

@Sheila - Who is Gordon Ramsay? Why are you watching cooking shows? Haha on teaching Aussies anything. Good one! (Kidding, Colin.)

Thank you for becoming a follower on this blog. You'd think some of the others would take the hint. Ah, well.

Thank you for your comment. :)

@Ettarose - You "know" one or two of the judges? I'll just bet you do. Do what you have to do, I'm not proud. :)

@Lidian - Who the heck is this Gordon Ramsay guy that everyone is talking about???


Oh. Sorry Alison. :)

No, only half dead. Thank you for finding me. Now would you please start following me? This 2 followers is getting embarrassing!

Hi Angelika - It's good to see a friendly face. Actually you didn't bring your face. Why? Are you SERIOUS about changing your avatar? Don't even think about it.

But I agree - You need fucking cheese to make a real omelette. And fucking green chile, too. Fucking idiot Aussies. (Kidding, Colin.)

Don't know about the fucking half-moon. Don't fucking care, either. :)

Hey, Chica. You're such a detective. Thanks for finding me. I think.

You are right about the too much eggs and that too much other thing. But it was for a good cause and now it is fucking over. Take care. :)

@Colin - I know you didn't fucking comment and I know you are fucking Scottish, but you live down there and are mingling with them and all, so I didn't want to make you angry in case you came by and read this fucking silly stuff about Aussies. So.

Relax Max said...

Oh, Angelika! I just noticed that you became a follower! MmmmWaaaaahhhh!!!

And you put your cool face on it and everything!

Debbie said...

Your dear sweet mother would be mortified! Brings a tear to my eyes, it does....

Relax Max said...

Oh Debeeeee. This is the only one. I am back on the straight and narrow again. :)

Relax Max said...

Debbie! DebbieDebbieDebbieDebbie! You too! You are following me! Thank you so much! I'm going to break into the pub tonight and get you some of the good stuff!

And shoes. Free shoes!!

Debbie said...

mmm, you know how to get to me, don't you. I told Canucklehead about this spot, hope you can forgive me. In fact I twittered it!

Canucklehead said...

what the flying fuck?! you publicly state you are taking a hiatus and then open up a blog in secret. well, apparently you told everyone else but me about it. you want another fucking war buddy? this blog is an even bigger, steamier pile than the last place!
okay - i just got chill out for a bit. maybe i blew the last couple of chances for you and you wanted to clean the place up for me a bit before you invited me over. i'll go drink some beer and chill out for a while.

/urinates in potted plant

Relax Max said...

@Debbie - Yes, offering new shoes (and wine, I suppose) will do it every time. :)

But spilling the beans to your son about where I am hiding out (or as the lovely A. would say, "Holding court") will be forever on your head and you must now live with the consequences. :)

Relax Max said...

@Canucklehead - I see the uber-classy Canadian llama slime has begun to ooze under my new blog's bathroom door.

Yes, go tap a keg and put down your hockey stick. I'm not looking for another war - especially on Superbowl Sunday. Not that it would take that long to crush you dazed Eskimo Zombies again.

So go sit down in front of your rented TV and put your feet up, put the plastic beer-sucking tube back in your mouth, and let the glassy stare resume.

[You fucker. I tried to drop hint after hint. Don't you ever read your own blog? Don't you ever check your email?]

Relax Max said...

I never thought of Twitter, Debbie. Next, perhaps a BC broadcast? (Thank you. :)

I forgot to link to your blog. So here it is. How exciting to have the Superbowl right where you live. On the golf course. I mean Tampa Bay. (Since you felt it was ok to tell Canucklehead where I was, I see no reason not to tell the entire world where you live. :)

Relax Max said...

PS to Canuck - Thanks for the follow.

Debbie said...

now that you have told everyone where I am....Please make the world go away

Anonymous said...

Hi Max - if I were a bot, I'd be proud to be fooled by this. Great keyword to duplicate!
I see that paranoia is not an issue with you, but why do you want people to follow you around?

Relax Max said...

Thank you Debbie. I will try.

Is that collar not to die for? :)

Relax Max said...

Ah, Stine. Toying with the little doggie again.

I thought Google paid us to get followers? What's the point otherwise?

Janet said...

Are we allowed to send notes to the Belly Laugh people to include your blog? Because I laughed and laughed and laughed and then had to lie to my children about why i was laughing.

Relax Max said...

Hi Janet. Well, no such real organization of course, but I appreciate the compliment of your laughter. And so good to see you back. :)

Janet said...

Hmm. Duped again.
Of course, we could always start such an organization.

Relax Max said...

@Janet - Well, I didn't mean to dupe you. Sorry. But I think we SHOUlD start our own club. If I could make up my own rules, then I might get accepted. :)

Ken Armstrong said...

This reminds me: Dad was left to look after his two young boys for a week and he resolved to cure their swearing. When the first boy ran down the stairs in the morning, dad asked 'what do you want for breakfast?'

The boy replied 'fuckin' eggs'. He was being 'severely reprimanded' just as the second boy ran down the stairs.

'And what do *you* want for breakfast?' dad asked.

The second boy answered "I dunno but I don't want fuckin' eggs."

Relax Max said...

@Ken Armstrong - how could I have missed this comment? What a loser I am!

Funny. :)

Relax Max said...

@Angelika - It still cracked you up? That's because I am a cool blogger. :) Who knows where to steal good stuff.

I think repetition is key. Except that now the Google crawl 'bots are trained to disregard it and not give you credit anymore. Still fun though :)

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