Hell, I imagine a few of them even speak FORTRAN, COBOL, and S/360 Assembler, at least some of the older ones.
But English? No. Well, a few words here and there but they're strung together in a way that doesn't make any sense to Earthbound mortals who sweat, cry, bleed, and develop anger management issues because they got locked out of their %$&*@#$ blog for no $%*&@# reason and STAYED locked out for a %$&*@#$ year.
Until today, when I was inexplicably and for no apparent reason, allowed to come back in and warm my feet by the fire with a cup of hot cocoa to cut the chill left over from my 11 month odyssey in the outer darkness where the only sounds are weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth.
I even gave up and started another blog. It's entitled Itinerant Pictur Taking Fool (and yes, the spelling is a typo, but one I decided I liked the looks of once I really looked at it-plus, Google wouldn't let me correct it anyway). Apparently, once it's in the computer, it's a part of your permanent record, Buster.
I even gave it a mast for branding purposes, complete with art.
Itinerant Pictur Taking Fool
I just now realized the photo needs some work. One of those birds needs a camera hanging from his neck. And he shall have a camera hanging from his neck if it's the last thing I do.
But otherwise, whattaya think?*
I digress (more and more often of late, I've noticed). The blog was never much of a success, partly because I don't fully understand the mechanics of making a blog successful, but mostly because, I think, I only wrote one post. I started dozens but I only wrote the one. Every time I'd try to start a new one, it was like I'd freeze, the words stuck somewhere between my brain and my fingers, the artistic inspiration standing frozen, staring straight ahead as imaginings coursed through my fevered brain (must of caught a chill in that there outer darkness) of a Google-shaped locomotive just waiting for me to make a go of it so it could crush my dreams beneath its silly little Google-doodle locomotive wheels just because. It could.
Yeah, no reason, really. We're Google, we own the doodle and we own YOU, and that's reason enough, Under the wheels maggot.... I can picture them saying.
I wonder why it is that in my dystopian hallucinations Google suddenly speaks perfect English. Or maybe I suddenly understand DROID//boT-DesTRoyer WHOSYOURDADDY or whatever the hell language they speak over in Silicon Valley.
Speaking of which, it's only relatively recently that I realized Silicon Valley is named for the computer chips that were pioneered there. Which makes perfect sense now that I think about it and is actually kind of a relief.
I'm just glad I never asked out loud why anyone would name a place after breast implants.
And I'm not sure where to go from that there. I'm not sure there is anywhere TO go.
Suffice it to say I'm back, even if only for awhile and through no special efforts of my own.
Unless, well, I did just sign up to follow Stonekettle Station, Jim Wright's blog that is a cyber-neighbor of mine over here in Bloggerville. To do so, I had to sign into my Google account, whereupon one of my several account usernames popped up so I rolled with it, I typed in a half-remembered password, there was a huge explosion and look where I woke up.
Okay, I made up the explosion, but the rest is true. Every. Single. Word.
Until next time....