Just a dirty whore.

'I'm just a dirty whore,' I thought to myself as I clicked about on the internet. I've done some terrible things in the past but this really takes the cake. This really takes the cake and mushes it all over my chest, and rubs the icing into my chest hairs, takes a fist full of delicious, carrot cake and smears it across my ugly disgraced face. It was as if I had just become married, the whore-wife to some groom who has not yet taken a physical form in this metaphor which so easily turned against me and made my meager attempts at being a clever writer look like the uncontrollable train of crazed thoughts that belong in the ripped and shit-covered journal of some mental patient from that movie Gothika.

I had committed one of blogging's worst crimes imaginable, I had considered, nay, desired, a change of blog hosting websites.

Blogspot knows this, as I type, Blogspot uses its 'Save Now' function to regularly keep track of where I'm up to in case my browser crashes (Google Chrome wouldn't) so that I don't lose my work (it wouldn't matter). Blogspot looks at me, stares at me through that strangely shaped B in the top left corner, like the misshapen eye of some child that I have betrayed. Stares at me, and cries.

Boy-o, what about that Wordpress website 'though?! Looks pretty sleek, you gotta admit.