100. One Hundred

Today marks a momentous event that will go into the annals of history as a day of days, ranking right up there with the discovery of America, the invasion of Normandy, the birth of Christ, the birth of Jessica Alba, and the creation of an artificially intelligent super system that will one day rule the world and harvest the human race as batteries. And what day is that? Why, today is the day Dastardly Musings reaches 100 posts (discounting those mind-numbing postings from Drew that is).

To celebrate this truly historic event, let us share the myriad of emotions we've experienced since being involved with this blog. But before we proceed, have you noticed how we have started referring to ourselves as if we were more than one entity? Truly disturbing isn't it? Yes, even we scare ourselves sometimes.

Anyway, any blogger will tell you that maintaining a blog is a mind-destroying affair. There's just too much effort involved for too little satisfaction. It's like groping in the dark, trying to find your way, afraid and uncertain, but blindly forging ahead for fear of ridicule or humiliation if you don't complete the job. And before you know it, it's all over, much too soon, and much too disappointing. Just like sex for the first time.

Yet through the darkness, there is light yet that endures. Some of the highlights include being able to write utter crap (this post being a prime example, come to think of it, same goes with most of this blog!) and get away with it; having an outlet to be all self-righteous and proper while actually being decadent and morally bankrupt inside; and of course, being able to write the kind of self-indulgent crap this entire sentence is constructed on and still feel mighty pleased with ourselves as if we struck gold on the dance floor and scored with that hot hoochie mama that all the other guys were ogling but were too pussy to approach because we really like to write long sentences that don't mean a thing but is nonetheless pleasing and strangely comforting. Yes, as Roland of Gilead would say, we have truly forgotten the face of our father.

So although a little bit of soul has died in the course of writing this blog, we are still joyous that we've come this far. From the dark early days where we knew not what we were about, right up to the present, where we still know not of what we're about but have somehow reached self-actualisation in between to actually care anymore. What matters is, for better or worse, we're here. And we're here to stay. Some might find that extremely unsettling and retarded, but that's because you're an idiot. If you find it profound, then truly you are blessed. And in extreme to get out more often.