Blogging is like being in prison, although the stakes are much lower. If you make a mistake in prison, you get stabbed or set on fire. Erroneous blogging, if you’re lucky, will only lead to scoffing from lonely cubicles, by credit union interns surfing the web instead of inputting data. They won’t even share your idiocy with co-workers, lest they forfeit their stipend.
I suppose the biggest risk in exposing your electric underwear is hacking off another blogger … the biggest, baddest blogger. We’ll call him Mack (there’s a Mack in every prison movie ever made). If you hack Mack off, he has the perfect platform from which to blast you, his own blog. Say he happens to be very fond of Dalmatians (that alone is creepy). Being the dingo lover I am, I post my opinion that Dalmatians are overrated, the blogosphere equivalent of dropping the soap. Next thing I know, Mack and his gang are blasting me on links and feeds from New Jersey to Antarctica. The AKC arranges a tea party on my front lawn, only instead of bringing teabags and Sarah Palin, they tote pitchforks and choke collars.
It’s enough to make you hide in your cell, or format, as they call it here.
The toughest lock to pick in this blogotentiary is the unfamiliar jargon. Before I was locked behind URL bars, I never heard of tags or widgets, not in the cyber sense. But code is probably necessary, in case Homeland Security, I mean the screws, catch wind of what we’re up to. Oops. I just ended that sentence with a preposition. Hey Mack, can you pass the soap? I think I just dropped mine.