If you're like me, you woke up on September 4, 2016 and, while skipping across the tightrope over the canyon between your room and your beer fridge which was blocking access to your normal fridge and directly on top of your dead mom, shouted into a megaphone, "My blog sucks tardigrade shit!" And you thought, if this is my fate, then It's Time To Kill God™ and write better blog posts!
But you startled the harpies with your shouting and they knocked you off the tightrope with their huge talons, so you fell for several miles before being rescued by aliens seconds before dropping like a turd into a lava toilet. After convincing you to buy a few loose cigarettes and two bottles of highly concentrated cough syrup, the aliens asked you if you needed anything before they threw you out on your ass. You told them you have a high-profile blog, but that it needed a little "blog-aphrodisiac", if they knew what you meant. Visibly impressed, they said they knew exactly what you meant, offering an unlimited supply of human slaves at an absolute bargain price. Moreover, they said, each slave was an "idea guy" they had trapped by placing an advertisement for "free practical skills" in a cage.
"Perfect!" you said, before purchasing countless thousands of slaves.
So the aliens threw you and your slaves out with their oiled, glistening muscles, right into the lava. But the slaves that fell into the lava before you formed a bridge of burning corpses, allowing you and the majority of the slaves to survive long enough to reach solid ground. The majority of the slaves did not, however, survive the multiple-mile, multiple-year climb up the near-vertical canyon wall. Most were used as human scaffolding or food, and the rest were kept in line with a whip made of greasy slave hair.
Every year or so, a new religion would begin to form among a particular group of slaves, which would lead to the creation of cliffside settlements constructed from human bones, skin, and hair, which would lead to lots of sitting around inside doing nothing. So you'd spend a week or so climbing down the ladder of starving slaves tied together with their own hair until you reached the settlement, where you'd untie the supports and watch gravity carry your problems away.
Upon reaching your house at the top of the canyon as the harpies eyed you warily, there were so few slaves left that you psychically summoned the aliens and purchased a second countless thousands of slaves. After corralling them all into an enormous fenced-in area in the desert heat, you decided to improve morale by providing two large dogs and a gram of pure MDMA to each slave. Quickly realizing your mistake, you watched in horror as a chaotic orgy broke out between thousands of the slaves and twice as many dogs.
So you spent about a week drinking beer and throwing rocks at harpies while you waited for the orgy to resolve, but when the surviving slaves came to you violently demanding more drugs, you were forced to feed them to the harpies one by one. You sighed, then psychically summoned your alien associates to purchase a third countless thousands of slaves, this time providing them with three large dogs each and no drugs. Then the creative writing began.
Or it should have, but the slaves produced nothing promising while swearing that they had the best ideas and just needed a little more time. So you provided just enough weed to get their creative juices flowing and watched as they all started pumping out that sweet content. But after a while they started getting stuck; each slave had their own grand vision of the most hilarious blog post, but the idea expanded in too many potential directions for them to complete it.
So you took these seed ideas which had been produced and had the slaves vote on the best one. Then you had them vote on the best direction to take the idea. Then you had them vote on each new word until the idea was complete.
And that is how you created this blog post.
On the other hand, if you aren't like me, you woke up on September 4, 2016, had a successful day at work, and went home to a loving family. You kissed your wife, and the taste of your mustache dandruff sent her into a sexual rage.
