And I, of course, giggled and blushed and decreed that my coworkers begin walking 3-5 feet behind me to demonstrate their inferiority to me.
Then I clicked on one of the tags Michael included in the definition and discovered this:
And just like that, my over-inflated ego collapsed and the world went on much the same as always.
But I’m still going to need all of you to start referring to me with an honorific title like “your excellency”. Or if we’ve gotten drunk together, something less formal like “The Dread Lady of Blogsylvania”.
Also, no eye contact.
PS. If you look up “Bloggessed” in the “real” dictionary it gives you this as the closest match:
Insulting and scarily fitting.
Comment of the day: Back in 1974, when I was the karate champ of Flitners Corner, Wyoming (I actually moved to Flitners Corner solely for the reason that there was no karate studios in the area and the relatively low population, figured I could become the champ once I created the contest and lightly (aka light as in not) advertised). I became the subject of similar such notoriety. The only contestant I had to defeat, Lyle P. Ligonberry became the victim of the very first Scrotal Tornado. What happened (mostly by accident), was my toe got caught in his wrestling singlet (Lyle apparently thought wrestling was karate) and I fell. I flipped over snapping back into action. In the process of doing so, I had started torquing his nutsack into something resembling a flesh colored twister lollipops. Ergo, my toe and your mind have a lot in common – both famous and both excellent at twisting nutsacks. ~furiousball