Well, it’s a lot like the old SBC.

Seriously, I’ll start doing shit about this after I get back from my backpacking trip.

While you are waiting, listen to an episode or two of Shitty Blog Radio or post something in the Talk Shit Forums.

And once I get back, I’ll work on coming up with some new excuses for why I haven’t done anything with this webspace yet.

I know.

You’re as excited as I am.

Trust me.

Update your links… so on and so forth.

More to come.

I mean, admit it, this isn’t working.

The club, as it was initially formed, was a reaction to ‘click for viewer’ blog exchanges. The web has moved on. This Web 3.0 or something. The current model no longer works.

I could abandon the whole thing, but then the site would get squatted by spammers or worse yet the idea would get hi-jacked by morons that just don’t get it.

The idea is still solid, if poorly defined. We just need to re-tool.

I’m beginning to think, it may be time for the Shitty Blogs Club 4.0, or as I like to call it, the brand new, new and improved return of SBC, Part 2. Okay, I’ll keep working on the name.

Membership needs a reboot. If I bother to start working on this, I’m gonna require people to sign up all over again.

The requirements will be simple. You need to have a blog, you’ll need to link back to the club and that’s probably about it.

The SBC blog needs to be rethought completely. (What is the SBC blog? You’re reading it sunshine!) Most of the interaction in the club can and will be centered around the forum. I have some ideas for the blog, but I’ll keep them to myself for now.

Before I get all excited and decide to try to re-vive and re-vamp this anti-club of mine, I need to know if there is interest.

Most of the original players have moved on. Mango, a-[e], Fat Dude and those guys have mostly moved on. I know some of the members are out there, but I’m not sure if they care or not. If you think you might be interested in joining a club whose motto is “Be proud. Be Shitty!” If you don’t take yourself or your blog to seriously and if you can put up with my bizarre behavior and ambitions for cult leader type status… let me know.

Send me an email (jeckles AT gmail DOT com) or IM me (jeckles1 on Y!) or leave a comment in the forums, letting me know that you are ready to drink the electric blue kool aid.

Be Proud. Be Shitty!

Don’t worry. I’ll have something Survivor related up tomorrow.

Remember Blog Explosion?
Remember Orange Haired Boy?
Remember how BE ‘banned’ me?
Remember OHB’s useless attempts at a flame war with us.

Ah. The good old days.

Did you know that OHB runs BE now? Remember how we used to say Boycott BE? It would seem that we are not the only ones.

Why are you dredging all this up now? You might ask yourself. It’s probably cause I want to have my blog deleted again. No. That’s not it.

It cause of Blogathon. When you go to the blogathon main page… you see, bigger than anything else… BE Radio. Wow. I thought to myself, they must be raising a shitload of money for charity to get that kind of exposure. But the thing is… they didn’t.

This makes no sense. There are hundreds of bloggers out there raising money. There are other stupid radio stations raising money. So why? Why does OHB rate, with out even lifting a finger for charity? (Which, they tell me is the whole point. Charity that is.)

I don’t get it. Could it be that OHB is fucking some one at the Blogathon headquarters? That doesn’t seem likely. I think they are all women.

So please, some one explain this to me.

I’m dying to know.

Things are getting weird on Shitty Blog Isle… and I’m talking about more than what’s going on with Monty’s hair.

The week started off on a very odd note. Yummy! was just standing there talking to the others, when she began to … well… flicker. She looked like that UHF channel that you can’t quite tune in, but tried to watch anyway. Before she faded away completely, she said, “Can’t connect… please send broadband.” Then she was gone.

Before the bloggers could react, a black helicopter approached from the horizon. The bloggers scrambled to get ready to be rescued. The helicopter touched down and a man wearing a black suit and dark glasses stepped out and ducked to run out from under the spinning propellers.

“Chad Talbot,” he said.
Chad looked up from the foxhole he was hiding in. “Me?”
“Mr Talbot, come with us, it’s your mother.”

Chad went with the stranger and got into the helicopter. The man in black reached inside and grabbed a package and then addressed the islanders again.

“Which one of you is Mango?”

They all pointed to the decrepit and crazed individual chained to the tree.

“This is for you.” He handed the package to Mango and walked off with out another word. He got in helicopter and they took off.

The survivors watched it fly away and then turned their attention to Mango’s mysterious package. Mango ripped open the box and his eyes lit up. Those that were there, said he actually smiled. Perhaps his twisted and bitter heart actually grew a bit as he pulled a brand new iPhone out of the box.

Things, quickly, turned for the worst. Mango dropped the iPhone and it iShattered on the iRocks. In an attempt to distract himself from the loss, he went to carve a watermelon, but before he could so much as scratch the fruit, he cut off one his fingers. Once the bleeding stopped, he chained himself back up. He hasn’t spoke since.

The other set off to carve their own melons. Tammy eyed her stash of Tequila and was inspired to create a puking melon. Nat just smiled and said, “You want to see a fucking hippie, I’ll show you a fucking hippie.”

Utopia screamed, “Call me Professor or call me cunt,” and then went off to carve a sea turtle and then murdered her creation. Rose carved a shark, held it to her chest and smugly said, “If this melon isn’t good enough, I’ve got more.”

Monty said, “I fucking knew it.” She went and carved an elaborate series of fruit showing the effects of the current geo-political condition on cannibal aborigines. Unfortunately, she was overwhelmed with some late night munchies and ate all but two. She became afraid that her creation wasn’t good enough. “I’ve got sexual favors!” She screamed. The cannibals looked interested, but she wasn’t sure in what exactly. Mango was only the other man in the island, but he didn’t even seem to hear her. “Mango is a big homo,” she mumbled as she went to sit with her remaining melons.

They met to compare melons. Well at least the ladies did. They considered kicking Mango off, since he didn’t even carve his watermelon, but no one wanted to disturb him. He was so still. Hell, they were scared of him.

“Why is everyone looking at me?” Tammy cried.

They waited till low tide and dug a hole in the sand. They buried her up to her neck.

“Don’t blame me, I had immunity.” Nat said.
“It will best if you don’t struggle, dear.” Monty advised.
“What can I say, we’ve got better melons.” Rose said.
“Call me Professor or call me cunt!” Utopia raved.

The remaining five survivors felt like they needed to express themselves. They decided that at the end of the week they would have a poetry reading. They scurried off to find their berets and bongo drums and set themselves to composing some good old fashioned free verse beat poetry.

Be Proud. Be Shitty!

The Survivors are insane. They’d like you to believe that being stranded on the island has done this to them. Don’t let them fool you. They were all mad as hatters when they got here.

Monty is wandering the island, mumbling things like, “Don’t like my slogan, don’t like my pictures… I’ll show you all!” Utopia was last seen screaming, “First I lose my house bitch and now you steal my pictures!” at Tammy who is still hiding in the tree. Rose has been looking all pixel-ly. The others aren’t sure how to take this.

Nat is extra chipper these days. “I’m untouchable! Take that, bitches!” She seems to think she is doing well at this Surviving, but there are still weeks to go. YummY! and Chad have teamed up and scouring the island in search of Cheeseburgers.

Mango is getting worse. His ramblings make less and less sense, “Fuck You Shutter! Fat Chicks in Bikinis! I didn’t sign up for this Jeck! Fuck you and your cruise. It’s Uncle Jesse and Uncle Jesse, Get it. Get it? Fuck you A-E!”

And Mike just sits and watches the waves.

The Survivors all gathered to compare pictures. There were ‘ows’ and ‘ahhs.’ Utopia kept shooting Tammy dirty looks while she was showing her pictures. Everyone just looked at their feet during Mango’s pictures. It seemed best to avoid eye contact. And then Mike showed his pictures.

The others started mumbling. “What is this shit?” “Did he brings these from home?” “Is that his kid?” “What the Fuck!”

Before he could even show all of them, the other Survivors jumped up and beat him unconscious. They drug his limp body out to the the lagoon and rolled it in, hoping to keep the sharks well fed and happy.

The next day, they decided that all of this had been very stressful. This week they would celebrate Independence Day by having a Watermelon Carving Contest. The watermelons will be submitted for judgment, Tuesday, July 10.

I told you they were all crazy.

Be Proud. Be Shitty!

One week on the Island and they are already starting to crack. Some have noticed that it seems like much more than a week has gone by, it’s probably just the heat.

Mango has chained himself to a tree and has been heard mumbling to himself, with the occasional outburst, “Fuck You Shutter!” Utopia has been sitting on a rock, sipping imaginary drinks. She’s been holding a mango to her ear, giggling. She has also taken to addressing several large rocks as Daleks. She seems to enjoy shouting at them, “Annihilate! Destroy!”

Rose has been making cookies out of mud and feeding them to other Survivors, only Monty seems to suspect something. Speaking of Monty, she has been wandering around trying to be social, but she keeps saying things like, “You bitches are going down!” As though no one can hear her. Tammy has climbed a coconut tree and won’t come down. The others are afraid to go near it. They know she’s going to have to pee sometime, and they suspect she has been holding it until one of them strays too close.

Chad has dug a trench and fashioned a helmet out of coconut. He sits in trench staring out menacingly at the others. His sanity was stretched before this started, he may be near the end of his rope. Nat has been wandering around, in her tie die shirt proclaiming to anyone who will listen, “I am not a Goddammed Hippie!” The other just nod politely before scurrying away.

Mike has been sitting on the beach watching the surf come in. He writes poems in the sand, and when the waves wash them away, he writes new ones. The others are terrified of him. Yummy! has split her time between shouting at random intervals, “A burger, a burger, my kingdom for a burger!” and trying to convince unsuspecting Survivors to go swim the ‘dolphins.’

And Sparky… poor, poor Sparky. After the survivors had all sat around to compare notes on their slogans, they all decided that Sparky’s effort was the weakest. Not only that, but he seemed like an all around