I love to laugh, but I'd never think of trying my hand at comedy. I love a good story, but I've never taken any serious teeth-cutting plunge into writing fiction of my own. Like cooking Ethiopian eats, some things are best left to experts (right?). Which was probably why I buried the joke (such as it was) behind this recent post in the closing portion of the the thing. Which apparently confused some readers into thinking it was actually some sort of awkward confessional on my part. For the record: One part of it was loosely based on something that happened to me many years ago. But very loosely.
I suppose I might've started a tag that've flagged the post with something like "Weak Attempt at Humor," or "A Sarcastic Yarn," But I figured the old standby "Bullshit" would be enough. So much for breaking format, eh? I suppose the fact that some (mis)took it as autobiography means that I either did my intended job a little too well, or did it very poorly. Or perhaps both. Ah well, so be it.
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