Damn it Jim, I’m a Journalist not a Blogger

As you might have guessed, I am not Claude, who is apparently back east and unplugged for the holidays, though if pictures surface of him Jell-O wrestling in Lake Havasu, I for one would not be shocked.

Like yesterday’s guest blogger, I also have the horrifying distinction of having shared desk time with Claude at Variety, though that was during a far off time known as the 20th Century. While I have been writing about the entertainment industry for too many outlets to for nigh on a decade, this morning is my first time bloging — as I am sure most of you can tell.

Up until Tuesday, I thought blogging was what you do with the Scientologists while you are holding tin cans on the Hollywood Blvd — though apparently I wasn’t as far off as some people.

What’s my name? I would tell you, but I am convinced that you would extort me for my entire collection of vintage Washington Bullets trading cards. You people have become so hard to trust ever since you all started wearing a monocle.

So call me Bones — and I shall play the cynical and overworked McCoy to Claude’s chest-puffed Kirk. Only I’m slightly less hemorrhoidal.

I said slightly.

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