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UPDATE: I DID IT…WORST BLOGGER ON THE PLANET!!!

I KNOW ALL CAPS IS RUDE, BUT FUCK IT, I DON’T CARE, BECAUSE I AM OFFICIALLY THE WORST BLOGGER ON THE PLANET!

Worst Blogger on the Planet

Yes, friends, it’s true. I have been declared the Worst Blogger on the Planet (WBOP). After all but giving up on my journey to the very bottom of bloggerdom, I got word that I had completed the steps necessary to claim the WBOP title. How did it happen?

Well, after carefully reviewing my concession post (the one I linked to above), I realized that in the process of writing that post, I actually completed all 14 of the 13 Steps to Being the Worst Blogger on the Planet. So I emailed Karol K., the Kreator of the 13 Steps, to confirm that I had completed the steps to his satisfaction. He did not reply. This can only mean that I did indeed complete the steps to his liking, because the only way for the WBOP godfather (Karol) to pass on the title of WBOP is to not respond to an email in which a prospective candidate asks for WBOP validation. It’s all in the rulebook, which I am currently writing because I am the WBOP.

But even though this is the day I’ve dreamed about since I was 25 years old, I don’t want it to be all about me. Some people I’d like to thank:

  • Myself
    All this would not have been possible without my hard work. So thank you, me.
  • I
    I use the word “I” a lot, because this is my blog. And it’s mostly about me. I wouldn’t be the WBOP without “I.”
  • Karol K.
    Kreator of the 13 Steps to Being the Worst Blogger on the Planet. We share Polishness, and from here on I will refer to him as the Kum (the Godfather), Kum Karol K., or just KKK.
  • My girlfriend
    From day one she has been telling me what a terrible blogger I am, and now I have the hardware to prove her right.
  • All other bloggers
    Thank you all for not being the WBOP. Not that you ever stood much of a chance. Hah…just kidding! A little WBOP humor.

And of course, I want to thank you all, dear friends and readers, for helping me be the Worst. You all encouraged my vacuous thoughts and jokes to the point that I really started to believe I could be the WBOP, and it paid off. And while I’m not gonna give the stock “thank you” where I say this award is just as much yours as it is mine — It’s not, assholes. Don’t get cocky — I will say that you are all noble human beings who are worthy of being thanked by the WBOP.

Prepare yourselves, friends, because the Worst is yet to come.

Very insincerely,

T.C. Sprencel
Worst Blogger on the Planet

Worst Blogger on the Planet

 

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March 12, 2012 – 10:20 pm
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By theosprencel
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It’s International Women’s Day, but that’s not the best part!

It’s International Women’s Day again, but this year I really don’t have much to say about it. Last year I wrote a post, “Five Things Men Can Do for International Women’s Day,” that turned out to be a kind of sarcastic yet sincere celebration of the estrogenic event. My piece was very well received, probably because everybody kinda love-hates women. Especially women.

Women FightingEmotional instability has its benefits.

But sadly, there will be no follow-up post for this year’s International Women’s Day. Sorry everyone, you’ll have to find some other way to celebrate.

You see, I’m so distraught at not being able to become the Worst Blogger on the Planet that I just can’t find any joy in writing another shitty blog post about the fairer, crazier, more boob-having gender. Sorry bitches. That’s life.

If I were the Worst Blogger on the Planet, I’d have already written a straight-up manifesto on the subject. That’s exactly the type of thing the WBOP would write about. But I failed in my quest to become the WBOP. So failure, I’m afraid, is the fate of all my future blogging endeavors, because claiming the WBOP title was everything to me.

So have a great day, ladies. At least four percent of you deserve it. Oh and by the way, there is another holiday today:

Be Nasty Day

It is now also National Awesome Day.

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March 8, 2012 – 11:07 am
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By theosprencel
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Another one of my dreams ruined by a Polish dickhead; this time I didn’t do it

Well friends, it turned out to be kind of a depressing birthday weekend. As many of you know, it has been a months-long dream of mine to become the Worst Blogger on the Planet. My goal seemed easily obtainable; all I had to do was follow a clearly delineated 13-step program that fellow Polak blogger Karol K. devised. And for a while…boy, was I on fire! I powered through Steps 1, 2, and 3 with the ferocity of a great white and the panache of a Bruno Mars, even taking a moment in the midst of completing Step 3 — which is “Write drunk” — to meditate on the deeply existential joy of finally finding my calling. I was gonna be the Worst Blogger on the Planet, and everybody on that planet was gonna know how Worst I was!

But’wasn’t to be. Step 4 is where it all began to crumble, like stale saltine crackers in the hands of a child who meant to eat the crackers but then got distracted and forgot he was holding food in his grubby little mitts.

A baby with a cracker.

You see, Step 4 is “Use long paragraphs,” a step that should be easy. All you have to do is ramble on and on about something that really only requires a sentence or two while resisting the urge to hit the “Enter” key. I gave it a try, but I just couldn’t do it. I simply could not do it. The need to break my thoughts into organized sections of no more than several concise sentences is in my blood, and to resist the urge would be to resist my very writerhood. Things only got worse when I tried to move on to Step 5, “Write as if you were writing to yourself.” I didn’t know what that meant, so I didn’t write anything about it. I skipped to Step 6, “Use complex language,” but, with a sense of failure already inculcated to the point that pusillanimity had begun to engage with both my cerebral and visceral impulses in a sort of terpsichorean interaction of self-nullification with brief respites of equanimity, I became overwhelmed by a feeling of Weltschmerz and was ultimately rendered impuissant in my pursuit of the senary step. Step 7 is “Don’t edit” and Step 8 is “Don’t even proofread,” but again, as a writer it is not in my abilities to not reread or rewrite something that not rereading or rewriting would make confusing for the reader to read.

Step 9 is “Post as irregularly as possible.” While I can post very irregularly, it is always possible to post more irregularly, so I don’t see how I’m ever going to get that one done. Step 10, “Don’t respond to comments,” and Step 11, “Don’t ever respond to emails,” would be possible if I ever received comments or emails. Maybe someone can help me out and drop me a comment or an email so that I can not respond to it? But how the hell is anyone gonna be able to help me out if I complete Steps 12 and 13, “Don’t tell anyone about your blog,” and “Complain when you get no traffic”?

Oh, and just for doo-doo and laughy-laughs, Karol K. decided to throw in a bonus step. Step number 14 of 13 is “Get the count of your list posts wrong.” Well, I’ve already established that I cannot complete a piece without editing and proofreading, so I’m probably not gonna be able to make a list and not count that motherfucker correctly.

It’s clear to me now that I’ve been shammed. Bamboozled. Taken for a ride on the Gullible Blogger Express. Damn you Karol K. You created a 13-step program that is impossible to complete, knowing damn well that nobody could ever be the Worst Blogger on the Planet. I bet you’re having a pretty good laugh right now.

Thanks for ruining my birthday you Polish asshole.

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March 5, 2012 – 12:15 pm
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Step 3: “Write drunk”

And now my love for Karol K. is fully realized, as the third step in his “13 Steps to Being the Worst Blogger on the Planet” is to write drunk. This is a step that I have already completed several times, but since I did it outside of Karol’s 13-step program it surely doesn’t count. I don’t think you get course credit for independent work; if that were the case then I would have secured the Worst Blogger on the Planet (WBOP) title with my first post.

Worst Blogger on the Planet

I just wasn’t ready.

But I digress, because I’m drunk. The good news is that drunken digression is just what that Polish prince Karol K. has prescribed for my WBOP deficiency:

“What’s your usual behavior when you’re drunk? Talking about strange, unrelated things, maybe? And acting like you’re the biggest expert in the world?

This is exactly the way you should be writing your posts. Remember, the more ideas you touch upon in a single post, the better. Posts about just a single idea are simply lame. The more unrelated information you give, the better.”

Jesus Jambalaya it’s like he’s talking directly to me!

And the best thing about Karol is he practices what he pens; son-of-a-bitch wrote one post with 13 different ideas in it! It’s almost like Karol is following his own advice to become the WBOP. It’s almost like…he’s found out about me and my quest…and he’s trying to beat me to it.

Motherfucker.

Well it’s not happening Karol K. I’m coming for you, and I’m using your own wisdom to defeat you. There will only be one WBOP, and you know what? He’s gotdamn sure not gonna have a chick’s name. Go ahead and drink up and write your driveling blog posts all you want Karol. You’ll never bottom me, especially not when on-the-job drinking is involved.

It’s on motherfucker.

But seriously I love you man.

 

 

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February 14, 2012 – 9:36 am
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Step 2: “Don’t spend more than 30 seconds working on your headline”

Well fuck…that was easy.

I’ll even take it one step further and not spend more than 30 seconds working on the entire post. This shit’s too easy, Karol K.

Step 2: Done.

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February 2, 2012 – 6:58 am
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Step 1: “Do no research whatsoever before writing a post”

It’s an exciting day, friends, because today I embark upon my journey to become The Worst Blogger on the Planet! You remember Karol K. right? He’s the gracious Polish wjachzkahaczatzzzzzkkkkwjwjwjwaaak (pronounced like the English word “sock,” it’s the Polish term for a polite young man) who published the definitive guide to being the world’s worst blogger. Step 1 from Karol’s guide:

1. Do no research whatsoever before writing a post

“Who needs research? Research is overrated. It just takes time. Chances are no one will be able to notice that your posts are written with no information backing them up anyway.

Simply starting to write whatever comes to mind is a much more effective approach for the worst blogger in the world.”

Wow! Did I mention this shit was gonna be easy?!? Hell, I’m already well on my way!

Seriously, though, let’s look at what Karol is saying here:

“Research is overrated.”

Duh, Karol. Anyone that isn’t still using dial-up knows that over 98% of the Web is just plain wrong. I don’t have any proof of that figure, but I’m pretty sure I read it on Mashable, and Mashable never reports on studies of questionable integrity.

More to Karol’s point though, most analysts say that the majority of bloggers actually value research over search. And we all know that with Google at the helm, writers should be focusing on search results, not research results. Maybe if bloggers would search Google instead of researching so much, they would figure out that getting to the top of Google search results is way more important than writing substantial, well-researched material.

“Simply starting to write whatever comes to mind is a much more effective approach…”

I’m really liking this Polak Karol more and more, because writing only stuff that comes immediately to mind is all I ever do! You know what’s on my mind right now? Nothing. Not a goddamn thing. So I’m just gonna sit here and write nothing, but it’s better than writing something, because right now my something would really be nothing. This is a good thing, because nothing can be something without something being nothing, and since I’m writing nothing, that means there can eventually be something!

And you can be sure that that something will be the nothing short of the worst blogging on the planet.

Step 1 is now complete. I can already feel myself becoming a terrible blogger. I think I’m onto something here.

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January 31, 2012 – 10:51 am
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My Quest to Become the Worst Blogger on the Planet

Friends, I’m glad to report that after months of sitting on my cat-piss-stained couch, dithering about in a state of uninspired brain masturbation and wondering if I really have anything to say, I’ve finally regained the desire to muthafuckin’ blog! You see…I’ve found a purpose, a reason to reengage in mah writin’ stuffs. My goal is simple:

I will become the worst blogger on the planet.

I’ll never be the best blogger on the planet because do you really expect me to challenge the likes of intellectual heavyweight and all-around not-annoying person Perez Hilton? Let’s face it: I’ll never be that creative or well-written.

Perez HiltonI’m kinda tired of writing image captions, so starting today I’ll use images that speak for themselves.

So what does a competitive person do upon realizing they can’t be the best? Strive to be the absolute worst! This strategy has proven quite effective for Rachael Ray, the Kardashians, Ashton Kutcher, and pretty much the entire movie and music industries.

Here’s the best part: Some guy named Karol K. has written a step-by-step guide to becoming the world’s worst blogger. And Karol’s Polish, just like me. This shit is getting downright serendipitous!

My plan is to follow Karol’s guide, one step at a time, until I reach the zenith of the nadir, the pinnacle of rock bottom. I will be the best of the worst. I’ll start with Step 1 in my next post, and in each post thereafter I’ll take another step toward being the blogging equivalent of Taco Bell.

So sauce up your burritos and wrap ‘em tight, amigos, because this ride to the bottom is gonna be extra bumpy.

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January 26, 2012 – 11:42 am
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I just want to get some Head…

…some 120-Minute Head, to be exact.

Dogfish Head, maker of some of the finest brews to ever froth upon the tongues of mortal men, brews its 120 Minute IPA only a few times a year, and the stores that are lucky enough to get shipments of the 120 sell through their stock in…I’m gonna guess about 14 minutes on average.

The point is that this stuff is HARD to get. Try though I may, the 120 has eluded me for quite some time now. That’s why I’m turning to the internet for help and writing the hackneyed but sometimes effective “Open Letter to…”.

I’ve tried the open letter before; in one post I both retired from blogging and requested of Oprah either a job or $30,000. Neither of those initiatives really worked out for me. But you know the age-old saying about failure: It happens a lot, especially to T.C. Sprencel.

And they also say you shouldn’t let the fear of failure keep you from trying. So here we go, an open letter to Sam Calagione, founder and president of Dogfish Head:


Dear Sam,

You seem like a genuinely nice, charitable guy, so I’d like to ask you directly if you could do a good deed for one of your biggest fans. I’ve been trying to get my hands on some 120 for years now, and it has thus far remained several steps ahead of me. To say I would do illegal things to get a taste of this beer wouldn’t be too far from the truth, depending on which state we’re talking about and assuming we don’t mean murder or animal cruelty or arson or anything like that.

I live in the Houston area, a metropolis of some 6 million people, roughly 5.9 million of whom I suspect would join me in committing petty acts of crime to secure a sip of your 120. Yet here in America’s fourth largest city there is seemingly not a drop of 120 to be had. I say this not to berate you for limiting your supply; after all, scarcity creates both fervid demand and a thrilling hunt for lovers of great beer.

But this hunter has failed too many times. The other day I walked into a large liquor store — a purveyor of sundry brews and spirits that I assumed was my best shot at finding some 120 — and I began to ask of the merchant: “I know it’s highly unlikely, but might you have any…”

“120?” he interrupted.

“Yes.” I said.

He met my humble request with uproarious laughter. He laughed at me Sam. His laughter reminded me of the scene in Forrest Gump where Forrest tells the chubby man sitting next to him on the bench that he’s the owner of the Bubba Gump Shrimp Company. It’s a condescending, pitying laugh. And even though I happily left the store with some 90 Minute and Theobroma, I felt the crippling doubt that overwhelms a man when he begins to believe he will never get what he’s after.

But you can remove this fan’s doubt. All I ask is that you ship me some 120, at your convenience of course. I’ll pay whatever price you deem appropriate.

I realize there are far nobler and more important causes to which you could dedicate your time and energy, and that my request could be construed as over-privileged whining. Perhaps I don’t deserve to be graced with Beer & Benevolence.

You should know, however, that good beer is my lifeblood, and Dogfish Head the hemoglobin. Maybe this makes me a bit off-centered; I certainly hope you think so. We English-degree holders seem to hold in common a worldview that could be politely described as “whacky.”

Whatever becomes of this writing, I will continue to love and support your product. My ferocious loyalty will never falter. Here’s hoping you find this letter sincere, and of course, delightfully off-centered.

Your fan and admirer,

T.C. Sprencel

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January 3, 2012 – 10:31 am
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I Told You World: The Delicious Disgrace of Ashton Kutcher

I don’t really know how to start this post because I’m kind of drowning in a flood of self-admiration right now. I’m also drowning in a flood of beer, but that really has nothing to do with my inability to start a blog post. Although it probably does have much to do with the fact that I am just now ending this rambling paragraph and that the only point of this entire sentence is to ramble about how I’m rambling.

So now back to why I’m loving myself so much right now. It’s pretty simple:

The whole world now knows that Ashton Kutcher is an idiot.
I don’t feel like writing about it, so if you haven’t heard about Ashton’s Twitter idiocy, read about it here.

I have hated Ashton Kutcher for at least eight years now.
Documentation here, here, here, and here. These four examples only go back as far as I’ve had a blog, but trust me, I’ve hated him pretty much since he started making movies regularly. Or since he started Punk’d. Whichever came first. I don’t remember ’cause I fucking hate the guy.

Therefore I am a genius and a visionary.

And apparently I look like Ashton Kutcher. Fuck.

I hate to be that guy who’s like, “I hated (whatever) before hating (whatever) was cool”, but seriously, I was way ahead of the game on this one. And for that I congratulate myself.

I realize I’m probably not the only person who has hated Ashton ever since he blatantly ripped off Jamie Kennedy’s television show and started making putrid movies about butterflies and misplaced vehicles, but I hate him harder than anyone. He is my sworn enemy, even though he carries on as if he has no idea.

A message to my vanquished nemesis:
I win Ashton. For years I’ve told the world that you’re a giant dongbag, yet they still loved you. They watched and laughed at your horrendous romantic comedies and they acted like you had interesting things to say on Twitter. They even hailed you as a Web-wise tech investor.

They were wrong. I was right.

And now a word from Stupid Ashton:

 

 

 

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November 11, 2011 – 10:13 am
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Comedic Devices I Use Way Too Much

I read a Cracked article today about jokes that are overused on the Internet. Ya know, stuff like “____. ____. Ever!” and using strike throughs to show you have no imagination the humorous incongruity between what you want to write and what you actually write.

I pretty much agreed with everything on the list, and there are many more clichéd comedic devices that belonged on the countdown.

Oddly enough, there was nothing on the list about how funny image captions are getting old.

The best part about reading the article was that I’m not guilty of using any of the outdated joke constructions criticized therein. And for a blogger such as myself, that’s the equivalent of reading lab results and not seeing any check marks next to AIDS, syphilis, herpes, gonorrhea, and/or chlamydia. Whew!

But then I started thinking: I may not use any of the hackneyed humor on Gladstone‘s list, but I’m damn sure guilty of overusing other comedic devices.

So I came up with a list of shitty joke contrivances that I need to nix, because someone as awesome as myself should be held to the critical glare of someone as awesome as myself.

 5. The use-a-bunch-of-words-in-a-long-hyphenated-compound construction

The lazy writer’s way of avoiding the painstaking process of coming up with meaningful adjectives and nouns, I don’t think I’ve used this one more than several times, but it’s old nonetheless. This device makes writing easier when I’m still-shit-faced-drunk-from-last-night tired and attempting to write, but I’ll try to stop using it.

4. Using the very scheme you’re criticizing to create an ironic call-out

See what I did in that paragraph above? I cleverly implemented two devices — which I had clearly established as no-nos in the preceding sentences — as if I were using them naturally, thereby creating an ironic situation that calls the reader’s attention to the absurdity of said devices. Fucking brilliant, I know, but completely overdone. And speaking of our old friend irony…

3. Directly referencing irony instead of presenting the situation in a way that the reader picks up on the irony

Another lazy writer’s tool, everybody loves to point out ironic situations, which is ironic, because we live in a post-ironic society that encourages us to ignore irony, because ignoring it makes it more ironic. And in case you haven’t noticed, after this sentence I will have combined numbers 5, 4, and 3 in a just-keep-piling-it-on-so-that-you-create-meta-irony attempt at self-deprecation.

2. Self-deprecation

As fallible, stinky human beings we can all talk shit about ourselves ad infinitum, and I realize that I depend on this device to create ironic tension — which allows my readers to laugh at me and with me — entirely too much. That’s why I’m a giant fuck-skull. Notice, once again, dear amigos, that I just slapped your stupid T.C.-is-a-dumb-shit-who-can’t-write-worth-a-grasshopper’s-testicles face with numbers 5, 4, 3, and 2, all in one.

1. Lists

I definitely use lists way too much, and putting this comedic device at number 1 means that this very sentence completes the all-in-one-5-4-3-2-1 ironic criticism of my stupid self.

Bonus: Ripping off other sites’ overused humorous devices and calling them out in a not-so-clever attempt at super-ironic humor is stupid, and I do it way too much.

And that, ladies and lads, completes the 5-4-3-2-1-Bonus sweep.

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Published:
October 8, 2011 – 12:48 pm
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