I was happily listening to the tune of my new creation through the speakers as I sat, formulating words and poetic phrases for my new song. The Band-In-A-Box sequencer bounced joyfully through the speakers and every now and then I would stop and restart it as I plied new prose and sought through my sources of inspiration for that catch that would make the tune come alive with meaning and attraction. I first noticed it as I turned to an open book, which was one of my sources of inspiration.
The cheeky thing, it initially stuck out a slimy hand and waved to me with sticky fingers splattering muck on my screen. I frowned, somewhat puzzled and amused by its sudden appearance. Having attracted my attention it peeked at me through an eye, the corner of a cheesy grin appearing on the left side of my screen.
“Hello, who are you?” I asked.
As though invited it plopped messily onto my screen and wriggled like an inch worm to the centre where it rose in a bodily form and began dancing, wriggling and shaking to the music. I chuckled, then giggled at its sauciness but then it began to grow and obliterate my screen. Like a glutton gorging candy and cake it bulged in the midriff and cheeks, and wobbled like jelly.
“Go away,” I said, “I’m busy just now.”
I clicked on it with my mouse and dragged it to the recycle bin, “There, you’re gone now.”
I stared in horror as my recycle bin shuddered, bubbled and popped like a pot on the stove and that stuff came oozing out like a thick porridge boiling over. I yelled but it kept swelling green muck that covered my work. I sent it to the back but it ebbed around the edges and annoyingly obscured my work. I right-clicked and deleted it but it plopped back over my screen. I sent it to the back again; quickly made a folder called “Go Away Green Stuff” and dragged it in as it grew.
"There, that’s got rid of it,” I breathed, but the folder bulged, grew, and burst green all over my screen.
Finally in desperation I called the technician.
“Ah,” he diagnosed as he looked at my screen, “Your computer has had a blog attack. There is only one product that can get rid of this.”
Taking out a bottle and squirted some of its contents into what looked like a hollow mobile phone, which he then plugged into an available usb port.
I watched the top of my screen as it began to drip a bloody looking fluid. It trickled as from a wound. When the fluid touched the green muck it sizzled and withdrew painfully. I flinched. I felt sorry for the blog. I had become accustomed to it and wondered if I really wanted it to go. I had a sense of dread as I felt its silent pain when each drop burned into its edge till the screen was eventually crystal clear, newer and brighter than it had ever looked.
Picking up the bottle I read, “Ess-so.”
“No,” the technician corrected, “You say it like initials, EE-ESS-OH.”
“What does it stand for?” I enquired.
“Eternal Sin Offering,” he explained. “It’s the only cure for a blog attack.”
“My screen looks so new. Better than it ever did before,” I observed.
“That’s because it is new,” he said. “EE-ESS-OH doesn’t just cleanse, it regenerates.”
So if you’re suffering from a blog attack on your computer screen, or more importantly in your life, use EE-ES-OH, it’s the only product that works and is available by believing in Jesus Christ the only begotten Son of God. Eternal Sin Offering is made available to you by the cross of Jesus who died for your blog attacks – sins. Believe in him today.
[For those of you who don’t think so: yes, I do know what a blog actually is.]
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