Sketchy Tremblings Amongst the Kittens

There was an old man who lived in a blog. He had a lot of time on his hands. For that he was grateful, but he was not grateful for what the blog had made him into, a hulk of his former self, devoid of the aspirations that populated his youth like so many acorns fallen only to land underneath a dominant ancestor.

Why is the blog here and what does it want with me? He sat, contained in his quandary. That the blog was here was without question, he was within it. If he existed the blog must certainly exist as well. The blog did not interact with him, so inquiring about its motives towards him seems like the wrong angle of attack.

The truth is that the blog, much like some other constructs of this universe, does not think or feel and therefore possesses no concern for him, positive or negative. The blog doesn't care about you either, or your humble author for that matter. Not that that concerns me. I mean, this blog hasn't bothered me, so why should I bother it, asking questions designed only to challenge its governing principles. Some things are best left alone. And so we beat on.