Prophecy

Some bloggers harbor fantasies of grandeur. A blog can be an altar to its owner's ego, electronically incarnate. Well, that's cool by me. My blog is no different. It reflects my ego in all its resplendence. And my blog not only harbors fantasies of grandeur; it predicts the future.

What? Doubt overtakes the reader? Reservation rears its ugly head? Disbelief pollutes the visitor's resolve to take, on faith, my claims?

Read this link and weep, friends. It predates this Salon article by nearly a year. [Salon requires all nonsubscribers to view an online ad before they can access the magazine's site for free for one day. Do it. You won't be disappointed.] Yours truly anticipated the salient issue of this season's presidential campaign nearly a year in advance of the cognoscenti who squawk their lightweight analyses over our public air waves and splay their mugs across my television screen.

Yeah. I conceived the notion nearly a year in advance.

"But Brent," the reader pants, "The link I just clicked on took me to an old blog entry of yours from late January 2004. That's not 'nearly a year,' as you say. It is, at best, a good seven months."

Ha! January 2004's entry is merely a slightly revised take on what I wrote in September 2003. While you need to sign up (and pay a fee) to read the whole thing from September 2003, the lead paragraph, visible to all Web surfers, Blogit members or not, says it all.

No less than the juggernaut of girlie manliness is our foe this November. Relent, false patriarchs. It's all over. You lose.