August 5th catches me by surprise every single time. Starting tomorrow, we will have entered into the seventh year of The WAMBAG. And that is a rather long time, even by non-internet standards.

I’d like to say that if I had some more time that I would have had prepared a nicer post in honour of this occasion…but that would be a lie, I have no real interest in celebrating this occasion. It’d be like throwing a party every year to commemorate the day you first realized just exactly how much of a dickless piece of trash you are and forever will be.

(My personal top pick, out of dozens and dozens of nominees…

“Hey, so my parents are out of town and my house is empty…do you want to walk me home and teach me how to play Marvel vs. Capcom 2 on my Dreamcast?”

“…nah, I better study for this Al-Geo test. See ya tomorrow!”)

In all honestly I’d rather just acknowledge it with a quick nod and move on as fast as I can – it’s best if we don’t linger too long on the fact that seven years is a ridiculous amount of time to keep a blog. I don’t even remember who it was we were talking to recently that exclaimed like “The WAMBAG? Are you guys still doing that!?!” And I nervously laughed it off, but in my mind I was like…”Goddamn!”

I mean…what!?! “Still doing it!?!” Bitch, I write like three thousand words a month for this piece of shit blog, I’ve been trying to work up the courage to kill myself for the last seven years! Please believe me!

To illustrate that point, check out the top hit of 2002, when this site first crawled out of the metaphorical primordial muck…do you remember this little doozy? Yes, a bit of history that we all probably want to collectively forget as a society, but yet something we will never ever be able to do. (Just like in the song!) And when August 5th rolls around every year…this is how you remind me, of what I really am.

Are we having fun yet?

No, no.

This place is starting to drive me crazy. If I am still here seven more years from now, then something has gone horribly wrong for me. Or, that is, something has continued to go horribly wrong for me.

But whatever. Year Seven. We still here. Still taking the time to perfect the beat, still got love for the street. It’s The WAM-B-A-G. Every year, same old shit.

Get money, fuck bitches, smoke trees.

It’s all there is to it.

If he hangs himself over this, I could put an orange in his mouth and say it was a fatal wanking accident.