Alright alright people, robots. Word has spread around the blogosphere that I may be pursuing too many other interests with my life, further fueling the mass anxiety regarding my future bloglihood. Well let your engines idle while I explain.
See, when my pen runs out of ink, I scrape tar off the racetrack with my teeth and devour squirrels, composing paragraphs with their blood. Then I send an image of it to my secretary who converts it to text and publishes it here while I RACE, people. This ain't GOLF, you whining web crawlers. Ask Mike Tice.
Look here folks, user agents. Even if I race continuously for the rest of my life, I'll still write with my tire tracks and expound with my exhaust fumes. So until I reach my final wrecking place, where of course the shrapnel and mangled organism would spell "LANCE MANTIS, RACER, BLOGGER" and probably fossilize, keep your eyes on the blog and your restrictor plates intact. I don't miss many shifts.
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