The WULAD Is Dead! Long Live the WULAD!

Hello there! Anyone still listening?

I didn't think so. That's OK, if there's one thing I've learned in my days away from this site, trying to hit the blog Big Time, it's that traffic isn't everything, and I'll take quality of at least semi-literate readers over quantity of mouth-breathers looking for nude photos of Gary Coleman any day. Although I suppose some of you could be both.

As you can see, WULAD lives again. (And with a spiffy new design, no less.)

"Wherefore do thou so?" you ask me, "and we mean 'wherefore' in its correct usage, meaning 'why,' not 'where' like idiotic high-schoolers always use it when they're reading Romeo & Juliet and checking out Olivia Hussey's teenaged rack." Well, I'll tell you. As I lay in bed last night, tossing and turning with the strains of Lionel Richie's "Sail On" looping continuously in my skull, a voice suddenly called to me from The Other Side. It was Jerry Falwell, and he drawled: "Bring back WULAD, you loser... people liked it, and most of them got the jokes... by the way, I was wrong about everything: it turns out God is a little old Vietnamese lady who smells like shoes... also, you have to pee really bad... really bad... really baaaaad..." And I awoke with a start.

Another reason to plug the old reanimation cables on to the mummified nipples of WULAD and give it some juice: although I still enjoy contributing to Junkiness on a daily basis--that's the site where I join a select group of craftspeople in looking for laughs both cheap and pricey at the expense of the rich, the powerful, and half-naked crackheads who are attacked by alligators--there are just some things I've been aching to write about that don't quite fit their format.

So I encourage you to swing by your newly-rejuvenated WULAD a few times a week (or better yet, subscribe to our RSS feed) for scathing satirical tidbits, terrifying floating heads, and slice-of-life vingettes such as the following conversation, in which I demonstrate what a maven of pop culture I truly am:

Me: We can eat wherever. I'm not trying to get up in your grill.
Her: Don't say that, please.
Me: What, "Up in your grill"? Yeah, I guess it's pretty uncool now that it's in the new Shaq movie.
Her: That's Shrek, not Shaq.

Coming up next: a new installment in the ever-expanding tome of The Bible II.