The Blog Post in Which My Feet are Held to the Fire, written by P.L. Cobb, with the help of Mitchell Stoycheff and R.J. Davies
Essay, Humour

The Blog Post in Which My Feet are Held to the Fire

Are you ready to fall down a rabbit hole with me? It’s a fun hole, I promise. It’s filled with dark whimsy and all sorts of surprises.

–P.L. Cobb

Toasty Feet and Nasty–Well …

No feet were actually harmed at any point of this, and I still have mine at the end of my legs. What a relief! The only harm that these little peds of mine have ever experienced has come from:

A.) Inadequate footwear,
B.) Ridiculous footwear,
C.) My attempt at climbing a fence as a kid,
D.) My foot crashing through that one spot of my cousin’s deck where the wood was rotting (I blame the dog), and
E.) The poor condition of the roads and sidewalks of Sault Ste. Marieknown affectionately as Sleepy Sault Ste. Marie to some, and Sault Ste. Misery to others.

The connection between feet and fire is very, very thin here, but if you were to ask if my ego had been tossed into the washer and dryer for a few cycles, and then unceremoniously tossed into a convection oven for 45 minutes at 450 degrees then I would be forced to concede that you are not far off … My guest bloggers were none too pleased with me either.

“Wait,” you mutter under your breath. “She hasn’t explained the crime she’s committing.” I’ve allowed you to tumble down into this rabbit hole with nary a tether to the real world. That’s a crime against you for sure! Whoopsy! Consider this, though: when was the last time I actually wrote a blog post? Whatever happened to that shiny little schedule I once clung to?

“Schedules are the lifeblood of a blog! No schedule means no views, and no views equals no ad revenue!” You hiss as if blinded by the light; such is the effect of this rather forlorn revelation. The person who entered this new year starry-eyed, with hopes and dreams of a better future, has turned into something unrecognizable. Ugh! Bad, bad, nasty Cobb! Shame on them!

What could have happened to such a sweet, little girl–apparently the girl is me, but how could I have thrown the wool over your eyes with such a torrid deception; how could I have led you to believe that I was sweet or innocent? Only bad girls do this. No. Not bad girls. Nasty women. Devil women.

“Now she’s REALLY lost it!” you think to yourself.

You’re probably right. A normal person, which I am obviously not, would have straight out told you that they became busy and had to prioritize other things. In a perfect world that would have been the case. I’m not sure if normal people are allowed to have blogs, honestly. What does normal really mean in this context anyway?

Rhonda: It means NOT YOU, SWEETIE!

Rhonda’s Rhoast

Cobb you need an exorcist because this blog is cold, bleak and dead, much like our hopes of you returning–and it’s definitely because of the liches! Stop showing me pictures of your skeleton dad, and … You know what, let’s just pause for a moment sweetie. Skeleton dad? Penny, I realize you have been busy with your life, but I am very disappointed in you. Before you fly off on an eggnog induced tangent YES this is related to skeleton dad.

Rhonda wants you to know that P.L. Cobb is in some deep shit! Only at www.plcobb.comYou’ve spent a good chunk of this year sulking, procrastinating, and (of all things) drawing pictures of the undead. Should I be calling the exorcist? If I have to then that’s a sign of how sad things have gotten. Hun, this is North America. North America is supposed to be enlightened. It’s obviously not.

I had a nightmare about your skeleton dad once. It was horrifying, and when I told you about it you laughed. I’m convinced that you aren’t really human, and that you never truly were. Surely you are coming to that point in your life where you are ready to turn into a scary person-cocoon. That’s gross, by the way. If this is the case and I catch you crawling out of your skin like the caterpillar out of hell then I am going straight to your house with a rusty mace.

Skeleton Dad. Cobb, please explain yourself …
Eww, why is Skeleton Dad crying? Why is Skeleton Dad a thing?

To prove to us that you are a human (who poops out of their butt) you must answer us these questions 9! I say Us because Mitchell is involved, and everyone knows that things are done better as a tag team!

The Interrogation

RJD: Remember the time where you actually posted once every week? You know, when you started this blog earlier this year?

a.) Were you kidnapped by snakes?
No, snakes do not have hands. If they do then they are not snakes.

b.) Did you fall down a well?
I don’t believe that I have; something as traumatic as that would surely leave a mark. If I did fall down a well then someone would know about it. There is another angle to this question, if you really think about it: the well could have swallowed me up, so if there was a well in my past this is probably what happened, simply because nothing is ever simple with me.

c.) Did you fall down a hole on the dark side of the moon?
This sounds like a repeat of the previous question. Did you fall down a hole on the dark side of the moon?

d.) Were you kidnapped by a malignant onion?
Like snakes onions do not have arms, though it is possible for them to have minions. But that’s not the question though, is it?

Do you really want to know what happened to me? I became depressed, and I needed to take a break for my mental health. Some new people have come into my life, and some old people have shown themselves the way out (rather inelegantly too).  I found new work in my field, and I’ve been seeing a counsellor. The blog is important to me, but I needed to start putting my own well being first.

MS: What weird thing do you enjoy doing?
Lately I’ve been scrolling through Instagram, looking at all of the fantastic illustrations of undead that people create. It’s research for my book, all right? Have you ever seen a Chet Zar painting? Whenever you get around to that you’ll understand my weird fascination. You literally cannot look away.

Maybe this is what Pinhead looks for in dates. I’m not really interested though.

MS: Do words have feelings? Or is it simply the feelings we give to the words?
Geez you guys, it’s basically 12 am and you’re making me think about philosophy?

Well, whatever then. I believe that words can have power, but only the power that you give them. If the words have feelings, then it is you who makes it so. Ergo you are a magician.

RJD: What are your plans for the new year?
Well I would like to improve upon my art. I would also like to focus more on steady work, and simplify what is going on in my life. That means less freelance, which really means no freelance at all. I’m also going to say no to a lot of things, for the sake of my sanity.

I do plan on putting more time into this blog. Hopefully that was a no-brainer.

MS: What’s something your brain tries to make you do and you have to will yourself not to do it?
Wake up in the morning. Do I win? Are you convinced of my humanity yet?

RJD: What projects have you been working on?
Ha, ha, well … For one I have started a new project called Late To The Party, where I read 50 Shades of Grey and share my thoughts. It’s possible that I may end up rewriting the entire damn book. I’m also working on outlines for several stories that I am working on.

Yes, dammit, I’m writing a book!

RJD: Did you dance under the last full moon … sacrificing the souls of your characters in your latest book?
Rhonda, you’re questioning me to see if I’m still a regular human, but I think it should be the other way around. The answer to your question is no. I am curious though: how does one go about doing this, and what are the benefits?

MS: What story has besieged you and why the hell did you let yourself get captured?

Well, there is a story, but I won’t go into much detail. It features undead characters. I’m allowing myself to say that much. I’ve been outlining and writing for it on and off for the entire year.

As for why I allowed myself to become captured … I couldn’t help it, and the premise spoke to me. It’s my therapy. Deal with it.

MS: What is your theory of existential dread?
Hey guys, I don’t hide what I do. If I do I’m failing exponentially at it. What is my theory of existential dread? That my cat is actually a purple chicken who speaks only in riddles every second full moon. What does that mean? You tell me.

The Verdict

I am a flawed person, and definitely human.

I also like scary things. Two words to describe me would be dark and whimsical, which isn’t special at all. Maybe the lesson of this year was to finally learn how to accept that part of myself, and to finally accept that certain people in my life would never accept me for who I was at all.

Oh, crap run. Nothing makes sense anymore.
Where did the hair come from?

I have an interesting past, and this particular story has helped me to come to terms with certain aspects of said past. I am referring to the story with the undead characters.

No, I am not living in a fantasy world, although a certain someone would swear that I was. Another thing to note is that no one has been replaced; if someone has left my life I have learned to move on from that. Skeleton Dad is just a character concept. Long story short, there’s no need for an exorcism. It wouldn’t solve any of my problems.

Long story short, I had an obligation to inform my readers of what was going on, and I didn’t do it promptly enough. I’m sorry. Life is a learning process. On a more positive note I finished the rough draft for my first ever manuscript! That’s exciting news for me!

And for those of you wondering … Yes, I am forcing myself to read 50 Shades of Grey. I like bad movies, so maybe I will like bad books? Is 50 Shades of Grey on par with The Room? Probably not, but I’m doing a thing.

Wish me luck, dear reader, and have a very Whimsical Holiday, a very Merry Christmas, and a Happy Heathen Holiday too!

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