Let me count the ways:
1. Markos. Dude only works two hours a day. He's on paternity leave. And yet, does he post baby pictures every day? No! C'mon Moulitsas: make with the kid. You know that's what all the surrogate creeps aunts, uncles and grandparents want to see. Markos is forgiven. Bill, Joan? Who's going to be the next to step up to the plate?
- Bill in Portland Maine: if I have to look at you one more time with your underwear around your head, I swear to God I'm going to have George Clooney buy you a drink at the next Yearly Kos. Honestly.
- mcjoan. Dammit, stop making change for yourself when the collection plate comes around.
- Freakin' blah-blah-blah. There's too damn much talking that goes on around here. I can't get a word in edgewise. Even worse, it's all this talk, and nobody says anything about me. George Bush this, Alberto Gonzalez that, Grover Norquist ooh-la-la. Don't you people know you've got more important things to discuss like my slim physique and astonishing mental powers? Don't make me hire Bruckheimer to do the sequel, people. I can't afford all those backlit gasoline explosions.
- Almost forgot: Yearly Kos. Yeah, I came up with the idea. What's it to ya? They're having it in Chicago this year, practically in my back yard. And they're tarting it up with a star-filled line-up. (If, that is, by "star" you mean George Clooney* coming around to collect a paycheck. What the hell has that hack done recently, anyway?) Gina, the idea was to have a nice, quiet affair by the beach somewhere so we could all write off our bar tabs. Like the American Dental Association "continuing ed" racket, yah? But no, you had to go for presidential contenders! You had to go for the Cubby homeworld and georgia10's stomping grounds! You had to go for somewhere that Bob Johnson could just pedal his way down to! Sadistic, ain't you? Now I'm going to have no choice but to go, and it's all your fault.
- Me. Jeebus, every diary I do has the same name. WTDO (what the dilly-o)? And all that prayin' and sanctimification. Yeesh.
- User IDs. Let me tell you young pups something: it was all downhill when they hit 11,000. And after Na na na na na na na na Batman, all the clever names have been taken. (And yes, that includes Da na na na na na na na Batman, too. And another thing: what's up with all the old-timers leaving? For crying in the night, without DelawareDem to kick around, it's just not the same any more.
- No more Pie Wars. Sure, there's still arguments here. There's still trolls. But nowadays, the fights are just mean-spirited and the trolls are stupid. Back in my day, the battles were epic and deliriously out-of-control. When was the last time anyone got away with a highly-recommended GBCW diary titled "Delete My Fucking Account, Kos"?
- Oh, and another thing: Less Chat, More Splat. What did happen to the GBCW diaries that went on and on and on with the deliciously heartless comments in return? God, I tell you, it's just no fun to watch users self-immolate anymore.
- Oh, and stay off my lawn, you damn kids. Whippersnappers.
- You. Listen, Tubby, if I'd wanted to argue with a pinhead, I start a Zippy blog. I've got far better things to do than converse with someone who's got halitosis, fewer social skills than a room full of Trekkers, and political opinions formed by huffing gas fumes and reading Z-List bloggers like Street Prophets. Unless you've got something to say about me (see points 4. and 6. above) or a magic pony plan to bring back fafblog!, I'm not interested. Stop refreshing the goddamn page, put down the Cheetos, and take out the trash like your mother asked to do hours ago. Oh, and in case it hasn't already been made abundantly clear: I do not actually give a shit if you are religious or not.
And the number one thing I hate about Daily Kos?