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Blogger Simulator: Attempt To Navigate Your Way Through The Day Of A Blogger

Paramedics, brain surgeons, lawyers. Stressful jobs no doubt, but they all are relatively one dimensional. The paramedic requires speed. The surgeon; smarts. And the lawyer, wit. Imagine if there was a career out there demanding all three. As hard to believe as it seems, there is one. 

The blogger. 

Cultivating stories and giving our thoughts and clever remarks on them, all whilst racing against our peers to be published first. For every Texas instagram model with a duo of mammaries defying gravity, the Arizona Wildcat with a primo pair of milkers, or a coed from Tulsa with not just one, but two perfect round breasts, there’s a race to publish a story on it. 

It’s a career not for the faint of heart. And for all of those who don’t have the desire to disappoint their parents and confuse their grandma, it’s an occurrence few will ever get to truly experience. That is, until now. Below, you can put yourself in the shoes of America’s bravest and simulate a day in the life of the internet's oldest profession. 

All you have to do is read the passage and click your decision. Your story will unfold right before your very eyes.

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Wake Up

“Ohhhhhh, give me the beat, boys, and free my soul I wanna get lost in your rock and…” The sound of your Uncle Kracker alarm lets you know it’s 11:50am, the crack of dawn. Your eyes open up slowly. You roll over, contemplating hitting snooze one or two times. But as you’re about to hit that temptress of a button to prolong your slumber, you realize who and what you are. You are a warrior wordsmith of the web. A voice for the voiceless, and most likely, a prosesmith for those taking prolonged a shit at work. You are a blogger. Your brain is already in hyperdrive thinking of ways to find inspiration to write about before the morning crust is even out of your eyes. You decide to hit one of your regular spots on the internet to find a topic worthy of your time.

Check Youtube

Check Facebook

Check Instagram


YouTube

You go to the top of your browser and begin to type y…o…u, alphabetical order and your browser history reminds you of some past animalistic transgressions, you continue to type. 

The familiar homepage of Youtube appears on your filthy MacBook screen. “Ahh here we go”, you mutter to yourself. 2 videos catch your eye. A trailer for the newest Madea film, and a music video to a mid 2000’s band.

Click the Madea trailer

Click the music video


Madea

“Ohhhh Lordt I can’t even”, the sound of actual billionaire Tyler Perry fills your ears. 

You smile. 

This trailer has all the makings of another classic. You copy the hyperlink and begin your critique of it. You type away, including stills from the trailer,  your personal fan theories, and even expand on your thoughts on the direction of the Madea Cinematic Universe.

You put the finishing touches on it and are about to click publish, but before you can, you see a familiar reflection in the background. A beige clad man. “What in the fuck do you think you’re doing?” 

The last thing you see before life leaves your body is a triple figure haircut standing over you, gun barrel smoking.

Restart


Music Video

Like others, you have an itch for nostalgia and the only thing that can scratch it is a 480p video of Uncle Kracker’s hit song Drift Away. After a quick copy and paste of the URL you sit back and look at it on the page. Does it need more? 

Post it with no words

Expand a bit on it


Expand On It

You throw together a blurb beneath about how this song reminds you of Homecoming ‘07, not that you went, but from hearing it play in the background of a grainy Motorola RAZR video of your then-girlfriend grinding on the kid who got expelled for stealing a welding machine out of shop class.

Almost done, you reach into the depths of your mind, wracking your brain to think of the most important aspect of a blog; the title. You sit and think for what feels like an eternity until the perfect title hits you. It’s something you do every morning. And the best blogs are based on experience. 

“Wake Up with Uncle Kracker: Drift Away”.  

You click publish and kick back, taking in your job well done. 

You glance over at the clock…it reads 12:01.

Panic and embarrassment washes over you. A Wake Up blog in the afternoon? The number one blog crime. Seconds pass and you receive the inevitable email of your firing.

Restart


Post With No Words

“Who am I to explain this song to people? Everybody should listen to Unk Kracker, reflect, and form their own opinion on it, as all good art should.”, you say to yourself, not believing a single word. The thought of people questioning why they wouldn’t just go to YouTube if they wanted to watch the video without any context never once crosses your mind.

Time for the finishing touches. The title hits you. You keystroke in Wake Up with Uncle Kracker: Drift Away with such haste it’s shaking your poorly constructed IKEA Skarsta.

You click publish, after what feels like minutes of work. You check the time. 11:51. Perfect. You sit back and and stare at it. Practically leaping off the page when compared to other boring blogs.

Another job well done. For you have discovered the biggest loophole in blogging. The best blogs aren't a collection “words” or “jokes” or “opinions”, but they are the memories and feelings you invoke in the reader.

YOU HAVE CREATED A PERFECT BLOG. YOU WIN


Facebook

You decide upon Facebook. Before you even have the chance to scroll the sad stream of 3 year old memes and high school classmate deaths you see a top news story with some juicy content.

Write about this topic

Keep searching


Keep searching

You continue your descent into the Zuckerbergian hellscape. Your two fingers are flicking the trackpad at speeds that would make your girlfriend's clitoris shudder. 

There are so many photos of pregnant women you'd think you were clicking the back button on Ken Bone’s browser window. The sight of these full bellies makes you realize yours is empty. You are starving, and no artist can work on an empty stomach. You need sustenance now.

Check Pantry

Go Out to Eat


Check the Pantry

You stand up and moan. This is the most exercise you have gotten in weeks, but that doesn't concern you. The best bloggers are more sedentary than most coral reefs. 

Since you haven’t grocery shopped in months, as going in public gives you severe panic attacks, there is just a lone, dusty box of cereal on the shelf.

You sit down and open the box. No milk. You begin to shovel the wheat circles down your throat.

In an effort to distract yourself with how far you’ve fallen, you flip the box over to see if there’s any sort of puzzle on the back.

“Perfect”, you say under your General Mills scented breath, “a maze.” Eviscerating a labyrinth that was obviously made for kids should do wonders for your confidence. You place the bitten nail of your index finger on the cardboard and begin your trek.

As soon as you enter its crooked jowels, you are met with a decision. Do you turn south, or continue east?

South

East


South

You enter the maze and turn south. As you clumsily navigate your way through, inching closer to the promised land, your heart sinks.

A dead end.

What have you become? A grown man, sitting in his RevTown jeans eating dry cereal at noon. You feel yourself begin to weep. You try to catch your breath and gain composure, but as you do, a shard of Jeff D LO’s shoots down your esophagus, lodging itself firmly in place. 

You scramble to the fridge to get any liquid.You faintly open up the door, only to find it barren.

Vision fading, you look back to the cereal box that led to your demise. As you collapse to the floor, you swear the well groomed man on the box winks at you.

Restart


East

You choose to go east. And a good choice that is. You progress further and further into the twisting path. Soon, another decision awaits.

North

East


East

Your gut tells you to once again to go east. And it proves to be the right choice. You advance deeper and deeper into this hackey excuse to raise the click count of a blog.

Your next choice is crucial.

South

East


North

You choose turn north. As you clumsily navigate your way through, inching closer to the promised land, your heart sinks.

A dead end.

What have you become? A grown man, sitting in his RevTown jeans eating dry cereal at noon. You feel yourself begin to weep. You try to catch your breath and gain composure, but as you do, a shard of Jeff D LO’s shoots down your esophagus, lodging itself firmly in place. 

You scramble to the fridge to get any liquid.You faintly open up the door, only to find it barren.

Vision fading, you look back to the cereal box that led to your demise. As you collapse to the floor, you swear the well groomed man on the box winks at you.

Restart


South

You choose turn south. As you clumsily navigate your way through, inching closer to the promised land, your heart sinks.

A dead end.

What have you become? A grown man, sitting in his RevTown jeans eating dry cereal at noon. You feel yourself begin to weep. You try to catch your breath and gain composure, but as you do, a shard of Jeff D LO’s shoots down your esophagus, lodging itself firmly in place. 

You scramble to the fridge to get any liquid.You faintly open up the door, only to find it barren.

Vision fading, you look back to the cereal box that led to your demise. As you collapse to the floor, you swear the well groomed man on the box winks at you.


Restart


East

"East again, it's gotta be.", you say to yourself, taking a second realize that you are probably going to die alone.

Almost there. You can sense the ending near.

A few more turns and you are in the clear

West

South


West

You choose continue west. As you clumsily navigate your way through, inching closer to the promised land, your heart sinks.


A dead end.

What have you become? A grown man, sitting in his RevTown jeans eating dry cereal at noon. You feel yourself begin to weep. You try to catch your breath and gain composure, but as you do, a shard of Jeff D LO’s shoots down your esophagus, lodging itself firmly in place. 

You scramble to the fridge to get any liquid.You faintly open up the door, only to find it barren.

Vision fading, you look back to the cereal box that led to your demise. As you collapse to the floor, you swear the well groomed man on the box winks at you.


Restart


South

Holy fuck you're doing it. The blog is completely out of your mind now. The maze is all that matters.

The choice is yours and yours alone.

South

East


East

You choose east. As you clumsily navigate your way through, inching closer to the promised land, your heart sinks.

A dead end.

What have you become? A grown man, sitting in his RevTown jeans eating dry cereal at noon. You feel yourself begin to weep. You try to catch your breath and gain composure, but as you do, a shard of Jeff D LO’s shoots down your esophagus, lodging itself firmly in place. 

You scramble to the fridge to get any liquid.You faintly open up the door, only to find it barren.

Vision fading, you look back to the cereal box that led to your demise. As you collapse to the floor, you swear the well groomed man on the box winks at you.


Restart


South

Again you progress through the walls of this fictional scenario about a fictional blogger playing a children's game on a fictional box of cereal.

You've never felt better.

One more choice and the maze has been vanquished.

South

East


South

What in the everliving fuck were you thinking? Inexcusable. 

A dead end.

What have you become? A grown man, sitting in his RevTown jeans eating dry cereal at noon. You feel yourself begin to weep. You try to catch your breath and gain composure, but as you do, a shard of Jeff D LO’s shoots down your esophagus, lodging itself firmly in place. 

You scramble to the fridge to get any liquid.You faintly open up the door, only to find it barren.

Vision fading, you look back to the cereal box that led to your demise. As you collapse to the floor, you swear the well groomed man on the box winks at you.


Restart


Pass Maze

You make your way for the exit. Your keyboard callused phalange whipping around the corners at rapid speeds that would make David Bowie’s head spin. You feel yourself get closer to the exit. The light at the end of the tunnel is visible. 


You enter the home stretch of the maze, taking one last turn.

Your heart rate rivals Brandon Walker when he sees a Big Texas Cinnamon Roll.

You exit the maze unscathed. Breathing heavily, you almost don't notice the box glowing. You drop it out of fear. 

The glow only grows brighter.

It's blinding now.

A figure materializes directly in front of you. 

"Make your wish.", the booming voice says.

"Milk for the cereal"

"I want people to raise uncomfortable questions with hard to explain answers to me when I'm in public."


Milk for the Cereal

"Your wish is granted."

The light vanishes as quickly as it appeared.

Before you is an ice cold gallon of 2%.

You pick it up and immediately spill the entire thing in your living room. You don't have the energy to clean it up. You need to blog.

Should you write about this experience? Or continue to look for inspiration elsewhere?

Blog about Cereal Genie

Look on Instagram

Look on Twitter


Blog about Cereal Genie

You figure this is a significant enough event to blog about. You begin to work on the story, and decide to use your past experience as a web designer to make it into an interactive blog in order to cover up for an otherwise shallow story. You put the finishing touches on it, and post it, hoping for the best.

You publish and close your sticker riddled work issued laptop for a bit.

Hours pass and you decide to see if anybody enjoyed your work. You open up the page and are shocked. Impossible. This is a bloggers worst nightmare. 

Zero comments. You are floored. A niche blog that only interests you and you alone garnered zero comments. You are an embarrassment to your craft.

Restart


Go Out to Eat

"Eh, I haven't been outside in a few days. I'll go grab a bite out. Maybe even a drink."

You text your best work friend and personal idol, Nick, to see if they want to join. They text back immediately, "Dude? What? It's the middle of a work day. Absolutely not."

"Ok pussy.", you reply.

Looks like you're flying solo. Nick is always worrying. What's the worst that could happen?

Oh no.

Drinking completely alone with nobody else in the middle of the day? A bad look. You beeline home to start applying for new jobs.

Restart


Write about Facebook Topic

Fuck it. Let's write about this. You are unsure if it's true…but its juicy.

You write and write. After a brisk reread, you're actually proud of your story. This'll surely make Northwestern regret that rejection.

You publish and smile to yourself.

As soon as you publish, your phone rings. A number from Washington, DC.

"H-hello?", you answer nervously.

A booming Xerxes-esque voice is on the other side of the call.

"Heard you were talking shit."

"Wha…what are you talking about?"

"You said I was 3 boys in an overcoat. I'm here to prove that wrong."

You shit your Revtown jeans, unsure if from fear or the brown noise decibel reached by Barron's voice.

You rush over to your front door camera. 

Nothing.

"Heh heh heh, foolish man, look out your window."

You drop the phone. Impossible. You live on the 11th floor…

A giant  hand crashes through the late glass with ease.

You are gripped with unbelievable force.

The last thing you hear is your own spine breaking at the hands of this big ass boy.

Restart


Instagram

You click on Instagram in hopes for any semblance of blog material. After a bit of scrolling you narrow it down to 2 choices. A dog in a cup, and a chick with A-cup.

Which do you blog about?

Hot Chick

Dog


Dog

You choose the dog. As you compose your blog, you use vernacular such as "doggo" and "pupperino" to appeal to people that also laugh at keys jingling. Your nose starts to bleed a bit. You know it's one "woofer" away from a full blown aneurysm. 

Your pride swallowed long ago, you publish.

As soon as you close your laptop, your phone starts blowing up. 

"Dude I can't believe you plagiarized."

"What the fuck man. Thought you were above theft."

"Can't be funny on your own huh?"

You get one final text. Upon seeing it, you know your career is over.

Chapmanned.

Restart


Hot Chick

You decide on the chick. 

You have enough adjectives for "hot" to keep the story from being redundant. As you reach the halfway point by finishing the intro sentence, you realize you're in a bit of a pickle. Where does the story go from here? You're at a journalistic crossroads.

What is the focal point of the blog?

Her breasts

Her buttocks


Butt

You go to thesarus.com and toss in a couple of "plump posteriors" and "killer kiesters". After a few more remarks about how she'd look in a pair of Revtown's and voila. A blog!

You post and see you already have a comment.

As a voice for the voiceless, a man of the people, you've done your job.

YOU HAVE CREATED A PERFECT BLOG. YOU WIN


Breasts

You go to thesarus.com and toss in a couple of "buoyant bosoms" and "mighty milkers". After a few more remarks about how she'd look in a Melty's t-shirt and voila. A blog!

You post and see you already have a comment.

Your one single job was to entertain your audience. And you failed. Use this as a chance to grow, and become better.

Restart