I’m bored.  Listening to Monday Night Football and contemplating the end of the Republic as we had known it.  (Man, I hope we can still post two diaries a day.  Because if we can’t, I may get kicked out of one of the only places I feel even close to sane anymore).

So, bored, and reading some of the crazy crap on dKos (another meta-diary about if it is cool to hate Bush or not) I got to thinking.  There was some speculation that the new diary was some kind of troll-based operation to make the site go nuts and argue with itself.

And that got me to thinking, maybe, just maybe, it is time for another life-experiment.  Something far less radical than quitting blogging for a month and a half to be misinformed by the New York Times, mind you.
This idea is still in the gestational stages of my mind, as I type, so feel free to help me modify it.  To make it better.  Or to abort it in cranium.

I am thinking that it would be very fun to form a group of elite Tribbers, who band together, and go undercover to establish identities at some wing-nutty site.  I don’t even know their names for sure.  And I have only very rarely seen the sites.  But I just thought it would be fun to go there, with a whole bunch of undercover Tribbers.  Maybe settle in for a while (not to the neglect of the Booman Tribune, mind you — this would have to be done in spare time) like the French resistance or something.

And carry out certain subversive projects.  I am not sure what, exactly.  Maybe get some of the wing-nuts to open their eyes.  Although that might be overly helpful.  Maybe just to sow unhelpful diaries, so they can get elevated, and purposefully divide wing-nut from wing-nut.  To weaken their cause.

Man.  As I am typing this, I am convinced that I may have lost my mind?  Am I sounding crazy here?

Anyway.  If you want to volunteer for this complete inanity, sign on below.  Or if I have just gone off somehow, and you would like to save me from myself, I am happy to understand where I went wrong.

I’ll close with a much underused amenity for myself.  The dreaded poll.

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