Come out, come out, wherever you are ...

Yeah, I'm talkin' ta you, ya YPaLurkers ....

Perhaps you might not have understood me. Perhaps you did not think I was speaking to you, yes YOU, when I pointed out National DeLurkers Week and requested that you leave a comment. Perhaps you thought you were better than that, or that things like that don't apply to you. Perhaps you felt that, having developed the very special Little-Sister-Mind-Reading-Machine oh-so-many-years-ago, that you didn't have to comment -- maybe you forgot and thought you were just sneaking through that non-existant passageway between our bedrooms and so you didn't need to make your presence known.

But I'm smarter than that. I know (now) that caraway seeds are not baby slugs, even though I still can't eat rye bread because of that misimpression given to me so long ago. I know (now) that poppy seeds are not ant eggs, just as I know (now) that Porkius Piggius is not Latin for "Pretty Girl." I know now that some people call 'em green onions but they're really scallions. I know (now) that the Washington Monument is not the giant's pencil (the giant of "Jack and the Beanstalk" fame), and also that the Mormon Temple is not the castle of the Wicked Witch of the West, who will send her monkeys to kidnap any little girls that look upon said castle. (Although, to my defense, the "Surrender Dorothy" graffiti has been around for close to thirty years {and, for the record, one of my brothers knows one of the originators rather well!}, with a fame that has landed it in Wikipedia and various, even good-natured Mormon, writings. Unfortunately, I can't find an photo anywhere.)

And, to prove said smartness, even now, I have my own mindreading machine. And this one doesn't involve a Radio Shack 500-in-1 kit connected to a cereal bowl. This one doesn't involve torturing stuffed animals in a manner that foreshadowed some of the Gitmo and other rendition activities of today. And yet I, even I, can see that you are out there, lurking, refusing to make your presence known. And yet, your presence is yet known.

How could you leave me hanging? After all those formative years that I spent, learning the perfect way to fetch you your beer at the merest handclap? After being your willing Deputy Babysitter? After those summer vacations when you were off from school, when you so kindly and charitably allowed me the opportunity to continue my "store" game by making you lunch every day? And, no, it's not just you three I'm referencing. What about those promises that I wouldn't tell a certain maternal matriarch that I didn't see certain movies at your house? Or not joining in on the mockery of elaborate Jello creations and failed Petit Fours? (Oh, wait .... I guess I'm not so good on that one! But at least I don't make fun of your college choice, or cheer when you kid seems to lean towards the correct one .... ummmm .... maybe I'll just stop here!)

But truly, after all we've been through .... fried gerbils on the beach, Noble Ancestor spending our inheritance (and all for a King-sized Kit-Kat?!?!?), the battles over the diamonds .... And you, you spurn me thusly?

I'm beginning to wonder .... is it really true, what the song says ....

A hand for each hand was made for the world --
Why don't my fingers reach?
Millions of grains of sand in the world --
Why such a lonely beach?
Where are two shoes to click to my clack?
Where is a voice to answer mine back?
I'm all alone in the world.

So, step up, fess up, and make your presence known. Otherwise, besides the ever-incurring badness of not pleasing Sister Mary Saintly, you will also find yourself subjected to back-to-back episodes of Father Dowling mysteries and Murder She Wrotes as acted out by the theatrical children, all under the soundtrack of that ever-so-classic Silent Night as performed by John Fahey. Even if you wanna make up a name -- that's part of the fun of this stuff. Or else, I just might have to make up a name for you ......

Besides, there are people out there in BlogLand who have not been able to sleep for months, wishing, wanting, dying for someone to please explain to them what the Three B's of the Sing-Along Messiah are. Plus, think about it. I'm the one in control here. I'm Googlable, and I might just happen to accidentally link your name with some picture of, oh I don't know, some food-showing, perhaps? You've all already shown up here at various points in time, so here's your chance to clear your name. At least give me credit for all I've done to support my team ....

And not delurking, why that's, that's, that's reprehensible. It's almost like stealing my pen and pencible. What with all that sneering and leering so naughtily -- really, you ought to be in jail!

Come on, guys, you can't be that ashamed of me .... at least I don't do drugs!