What are Weblogs? Ass-wiping journals of course.

RB from 2 years ago commenting on Dave Winer's 'What are Weblogs?'

Dave's post of this morning, What are weblogs?, was fine as far as it went. But what seemed to be missing in those level-headed definitions -- to my twisted head anyway -- was any sense of humor, fun, absurdity, surrealism, lunacy, derangement, folly, preposterousness, irrationality, nonsense, balderdash, blatherskite, bunkum, bullshit, and divine madness. In short, those qualities that continue to make life worth living. In shorter still: gonzo.

And now you know.

...and in case you wanted to find out how they used to blog 500 years ago here is the short discourse on ass-wiping from none other than Monsieur Rabelais Zazuzi Zazuzon (as quoted by RB on the same archive page I pointed to you earlier)

Afterwards, I wiped my ass, said Gargantua, with a kerchief, with a pillow, with a pantoufle, with a pouch, with a pannier, but that was a wicked and unpleasant torchcul; then with a hat. Of hats, note, that some are shorn, and others shaggy, some velveted, others covered with taffities, and others with satin. The best of all these is the shaggy hat, for it makes a very neat abstertion of the fecal matter. Afterwards, I wiped my tail with a hen, a cock, with a pullet, with a calf's skin, with a hare, with a pigeon, with a cormorant, with an attorney's bag, with a montero, with a coif, with a falconer's lure. But to conclude, I say and maintain, that of all torcheculs, arsewisps, bumfodders, tail napkins, bung-hole cleansers, and wipe breeches, there is none in the world comparable to the neck of a goose that is well downed, if you hold her neck betwixt you legs. And believe me therein upon mine honour, for you will thereby feel in your nockhole a most wonderful pleasure, both in regard to the softness of the said down, and the temperate heat of the goose, which is easily communicated to the bum-gut, and the rest of the inwards, in so far as to come even to the regions of the heart and brains. And think not that the felicity of the heroes and demigods in the Elysian fields consisteth either in their Asphodel, Ambrosia or Nectar, as our old women here used to say; but in this, according to my judgement, that they wipe their tails with the neck of a goose, holding her head betwixt their legs, and such is the opinion of Master John of Scotland, alias Scotus.