Chances are, someone thinks you suck.
Ye Ol' Blogosphere is divided into forum hounds, bloggers, and lurkers, and let's take the last first, because it's the easiest. Lurkers are the vast majority of the readership of any of our hobby sites. The proof is easy - just shake out ol' Google Analytics or whatever program you happen to be using. Now separate out the unique IP's and kick the bots in the butt and you'll get a pretty good idea of how many people are reading what you wrote.
Or at least skimming it. I try to make a science of blog-length. What's too short and what's a wall of text? Who knows? Let's push it and find out.
(Honey, where's my drugs... er, medicine?)
I'm soooo ready for medical mj and legal bj, just so I can buy that poor bastard down the street 15 seconds of happiness. He'd accept it, too, if he wants any satisfaction out of life before he croaks. His wife - I can hear her from a block away - is kinda like my ex-whore but without the redeeming qualities.
Which I can't remember now, more fool I. Thank God for Jenn and where the hell was I?
Lurkers don't post, so we know zip all about them; they may think you suck, too, but we can't know that. Let's stick with that most separate of breeds, the forum-hound and the blogger... and never the Twain shall meet in King Arthur's Yankee Doodle Dandee.
(Only Herr Fernseher will appreciate that last, I suspect.)
I'm biased towards blogs. I like the flow, I like the communication. I hate reading Dakka and watching a bunch of monkeys fucking a football. Person A asks rules question. Person B answers. Person A tells Person B he's an idiot. Person B gets offended but tries to rationalize. Person C gets involved. Lather, rinse, repeat ad nauseum.
Still, I'm aware bloggers can swarm the unsuspecting e-tard on any of a number of different sites. The battle lines are drawn... are you Bell or are you ZombY? Or do you try and please them all like a hooker at happy hour and get accused of drinking the Kool Aid?
JWolf, JWolf - he cries, typing with one hand whilst griping Mr. Bungle in the other, having had that most inquisitive and thankfully disease-free little mind grazed by the passing blow from the ZombY Master - and don't we all know the grazing blow hurts that worst?
Except for the Unicorns out there - and ya truly are that mythical 'cause I don't believe in ya one little bit.
Do I own it? Do those haunting words, "...sometimes you drink the Kool Aid," strike home, infecting my gut like Paris Hilton's favorite tapeworm? Does it send me running back into the arms of Jawaballs?
In getting along to get along I've been sent along. Nobody loves a moderate.
But I say thee nay, foul world not-to-be-confused-with-fowl-world (because bird parasites are the worst), I will continue on my coarse course, doing what I do, regardless. I will put aside the grape Kool Aid, the orange, green and blue too, and leave you with this.
I DRINK YOUR MILKSHAKE.
With my extra-long straw.
(Honey, the pink pill - the pink pill...)