It has come to my attention here at Chancing My Arm Towers that there is a growing fondness for classing the readers of any particular blog as one distinct group, easily referred to by some humorous plural noun. It works beautifully for summarily dismissing any large number of people.
Bock's readers are Bockolytes (but not, I repeat not, minions). Twenty, being special, gets to have both Bootboys and Lapdogs. Gimme's readers are, I dunno, Dickheads, probably.
So now I have come to the realisation that you, my dear readers, you who unerringly read my every utterance with nary a moment of doubt in your mind, you, too, deserve a collective title to properly indicate your full uniformity of thought and venom. You have earned this right through your regular attendance, haphazard commenting, and steadfast, unswerving agreement with everything I say. Because you only read my blog, right?
But what to call you? The Chancing My Army? Too obvious. Andrew's Arseholes? No, no, no. Should I call you Legion, for you are many? Hmmm...you're not that many. From today and forever more I christen you Andrew's Elite Death Squadron of Crack Robot Warriors in Pursuit of the Upholding of Truth, Justice, Righteousness, Global Hegemony and All-Round Superbness and Excellence. It was only one of a number of submissions from a think-tank (oh, how I love a good think-tank) consisting of Kofi Annan, Former Taoiseach Albert Reynolds, Dale Winton and Senator George Mitchell. I chose it for its concise expression of all that I stand for.
You will, of course, all be given ranks within AEDSCRWPUTJRGHARSE (for short). Expressions of your warm admiration in comments will not help you gain a favourable commanding position in AEDSCRWPUTJRGHARSE, as I know you all already harbour such thoughts toward me (I really must thank you for those, I use them to heat my manservant's quarters at night). But I am now ready to reveal that you, Bloglines subscriber in New Delhi (yes, you, I see you there), shall be awarded the rank of Starboard Admiral. And you, mystery reader in Fethard, Co. Tipperary whom I contemplated popping in for a cup of tea, slice of brack and an old chinwag with in on my way down to Cork a few months ago, you can be Wing Commander (I don't know which wing yet).
And you all, from now on, shall be expected, nay, ordered to excoriate, eviscerate and email any other bloggers whose opinion differ from those stipulated in the contract you all signed up to when you agreed to read this blog. And, naturally, write nasty posts about them on your own inferior blogs, should you have them. But only, only on my command. Heel!