Ok, so this is the deal. I, Rotwire, never planned to write a blog, let alone a dawg blawg. I mean, that would be crazy, right? Sure, I’ve got mad skills and all that, but still. Besides, a blog takes work. And I’m pretty clear on how I feel about the “W word.” So, the blawg thing was never going to happen…

…Or at least it wasn’t going to until that night a few weeks back. I had just hopped out of bed and flipped on the lights in my room up over Gidget’s Gadgets, and was padding across the floor to take a couple laps in my water dish, when I glanced out the window. And, that’s when I saw him. Rich was out in front of the Inventor Sherpa Theater waiting for the Sherpa Shuttle to take him to the seamy side of town and the seventeen story walkup he uses as his pied-á-terre* on nights he works late at the theater.

I was still staring down and wondering how anyone could stay so late doing his boring job, when he turned and looked straight at me. Our eyes met for no more than an instant, but that was enough. In that sliver of time, I registered suspicion in his beady-eyed glance, but suspicion of what? What was he thinking? And then, I had my answer. He was thinking what he always had on his mind… nothing! Yet, he was suspicious of something.

If Rich wasn’t able to come up with that something on his own, then it was clear I needed to give him a nudge, give him some little upsetting morsel to chew on. So, I splashed down my last gulp of water and detoured to my ergonomic squat-stand desk near the window. Opening my laptop, I began to type furiously, like a dawg possessed… like a machine in overdrive… like the hydrocanoid that I am, looking to all the world as if I were crafting a literary masterpiece… looking like I wasn’t really pounding out “dkdkdkdkdkdkdkdk” as fast as I could.

I did actually write something the next day and, two mornings later, I dropped a few crumpled pages into the editing room trashcan, and then went on my bone break. Sure enough, Rich was upside-down trash picking with a vengeance before the door closed. That’s how he found out about Rotwire Unleashed, a fake blog that only a fool would take seriously. And, if you’re thinking what I’m thinking, and I know you are, you’d be right. Within a month, he had cranked out the first post or two of a self-protective blog he now calls the Vertigo Ledger, with every post just begging for counterpoint, crying out for someone to tell it like it is, to set the record straight.

And, that’s how Rotwire Unleashed was born, the spawn of a light hearted prank gone terribly wrong, the lovechild of deception and suspicion… a riddle, inside an enigma, wrapped in naugahyde.**

Now that I’m warming to the task, I’m finding that not too many inventions have been speaking out for fellow inventions everywhere… have been standing up for them, have been sitting down for them, have been rolling over for them… have been extending a paw to  them, exposing the abuse so many have suffered in Your Patent World.

The opportunity to don the mantle of the Inventions’ Invention, the Dawg with the Blawg, the Woofer With The Tweeter, the Bowser On Your Browser is just too compelling to ignore. So, I’m shamelessly begging you to Catch Fire with Rotwire!  Or, if not that, slip me a doggy treat.

Yours Drooling,

P.S., Whatever you do, do NOT check out the Vertigo Ledger. You’ll respect yourself in the morning.

(*)  The brilliant hydrocanoid side of Rotwire instinctively knows that pied-á terre is French for “foot on the ground,” meaning “a small living unit usually located in a city some distance away from an individual’s primary residence.”  On the other paw, the dawg side of Rotwire never consults his embedded language chip, and thinks pied-á terre has something to do with a terrier lifting it’s leg in the hallway.  Maybe there is a Dog after all!

(**)  Thanks go to Maureen McCreadie for her off-axis spin on the familiar Winston Churchill quote!