Dedicated to some of the funniest writers on OS. And to quote another Shakespeare character:

If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended—
That you have but slumbered here
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend.
If you pardon, we will mend.
And, as I am an honest Puck,
If we have unearnèd luck
Now to ’scape the serpent’s tongue,
We will make amends ere long.
Else the Puck a liar call.
So good night unto you all.
Give me your hands if we be friends,
And Robin shall restore amends.

Without further ado, I present a reimagined balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet...

Cranky Cuss logs in to OS

Cranky Cuss  

He jests at comments that never felt a wound.

Writer Mom appears above at a window 

But, soft! what light through yonder monitor breaks?
It is the east, and Writer Mom is the sun.
Arise, fair Writer Mom, and replace the envious Ann,
Who is already proud and radiant with Editor Picks,
That thou her maid art far more humorous than she:
Be not her maid, since she is proud;
Her blog posts are but healthy and green
And none but fools do read them; cast them off.
It is my lady, O, it is my love!
O, that she knew she were!
She blogs yet she does not PM: what of that?
Her hands type; I will answer them.
I am too bold, 'tis not to me she writes:
Two of the fairest hands in all the heaven,
Having some inspiration, do entreat her fingers
To move on the keyboard until she is done.
What if her posts were there, on the cover of OS?
The brightness of her post would shame Kit and Monkey Sue,
As ratings doth a post; her comments
Would through the ethereal internet stream so fast
That bloggers would applaud and think it were an EP.
See, how she places her hand upon the mouse!
O, that I were a speck of dust upon that mouse,
That I might touch that hand!

Writer Mom   

Ay OS!

Cranky Cuss  

She writes:
O, write again, bright angel! for thou art
As humorous to this man, being a Yankee transplant
As is an illiterate redneck
To the well-read masses
Of OS that read your blog
When you write of southern weddings
And bugs large enough for saddles. 

Writer Mom

O Cranky Cuss, Cranky Cuss! wherefore art thou Cranky Cuss?
Deny thy LC Neal and refuse thy Kit;
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my favorite,
And I'll no longer be a southener.

Cranky Cuss

 [Aside] Shall I read more, or shall I PM at this?

Writer Mom'

Tis but thy name that is my enemy;
Thou art thyself, though not Cranky.
What's Cranky? it is nor rating, nor PM,
Nor comment, nor recommendation, nor any other thing
Belonging to OS. O, be some other name!
What's in a name? that which we call a laugh
By any other name would be just as funny;
So Cranky would, were he not Cranky call'd,
Retain that dear crankiness which he owes
Without that title. Cranky, doff thy name,
And for that name which is no part of thee
Take all myself.

Cranky Cuss

 I take thee at thy word:
Call me but Don Juan, and I'll be newly titled;
Henceforth I never will be Cranky.

Writer Mom

What man art thou that thus virtually hidden
So stumblest on my blog?

Cranky Cuss

 By a name
I know not how to tell thee who I am:
My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,
Because it is an enemy to thee;
Had I it written, I would tear the word.

Writer Mom

My eyes have not yet read a hundred posts
Of that blogger’s, yet I know the style:
Art thou not Cranky and a Cuss?

Cranky Cuss

 Neither, fair Writer Mom, if either thee dislike.

Writer Mom

How camest thou hither, tell me, and wherefore?
The firewalls are secured and hard to hack,
And the place death, considering who thou art,
If any of my readers find thee here.

Cranky Cuss

 With mouse's many clicks did I o'er-perch these walls;
For three-day feeds cannot hold posts out,
And what favorites can do that dares favorites attempt;
Therefore thy frying pans are no let to me.

Writer Mom

If they do see thee, they will PM thee.

Cranky Cuss

 Alack, there lies more peril in thine words
Than twenty of their PMs: comment thou but sweet,
And I am proof against their enmity.

Writer MomI would not for the world they read thee here.

Cranky Cuss

 I have my computer’s firewall to hide me from their sight;
And but thou love me, let them find me here:
My blog were better ended by their comments,
Than death prorogued, wanting of thy ratings.

Writer Mom

By whose direction found'st thou out this blog?

Cranky Cuss

 By the feed, who first did prompt me to inquire;
He lent me counsel and I lent him eyes.
I am no editor; yet, wert thou as far
As that vast OS feed with the most read in a week,
I would adventure for such posts.

Writer Mom

Thou know'st the mask of mud is on my face,
Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek
For that which thou hast seen me write to-night
Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny
What I have written: but farewell ratings!
Dost thou rate me? I know thou wilt say 'Ay,'
And I will take thy word: yet if thou swear'st,
Thou mayst prove false; at commenter's perjuries
Then say, Jove laughs. O gentle Cranky,
If thou dost comment, pronounce it loudly:
Or if thou think'st I am too quickly rated,
I'll frown and be pissed an say thee nay,
So thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world.
In truth, fair Cuss, I am too funny,
And therefore thou mayst think my writing light:
But trust me, funny man, I'll prove more true
Than those bunnies at Walgreens.
I should have been more serious, I must confess,
But that thou read, ere I was ware,
My true post's vision: therefore pardon me,
And not impute this writing to light spirit,
Which the box wine hath so inspired.

Cranky Cuss

 Lady, by yonder blessed Cover I swear
That tips with ratings all these posts--

Writer Mom

O, swear not by the Cover, the inconstant Cover,
That daily changes in her circled feed,
Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.

Cranky Cuss

 What shall I swear by?

Writer Mom

Do not swear at all;
Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self,
Which is the god of my idolatry,
And I'll believe thee.

Cranky Cuss

 If my heart's dear love--

Writer Mom

Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee,
I have no joy of this PM to-night:
It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden;
Too like the Editor Picks, which doth cease to be
Ere one can say 'EP.' Sweet, good night!
This bud of love, by OS’s changing editor,
May prove a beauteous blog when next we read.
Good night, good night! as sweet repose and rest
Come to thy heart as that within my breast!

Cranky Cuss

 O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?

Writer Mom

What satisfaction canst thou have to-night?

Cranky Cuss

 The exchange of thy love's faithful rating for mine.

Writer Mom

I gave thee mine before thou didst request it:
And yet I would it were to give again.

Cranky Cuss

Wouldst thou withdraw it? for what purpose, love?

Writer Mom

But to be frank, and give it thee again.
And yet I wish but for the thing I have:
My comments are as boundless as the sea,
My turnip greens as ripe; the more I pick for thee,
The more I have, for both are infinite.

LC Neal calls within

I hear some noise within; dear love, adieu!
Anon, good LC! Sweet Cuss, be funny.
Stay but a little, I will write again.

Exit, above

Cranky Cuss

 O blessed, blessed internet! I am afeard.
Being in a virtual world, all this is but a dream,
Too flattering-sweet to be substantial.

Re-enter Writer Mom, above

Writer Mom

Three words, dear Cranky, and good night indeed.
If that thy bent of blog be honourable,
Thy purpose publishing, send me PM to-morrow,
By one that I'll procure to come to thee,
Where and what time thou wilt perform the writing;
And all my comments at thy foot I'll lay
And follow thee my lord throughout OS.

LC Neal

 [Within] Woman!

Writer Mom

I come, anon.--But if thou mean'st not well,
I do beseech thee--

LC Neal

 [Within] Woman!

Writer Mom

By and by, I come:--
To cease thy PMs, and leave me to my writing:
To-morrow will I send.

Cranky Cuss

 So thrive my soul--

Writer Mom

 A thousand times good night!

Exit, above

Cranky Cuss

 A thousand times the worse, to want thy blog.
Love goes toward love, as spammers from
cover picks,
But love from love, toward missed posts with few comments.

Retiring

Re-enter Writer Mom, above

Writer Mom

Hist! Cranky, hist! O, for an editor's voice,
To lure this tassel-gentle back again!
Comments are fleeting, and may not be seen in the feed;
Else would I tear the column where the feed lies,
And make it linger longer than two minutes,
With repetition of my Cranky's name.

Cranky Cuss

 It is my inbox that calls upon my name:
How silver-sweet read lovers' post by night,
Like softest music to attending ears!

Writer Mom

Cranky!

Cranky Cuss

 My dear?

Writer Mom

At what o'clock to-morrow
Shall I send to thee?

Cranky Cuss

 At the hour of nine.

Writer Mom

I will not fail: 'tis 5,000 OS posts till then.
I have forgot why I did write thee back.

Cranky Cuss

 Let me sit here till thou remember it.

Writer Mom

I shall forget, to have thee still sit there,
Remembering how I love thy sarcasm.

Cranky Cuss

 And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget,
Forgetting any other blog but mine.

Writer Mom

'Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone:
And yet no further than a wanton's blogger;
Who lets it hop a little from her blog,
Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,
And with a stinging comment plucks it back again,
So loving-jealous of his liberty.

Cranky Cuss

 I would I were thy pasty stud muffin.

Writer Mom

Sweet, so would I:
Yet I should kill thee with much banjo playing.
Good night, good night! parting is such
sweet sorrow,
That I shall say good night till it be morrow.

Exit above

Cranky Cuss

 Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast!
Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest!
Hence will I to my accommodating wife's chair,
Her open-mindedness to crave, and my dear story to tell.

Exit