With a Whimper

. . . and some gin. I'm also going to beat up some kids.

So here we are. It's been about five months since I first started this thing up in a late-night fit of rage and hate (fistfights are so three decades ago-- tough guys like me type HTML when they're really angry). . .

. . . And it's been an okay run. I didn't expect to build up my media empire or anything, as I only started worshipping Satan recently. (My stock in Hell is still relatively low at this point-- hence my only big payoff thus far was getting hired at Strand.) But rest assured, one day you will all be my personal fist warmers. This much I promise you. (You figure it out.)

Thanks and apologies to those who still visited even as my posts became more sporadic. Extra-special double-secret thanks to managers, their apologists, and even the Big Nance herself, who have deigned to grace this village of iniquity with their ever-watchful eyes. Even though we all know that you only dropped by to glean even more ways to make people's lives miserable, I still salute your efforts, because I can't imagine it's very easy to type in web addresses with those long claws.

And of course, kisses and monkey paws to those who left feedback, particularly if it was negative.

In the end, sometimes summoning up the rage was just as difficult as summoning up the ability to find any humor in it. In, you know, hauling garbage around and having customers sneeze in your face. (Being talked down to daily by the hideously incompetent and misinformed, however, is always a great thrill, I must say.)

As I'm sure many of you know, thinking about that place can be pretty taxing. Not like, Falun Gong-torture taxing, but more like the kind of physical and emotional duress one experiences after taking the morning-after pill. Oh, you know, the self-loathing, the second-guessing. . . and of course, the copious vomiting. We've all been there.

And then there's you, Nancy-kins. Those fleeting glances in the halls, catching one another's designer scents as we share those elevator rides. . . I know you feel it too. Kitten, you will always be my one true love. . . mostly because I was abused by my father, and have since developed a whole range of self-esteem issues. . . but nevertheless. . . it's just not worth my time anymore.

In the end, baby, all you get. . . is my complete fucking indifference. Have a nice life.


[Note: I'm not shutting this down by any means; I still strongly believe in everything it stands for as a forum. The immaturity, the petty grievances, the self-pity and lashing out, the coke, the hookers, I fucking love it all. If any of you still have anything to contribute, please do so, and I'll do my best to either make your voice heard, or at the very least, brutally insult you in front of a small audience.]

So yeah. Thanks for coming.


If you need to get ahold of me, go for it. I do write a pretty damn good email.