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.
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.
posted by K-Smack at 2:21 am
8 Comments:
Does this mean you're done posting? Or will they just be even more sporadic than before? Either way, life at the Strand has just gotten a little bit worse. Not to mention the distrurbing trend of hot Strand chicks that have been leaving at an alarming rate since Christmas, without any equally hot chicks to replace them. Oh, hot redhead in the basement review with a body right out of FHM and her equally hot friend with the Jets to Brazil t-shirt...how little I knew yee. Were the concrete floors too harsh on your Birkenstocks, and with no man at home to give you the foot rub you sorely needed and deserved at the end of the day? And the recently ambigiously-fired art department cutie who could still make me swoon despite using her armpits as a temporary holding place for the weeds from my mother's garden? That takes audacity capable only by hotness of a whole 'nother level. Or that one dude from the fifth floor. He wasn't hot and I'm straight but man, he had some drugs with colorful names that I've never been privvy to. And now it's gone. All gone. My only saving grace is to find bullshit reasons to come upstairs and visit the Rare Book Room, where there's the shy cutie who reminds me of early Winona somewhere between "Lucas" Winona and Beetle Juice" Winona before she evolves into "Heathers" Winona that I dump as soon as she turns into "Reality Bites" Winona or god forbid, "Girl, Interrupted" Winona. And the other hot pale blonde who reminds me of...well, a hot girl. But they'll leave soon, too. I'm sure of it.
Now this is the part where I say, "Say it ain't so, Joe." And you tell me "it ain't so, kid," only I can't believe you because you're not D.B. Sweeney. Or even Ray Liotta.
But good shall come out of this. Coincidently, I made it my New Year's Resolution to get started on my New Year's Resolutions the second week in April so your timing is perfect. I've just updated my resume and I'll spend my lunch hour tomorrow blowing two hour's pay at the internet cafe on University faxing them to pretending-to-be-interested parties.
Godspeed, beetlebreakfast. Godspeed.
Run for your fucking life.
-Ray Liotta
p.s. Definitely "Girl, Interrupted."
Bookmark you. I have a
Good post
Great post, I enjoyed reading it.
Adding you to favorites, Ill have to come back and read it again later.
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