Like Brett Favre limping his way to Detroit, I, too, have come to the end of a long and storied streak.
Today, just about three years after I first shared the most important news with you, I am departing these fine, fine pages for what my defense lawyer instructs me to call “new opportunities.”
Over the past 1,095 days of insanity (with nary a weekday off), you and I have had a grand ol' time discussing things not to put our penises in, the sex tapes of celebrities we want to deport to Pluto, Hayden Panettiere's obsession with getting in my pants, and whether atheists are terroristic Muslim Kenyan infidels or just the tools of Satanist Dems.
We explored artificial virginity hymens together. We shook our heads at those crazy kids and their hilarious trends. We danced on the grave of bigots like Jesse Helms. We wept at the Prop 8 trial closing arguments. We celebrated the nude form… over… and over… and over again.
But it's not all about me, believe it or not. There were many other writers and editors who helped along the way, such as Will Doig, Ben Reininga, Nicole Pasulka and the great and sorely missed (on a personal level, since she lives in the dreaded Kansas City now) Emily Farris, who brought me on and made me see that blogging about one's self doesn't have to suck big donkey balls. Her posts about cockroaches and Pete Wentz — two subjects that give me the runs, usually — still stick in my mind, years later.
And Colleen Kane, you dastardly wench. I can call you these things now because you no longer have an access code to stop me. Just kidding, you're my favorite. I think you should publish this post about the 1925 Office Holiday Party as a book and take over the world (of publishing).
Really, everyone has been great along the way. I deserved much of the criticism that came my way, but in my defense, when you write more than 1,300 blog posts per year, you're bound to have at least 130 stinkers.
Speaking of stinkers, I'd love for you all to do me one more annoying favor before I go. Let's all make like the brats at the end of Dead Poets Society, jump up on our desks and shout out your favorite posts — by anyone on this site. No need to find the relevant links (I'll try to find them myself after you post and do an update). Just post a general mention of what the story was about and maybe why you loved it.
And one final thing: seeing as I'll either be going into television or editing a site that apparently does not allow such “language,” I'd like to say now what I probably can't get away with saying much longer, with the below video, courtesy of George Carlin.
Thanks, goodbye, good luck, and good sex to you all.