The Death Of The Propaganda

It finally happened today. The gay millionaire (or the millionaire that just happens to be gay) called me into his office for an emergency meeting.

-Chris, your last few posts have been half-hearted, uninspired and rather boring. The site isn't offering anything new. People want blogs that are, well, good. Your blog just can't compete with the Ho's, Geezers and YGWIN's out there. Dance floor sliding? Falling upstairs? It reads like the ramblings of a bored, drunk child. I think people have seen enough of photographs of your generic features to last them a long, long time? Is this what I'm paying you for? Is this what I'm funding? At least Ho can spin a good vagina gag and YGWIN can write about toast and make it interesting. You see where I’m going with this?

I just sort of stood there; half looking at Ralph, half looking at my feet.

-I'm pulling the plug, Chris. It pains me to do so but I have no choice. I'm going to put my wad into Zach Braff instead. I'm hoping he maybe convinced into making a Garden State 2: Garden Harder.

-I was going to do another story about crabs.

-Crabs? I'll give you crabs! Stop smirking! You see, that's your problem, you're not growing up. You need to stop all that quirky childish today-I-rode-a-crab-crap and do something of worth. Do you think you'll ever get a partner with that attitude? Oh, and get a hair cut.


It's been an (un) wild ride and I shall still visit all of your fine blogs. Ralph is right; you should quit when you've run out of things to say.

I'm off to steal any icons or fonts from the site before they take it apart.

Goodbye.

Oh, and go see ‘Death Rides the Nine’ if/when it comes to a town near you.