Posted by Darth Venomous @ 11:36
The blog is closing this year (I’ll make the official annoucement later on), and this is likely my last ever blog post.
Okay, so I lied. This is the last-ever blog post.
Then again, I rather doubt anyone other than me will ever read this, so…
First things first: It was ten (10) years ago today – also a Saturday, as fate would have it – that I challenged the so-called Rev’r’nnnnnnnnnnd Mykeru of the Church of the SubTarded – known forever hereinafter as “Mykki Chickenshit” – to come out from behind his M-1 and his inflatable dolls and $66-wielding sock puppets, and show up on my doorstep and spew his anti-Christian bullshit to my face.
And, as you all know by now…he never showed. (Neither, for that matter, did his sock-puppet, “Von Vockerman”. Or that sixty-six small ($66 to you in the Church of the SubTarded) that I was offered to meet him “halfway” in Tennessee, come to think of it.
And in so not doing, putting the exclamation point on my decades-long contention – that libtards are nothing more than chickenshits who talk reeeeeeeeeal big when it’s just them and their keyboards – but put them face-to-face, mano a mano with someone who’ll take quick exception…not so much, really.
Pity, Mykki. You are now known forever as the coward who wouldn’t even stand up to a 50-year-old, out-of-shape fatass.
OTOH, I guess it does beat having your swishy ass handed to you by that selfsame 50-year-old…so there’s that.
So you can relax now. This is the last time you’ll ever be mentioned on these pages.
For that matter, this is the last time anything will ever be mentioned on these pages.
As I stated back in January…this endeavor isn’t fun any more. It’s work. It’s tedium. It’s a fucking chore. Hell – it’s a massive effort to even write this, so how much enjoyment could I possibly get out of writing a blog that no one ever reads? And let’s be honest here – long before the January “hiatus”, Spatula City BBS! was no longer being read – not even by the Six or Seven. When I said “screaming into the whirlwind”, I wasn’t kiddin’.
Even despite all that, it was fun. For a while. Got to rant, got to rave, got to use whatever the hell language I wanted, got to call assholes & pussies just that – “assholes” and “pussies” – and never had to worry about some sysop or moderator or wannabe censor coming along & rapping my knuckles. Complete. Freedom.
Damn, that was a good feeling.
But…all good things, as they say. It got to the point where it just wasn’t fun anymore. There are only so many ways you can rail against something, and I ran out of them. How many different ways, for example, can one say B. HUSSEIN!!!! (one last time, for old times’ sake) Obambi is a Communist jackoff whose citizenship, to say nothing about his “qualifications” for office, are highly in question? In how many different ways can you call the Kenyan bastard incompetent? (Let me know if you figure it out. I gave up trying quite some time ago.)
How many times can you challenge someone to “come say it to my face”? Hell – even that’s gotten old. Very little point in doing it anymore, though it’s gotten a little traction on Twitchy every so often.
Even the Perfect Football Weekend became difficult to suck it up & do. And then I never had time to do a proper recap, because work…well, work always got in the way, but it was even more pronounced at the end.
And when something that used to be fun becomes a major bore…it’s time to hang it up and go do something else that’s more fun. Or maybe more productive, at least.
All that said…that’s only part of the reason I’m hanging it up.
Before we get into all that, though, I wanna tell you about a guy I used to know named Willie Martin.
Willie was a real old guy, early 70s or so (mind you, this was back in the ’90s; I’m guessing he’s long gone by now), WWII vet, HAM radio operator, had one hellaciously hot daughter – a fact of which the old Spatulaites & Spatulaettes never failed to remind me.
Willie was also an avowed racist. Cheerfully admitted it, in fact. Didn’t mind if you knew it, either. He & I got into quite a few disagreements over it, in fact. Never swayed him.
Back in Fidonet, Willie was persona non grata on more than one BBS and/or echomail conference. More than one mod sent me Netmail about blocking him from their particular fiefdom. A couple even suggested that I dump him.
I ignored them all, and kept him around. And I did it because I remembered what it was like to be told elsewhere that my opinions were no longer welcome. And I never wanted that to happen to Willie. Disagree with him as I did, he had a right to be heard. Opinions & beliefs don’t physically hurt anyone, and Willie was otherwise harmless.
Which brings me to the Rott.
For years, in addition to This Fine Blog, I was also a moderator – more than a few folks referred to us as The Management – at Misha’s blog. As long as we didn’t outright ban too many people, we were pretty much free to do what we wanted.
Enter a user that went by the name of Bruce. During one particular thread (no, I won’t mention which one; I don’t feel like giving them the trackback), Bruce made some vague reference that might – might – maybe have been construed as slightly racist. Certainly wasn’t overt, and I paid it no mind.
Now, we all knew – or should have, anyway – that Bruce was harmless. Vietnam vet. Old as dirt. In a wheelchair. Anyone who even dared think that Bruce was a threat to anything probably needed to have his/her head closely examined. Such an idiot would obviously not be operating with a full deck. A few fries short of a Happy Meal©. A couple cans short of a six-pack. One tit shy of a hooker.
Enter a bitch that goes by the name of Nicki.
Nicki, who is known on the Rott as Misha’s sestrichka, went off on Bruce, calling him every vile name in the book – and some that aren’t in the book. And I told her, in no uncertain terms, to knock it off. And she’s, like, “Or what – are you gonna ban me or something?”
To be perfectly honest – my finger was hovering over that very button. Click, click, as I’m wont to occasionally say. The abuse of Bruce had been going on for some time, despite my attempts to shut it down, and I had by now signaled my intention to put a stop to it.
Misha said – again, in no uncertain terms (hell, he said it outright; how much more “no uncertain” can you get?) – that no one was going to be banned. And in so doing, yanked out of my hands the one tool I had for maintaining order on the Anti-Idiotarian Rottweiler.
Holy betrayal, Batman.
Now, let’s get one thing straight: I’m a firm believer in the concept of “my blog, my rules”. That blog, and the accounts that oversee it, are the sole personal property of Emperor Misha. And as owner, he has the absolute right to dictate any rules, policies or procedures that govern his blog. You will never, and I mean never, hear me say that Misha does not have the right to run his blog the way he sees fit.
On the other hand, up until that point he seemed not to have much (if any) problem with the manner in which I administrated the blog. So to be told, straightaway, that I could no longer do my job was…well…shall we say, disheartening.
My response was immediate.
That’s all I needed to hear.
Seriously, if you’re going to render your ghISnar cat toothless, what the hell good is he? And since I’d long since stopped being a regular commenter there, why did I need to hang around?
That episode, as much as anything else, pretty much dampened my enthusiasm for the whole blogging thing. Not that I necessarily want to pin all (or any) of the blame on Misha, but I figured, being Management, I at least outranked the sucksdicka – and it was sorta-kinda a blow to find out I didn’t.
And, quite frankly, I have better things to do than constantly have my legs yanked out from under me by folks I had considered to be good friends. What’s the old saying again? With friends like that…?
So anyway, that’s it, in a nutshell. Betrayed by friends, my own readership at zero, the whole experience no longer being much fun – there’s just no excuse to keep beating my head against the brick wall.
Spatula City BBS! is officially, now & forevermore, closed. Even if I were to get back into this particular game, it would be under a new moniker.
As I said in the January post, this little hobby has taken up 23 years of my life. Time to let Sy Greenbloom have his little toy back, and go do something else.
To quote Mr. Adams…so long, and thanks for all the fish.