F is for Freedom

I had intended not to post on this blog ever again, but after that libelous post last Friday I just couldn't stay silent. I do care a tiny bit about my legacy. I had hoped I wouldn't have to say this, but my hand has been forced. It's time for the truth.

I didn't abandon FCN. I was ejected. What C, N, and Chip conveniently neglected to remember in their last post on the subject was that, in a series of staff meetings all through May, my opinions were not only ignored, but actively suppressed. Eventually I found out why: because I had the distinction of having written the longest post in FCN history, topping 2400 words (none of which were swear words). The other contributors were resentful. I even heard one of them whispering when he thought I couldn't hear about how I was a stuck-up take-over hopeful. I guess they never really got over that one incident last year, either, even though I apologized from the bottom of my heart and everything.

The atmosphere around the FCN water cooler was growing increasingly poisonous. Last week I finally decided to broach the subject, and everyone hemmed and hawed and muttered into their mountain dews. I made a speech, complete with emphatic gestures in the air and a final cry at the end in which my voice broke. My fellow contributors were unmoved.

I wrote a dozen posts and put them in the queue, but whenever I tried to post them someone would take them back offline immediately. I tried everything I could think of. I even baked chocolate-chip macadamia cookies as a peace offering. N was let out of the hospital the next morning and doctors say he'll have no permanent scarring.

Well, what's a fellow to do when faced with insidious backstabbing? I couldn't stay. I wasn't wanted.

So I'm gone, and where I am now you can't hope to find me, unless you use the tracking beacon that was implanted in my brain because of a government experiment, but that's another story - and one that will probably never be told unless rFCN recruits me or something. Or maybe I'll start my own blog. I'll call it: Mental Atrophy Farm. Or: Six Years Under the Command of Captain Spooner. Or simply: I like Zebras.

But for now, only one thing is certain. I'm leaving, never to come back again. But I'm not one to leave on a bitter note. Let me offer my final adieus and thank yous, in no particular order:

C: If it weren't for you, my posts would look significantly less brilliant. So thank you for that. Oh, and your banner art is lame - do I really have to tell you that MS Paint is an embarrassment to the United States and border countries? Please. Download GIMP or something.

N: Well, the slow-release album ended before we could get your picture up. That makes me happy. Because you get less fame and glory. See what I'm saying? The things that make you sad make me happy. We're opposites. It's because I don't like you anymore.

Chip: I think you had this planned from the start, you dirty scum. You replaced me. I hope you get sucked into an escalator. I hope the chef puts a rock in your crouton salad. I hope you slip on a wet floor in front of your girlfriend and then you see a wet floor sign right next to you and you're all embarrassed.

Yeah. I just went there.

Mommy G: You always gave me a shoulder to cry on, a brownie to munch on, and a spatula for the other contributors. I'll miss you. Good luck with those wolves.

Uncle Wally: Maybe you should look into the fast food industry or something. They're always hiring. You know? Just a thought.

Em: I know you're embarrassed whenever I mention you. But I don't feel bad about that anymore. This post is for telling it like it is, and no goodbye would be complete without a shout out to you. Goodbye forever, Em.

Loyal Readers: You may be few, but you are strong. You'd have to be to read the sort of things we post here. I'll be sure to let you know if I join some other blog (like the Daily Kos - oooh - nice). So when I do, you can all drop everything and go over there. And FCN will flounder.

That's right, you backstabbing contributors. Flounder.

Flounder.

Flounder.

Storm's coming.