Strove to find a way to punch people in the face by using the Internet.


Teh 198s Bolgger is Former Writer, Editor
Ah, you know me. I ain't looking for much. I got what you might could say are generally low expectations. And I don't want to come off here like some stuck-up fancy lad, swaggering around all over the Internet all pompous and full of self-esteem. But check this shit out:


Okay, I got this book out now, and I figure it's an honest hustle, why not try and drum up some local publicity, right? So I start bugging an editor at the Gainesville Sun, someone named Sarah Sain. I explain how used to write for the Sun — I wrote some music features for the paper and had a column in its entertainment section for a year, complete with a dorky little photo of me — and am a longtime Gainesville resident with plenty of community ties. I drop off a copy of the book. I pester Sarah with some polite phone calls and e-mail messages, hoping the printed tales of my sad, goofy life warrant a mention or maybe even a little article, if it's a slow news week and they have some extra space they need to fill.

Friday Sarah tells me they're going to do a little thing in the Sunday paper, and I think, great, this is awesome, maybe a few people will want to support a local dude and they'll buy it and get a few laughs. Or maybe an old teacher of mine will pick up the book and read it and be all horrified at the way I turned out, how severely I perverted their attempts to cultivate educated and hardworking members of society, and I'll have, you know, sweet revenge.

Sarah then, apparently, trots off to set a new typo-per-sentence record and recruits a slow-witted monkey, or perhaps an underfed houseplant, to copy some stuff off the back cover of the book, I guess while wearing boxing gloves.

Now, in private conversation throughout the years I haven't had much good to say about the Gainesville Sun. It's a shitty paper, and everyone knows it — its readers know it, people in the industry know it and the miserable saps that have to work there especially know it. But I haven't exactly gone on the record with my opinions, because I write for a living, and in a small city with limited professional opportunities you just don't want to alienate anyone that someday might throw a paycheck your way. Reading yesterday's paper flipped some kinda breaker in me, though.

So, uh, fuck the Gainesville Sun. It sucks. If that sorry sham-ass excuse for a newspaper ever came into contact with real journalism it'd flame on like a vampire douching with holy water. I hope Osama bin Laden packs a Ford Pinto with fire ants and SARS and flies it into the building. I hope Chris Benoit comes back from the dead to babysit its kids. I hope its editors never ever learn how to spell "the," and all its advertisers get mad and leave, and the only people willing to buy any space in it until the end of time are American Apparel and Hitler. Seriously — fuck you, Gainesville Sun. Fuck. You.

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