Men it's quiet in here. The numbness is in advanced stages...
I'm sulking. When Al Berger called us regulars "children," it was as if the last bastion of my youth had a bunch of rocks piled on top of it. The irrational exuberance of my youthful mind is about all I've got left. The hair is graying, the bones are starting to ache, I don't spring back from a hard days work like I used to, I need glasses to read the paper, the teeth worry me, and sex is walking down that lonely, wet, moonlit alley from tri-weekly, to try weekly, to try weakly. And then along comes this "more-intelligent-than-thou" dude to tell me that my posts, far from insightful, creative and humorous, are merely immature, useless, and irritating.
Now I ask you, is it any wonder that it's quiet in here? Gone are the days of the baldman's mounting losses. Gone are the wonder weeks of Annette and Lynn bantering about recipes. Gone are the days of fiberman, looking for T W E L V E. Alas, gone are the days of irrational exuberance.
The once thriving and happy NAVR bench has become a veritable wasteland of pointless number-crunching, petty accusation, frivolous lawsuits, and painfully sore asses. Have we surrendered our dignity, our culture, our creativity, yea, our happy NAVR souls to those who would enslave us to maturity?
I can't speak for you Von, or anyone else, but as for me, I won't go quietly. I WON'T go quietly.
Mike |
