czha commented on the blog post My Opening Farewell, So Long And Thanks For All The Fish, Oh The Places I Will Go, How Can You Miss Me If I Won’t Go Away, Just Leave Already Fer Chrissakes, Post Thingy
It’s hard to justify my disappointment when measured against all that you’ve given us over the years. We got to read of the L&TC’s soccer exploits and injuries, choose a college, move on to graduate school. Mrs. TBogg’s rare but sharp-witted visits to the blog poked holes in the most inflated of comment threads. Bassets became our favorite breed.
More than anything, though, it was your willingness to shrink the bloated, to chill the overheated, and to reduce pomposity to its meanest kernel that kept us eager for the next post.
Alec Rawls, poor deluded thing, still thinks he deserves a medal for valorously defending bizarre lunacy against clear thought and logic.
I’m going to pull my Mumia sweatshirt off the top shelf and be grateful that some smart guy who never met most of us found time to feed us little slices of heaven on a remarkably regular schedule.
Thanks for everything.
Lacking sufficient broadband access to download Prosperity Jesus, much of Oklahoma remains mired in Old Testament muck. Gannonguckert, you just offered up a mighty exegesis of Red Dirt textualism. “He hit me, and it felt like a kiss.”
And the people said, “Amen.”
Fred Phelps said that the tornado hit Oklahoma because Jason Collins came out of the locker. This totally makes sense, because Collins doesn’t play for the Oklahoma Thunder — and no tornadoes hit Boston or Washington this year. This also affirms Pat Robertson, who observed during last year’s twister crop that tornadoes hit where people haven’t been praying enough. Praise-the-lord Oklahoma should have been safe, but shaggy atheist-flavored Boston and D.C. should have been Toto-ed.
The only explanation for these off-target hits and exempted sinners is Big Government’s Blow-Hard Machine. Alex Jones better start watching the mail; the IRS will call him for an audit any day now.
Poor, misunderstood Savader. He’s just a guy who beats to a different… uh, marches to a different beat.
Hard to believe that someone whose nom de blog, used in conversation, can easily be mistaken for a fast-moving sledding machine would live so far from snow.
I appreciate the incredible output you’ve given us over the years, and know that it will someday end entirely. Until then, I’m grateful for whatever you continue to produce.
Thanks, and thanks for all the pups.