Total Drek

Or, the thoughts of several frustrated intellectuals on Sociology, Gaming, Science, Politics, Science Fiction, Religion, and whatever the hell else strikes their fancy. There is absolutely no reason why you should read this blog. None. Seriously. Go hit your back button. It's up in the upper left-hand corner of your browser... it says "Back." Don't say we didn't warn you.

Thursday, October 07, 2004

The End of an Era

For those who have noticed, it's been quite a wild ride here at Total Drek. In the scant few months this blog has been around I've managed to annoy the masculists, get yelled at (partially) by the king of Astrosociology, wrote the first act of what will no-doubt be a really shitty play, and managed to waste an entire post talking about my dog. Not too shabby!

Yet, still, all good things must come to an end. I have enjoyed my time here on the internet, blogging away with wild abandon. I have enjoyed getting to know so many of you- learning about your lives, your ideas, your dreams, and then mocking them. It's warmed my heart to bring out just a bit of that little asshole inside all of us. It's kind of like your inner child, but a whole lot more fun at parties.

Yes, I have enjoyed my time as a blogger but, alas, time commitments are what they are. It is difficult to maintain the grueling posting schedule here at Total Drek when I have classes to teach, classes to take, and research of my own to conduct. Not to mention the faint, forlorn hope that I might someday have a social life. Right now, considering that my social life largely consists of mocking political candidates, I'm not particularly hopeful. In any case, the important parts of my life (not that I would ever suggest that blogging isn't important) are clamoring for my attention to such an extent that I just can't keep up with the workload here. It's becoming just too burdensome to write the well-crafted, hard-hitting posts that really characterize this site. Wait, shit, I meant, "...that characterize The Raving Atheist." I'm full of shit over here, I just can't stop talking about it.

So, I'm sorry, but you're just going to have to learn to get along without my particular brand of "wisdom!" I just-


What did you say?


Oh, crap, no, I'm not quitting! This blog isn't closing down and I'm not done writing. Relax, I'm just fucking with you. C'mon, you know I do that! Sheesh! No, I will be continuing my term here at Total Drek. There is going to be a change, but it won't be me leaving.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen: we all thought it was impossible. Or, if not impossible then, at the very least, not a very good idea. Yet, still, it has happened. To what am I referring? Apocalypse? Religious conversion? My use of a spell-checker? Nay, dear readers, I refer to none of those things. No, what I mean is this: Someone is joining the staff.

Yes, Drek-fans, this will no longer be a solo-blog. Fun as solo-blogging is, I think it time for a forray into the world of group blogging. This is a risky attempt for us, as it may eliminate the edgy (i.e. insulting and stupid) quality that makes this blog what it is, but I think it worth the risk.

So, in the next few days, I ask you to welcome my new blog co-host: Slag. Who is Slag? What is Slag? Why is Slag? How is Slag? These are all questions that can only be answered by Slag himself... which is a neat way of saying that I'm too lazy to do it for him. Still, I will introduce you to a few facts about Slag. Maybe I made them up, maybe not, but won't you feel a little more like you know him after I do this? Who cares? I'm tired, I've been grading for two days straight, and the longer I can drag this out, the longer it is til I have to return to evaluating my merry band of retards. Bonus points if you can separate fact from fiction. What will these points get you? Well, let me ask you this: do you like woodchucks? How about dead woodchucks? What if they're ripe? Think about it.

So, Slag in a nutshell:

(1) Slag was born in 1981 in the Sudan. His face was ritualistically scarred by Sally Struthers so as to mark him for later consumption during one of her many forays into Africa under the cover of "humanitarian" causes.

(2) Slag migrated to France as a young boy, earning his way by shining shoes as well as dabbling in other occupations. I shan't go into more detail as to what those occupations were, save to say that the term "Organ Grinder" covers an amazing variety of work.

(3) Slag is not really named Slag. He assumed that nick-name after he moved to the United States, where he worked briefly in a mining concern. He became known for his utter incompetence with the complex, and often tempermental, smelting machinery, and thus came to be known as "skill-slag" or just "Slag" for short. As a side note: this just goes to show the wisdom of not hiring 13 year-old boys to operate heavy industrial equipment.

(4) Hoping to better himself, Slag applied to a well-known ivy league college. He was accepted by an IBM mainframe with a faulty ROM chip and a sense of humor that worked in the admissions department. The Dean of Admissions was too stoned for four years to break it to Slag. It's just as well, since Slag managed to earn advanced degrees in Geophysics, English, and Taxidermy. The latter degree was, obviously, to provide the bulk of his financial well-being.

(5) For those of you who are keeping score: YES that means Slag is NOT a Sociologist. Try to keep your head from imploding at the very notion.

(6) Following college, Slag founded a home for abused accordions. He was forced to close it when it became apparent that most people rather enjoy abusing accordions and that, frankly, most of the time the accordions were asking for it anyway. Lousy accordions.

(7) Slag began a lengthy series of romantic liasons, including among his conquests a born-again Christian, a scientist, an activist, a "ho," a New York lawyer, and your mom, to name a few. This reign of terror upon all woman-kind has not yet ended and, thanks to the timely development of Viagra, may never end.

(8) Ironically, if you spell "Slag" backwards it reads, "Gals," of which Slag is very fond.

(9) Slag knows why the caged bird sings... although every time I ask him to explain it to me, he just laughs and crams chicklets up his nose. I am not wise enough to understand, but hope someday to reach chicklet-nostril-enlightenment. Then again: it does look rather uncomfortable.

(10) Slag is at least as smart as I am, though not nearly as charmingly bitter and revoltingly annoying. Needless to say, this makes him a much better person overall.

So, please give Slag a warm welcome whenever the fuck he gets off his lazy punk ass and posts something. I mean, Jesus! I can't do it all by myself, all right? Fucker.

Seriously, look for him to start posting on Saturday.


Blogger Brayden said...

The suspense is killing me. We want Slag now!!

Thursday, October 07, 2004 12:29:00 PM  

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