Men, after ten years in this organization, this is my swan song. It’s over. I’m finished, out — donesville. This probably won’t even get into print – Ellis has no balls. Go ahead, Jim, I dare you to run it!
And as for the publisher, LaBarge, where do I start? That’s right, I’m talking to you Justin. I’m calling you out for your bullshit. While you’re at it, why don’t you spell my name right for a change? And, just for the hell of it, could you maybe add a photo that doesn’t make me look like a condemned serial killer? “Here’s Kempner, fresh from the Zombie apocalypse.” Nice.
Be that as it may, it’s time to finally lay this on the line: This organization sucks. You know it, I know it, everyone knows it.
It’s at the point where the handwringing and the sob stories are simply intolerable. How many times in a row can you hear some man prattle on about his marriage, his kids, his job? “Men, I’m still not divorced.” Really? “Men, I’m still not in action trying to find work.” Is that so? “Men, I still haven’t had that important conversation, haven’t told my dad to fuck off, haven’t told my wife I love her enough.” Oh, yeah, it’s only been TWELVE FUCKING YEARS!
Come on, men, this is bullshit, and I’m sick of it. Fed up. Had it up to here. And we’ve progressed so far, tried so many new things, right? “Why I love my men’s team,” Jesus, that’s an original exercise. But hey, for the thousand-and-first time, bring it on!
“Put your hand on that man’s heart and tell him your ‘truth’.” Christ, do you men ever listen to yourselves? Oh, am I upsetting you? Why not do a push? Sure, keep pushing, see how far it gets you. C’mon, get all that emotion out, men, so you can keep making the same pitiful mistakes over and over and never get any closer to being “the man you’ve always wanted to be.” Ha! As if you know who that is. Push again? Why not, rinse and repeat.
And don’t get me started on the dues question. Why only double them, fellas? Why not triple, or just make up some numbers, add a few zeros? Hell, take all I’ve got, after all I’m supposed to be practicing gratitude, right? Be grateful, now give us a big, fat wad’o’cash — monthly, quarterly or annually. Cult city as far as I’m concerned. And every cult needs an “inspirational leader” right?
About that, a man in Massachusetts recently sent this to his team: “You chumps make me laugh. Go ahead, send your money to that guy in Toronto if you want to, so he can fritter it away. Me? Not a chance — I’m gone.”
Not sure, but I think he was talking about YOU TOMLINSON! He was on to you, and so am I. I mean, what the fuck, men? Oh, but we gotta advertise on Facebook, and that costs money. Right? What, Facebook doesn’t get enough money from the Russians, they need more from MDI?
Look, I’m a nice guy. I’m kind to puppies and children. I pay my taxes and help little old ladies across the street. But at this point I. Just. Can’t. Be. Part of it anymore. I mean I … I just … (sob) …
OK men, circle up. Yeah, I think I need to push…
EDITOR’S NOTE: No animals or humans were hurt during the production of this article, perhaps. Even so, the defensive editor must let everyone know of the fact that he indeed has testicles. In fact, in honor of such, he has devised the following rap song HERE.