Terri, Faitgue, And This BlogLet me say at the outset that I have considered deleting this blog. That's it, I just wanted to say it.
My reason? Already sick of it. I'm not going to elaborate much further, except, suffice it to say, it's a little frustrating, knowing that one single 100,000 click exposure by one of the giants in Blogland would launch this thing irretrievably. I feel this is a well-written blog, the satire is of good stock, but the two or three keepers of the "glass ceiling" would rather funnel traffic to each other, or send a gratuitous, server-melting stampede of traffic to Bob's County Feed Store Musings, or some other syrupy, quasi-pedantic endeavor that will not keep the traffic they've received.
However, I'm not deleting this blog--for right now anyway, because I know that, if I were to stick it out for another year, I believe I can do for myself with the help of my mortal peers what the Instagods and Michael Mulkins could have helped me with. That's fine; they won't get the credit, either.
The question is: do I have the stamina? I now understand in a weird sort of way what an actual journalist goes through, when the news cycle is either slow, or completely saturated with one thing. And when the news cycle is slow, I do what the Mainstream Press does: I make things up. When the news cycle is captivated by one story, I also do what they do: I make things up related to that story--with one small exception: My beliefs are not masqueraded as real news.
The case in point is Terri Schiavo. I made up a story that said Michael Schiavo's girlfriend, Jodi Centonze, added a narcolepsy clause to her living will. The Media made up a story about Teri being brain dead, unfeeling, unresponsive, and devoid understanding that she was being subjected to judicial homicide at the hands of her husband. Mine is more plausible.
My story killed no one. I can't say the same for theirs.
But, the story has ruled the day on this blog. Being a satire blog, I have to find the dark thread--no really the black thread of humor that can illustrate the exact same point, over and over again from different angles. And that point has consistently been: That Michael Schiavo is a turd, whose “praiseworthy struggle” for matrimonial sanctity apparently started at Terri’s feeding tube and ended at his penis.
This has been hard, emotionally, as there are times when I wrote something "good," it meant that I was again saying that Terri was being murdered within the borders of a complicit nation. This is not easy. It's like being the sportscaster on September 11th.
Since Terri is now gone, I will now also conclude the stuff directly related to her--at least in terms of frequency. Michael Schiavo is now a name in our collective consciousness, as is attorney George Felos. If you think you've heard the last of that latter name, than I'd be careful; ignorance of such high concentration is easily mistaken for brain death as well.
So, as necessary, I will put the gratuitous literary fist into the schnoz of these still-living piles of excrement, but only as incidentals, or as news dictates. I am not finished with Hillary Clinton, however, who normally feels the need to open her precocious trap on every issue under the sun, but stayed conspicuously silent during this whole ordeal. Any one seeking the presidency in 2008 that did not go on record about this will feel the wrath of the public--hopefully aided and abetted by blogs such as this one. She is a coward. I'm nailing her within the next two or three stories I do here, with no intentions to curtail my assaults. I'll just keep checking my brake lines.
So I go on. In closing, I’d like to extend my own thoughts and prayers to Terri’s real family—the ones who stood in the threshold to keep her from being shoved through death’s door.
And I dedicate this last post to Terri: Yet one more innocent soul denied a place on Schindler’s List.