You Can Keep The Stool Sample

Okay, gang.

I’ve been hinting this day would come. I think it’s time to board up the doors here at The Factory Floor. The reasons are many. So many, I won’t go into them. I will, however, tell you something that is not a reason: the twins. Although, they are why I’m drinking so much.

Basically, it’s because I started this blog four years ago as a place to write. Now, I do that for a living and, somehow, the blog is now a chore. A chore that pays much, much less than my other chores. And by “much, much less,” I mean it actually costs me money.

I’m sorry to do this so soon after my cousin started reading. (Hi, RedTeam.) And I’ll miss the interaction with the handful of regular readers who’ve really made this worthwhile. I also enjoyed that one person who left a comment stating simply "I hate you."

If you know my real name, you can find me on MySpace where I maintain not one, but three blogs -- one for each of my two short films and one for the science reality show I worked on. Plus, one of my regular day jobs is editing a corporate blog. So, really, you’ve got nothing to complain about, you selfish bastard.

Just so I don’t leave you with blogger blue balls, here a few things I had on deck to write about:

- Politics (Don’t assume I think the same was as you because I’m white.)
- Religion (Don’t assume I think the same was as you because I’m not Jewish.)
- My soon-to-be-born kids (I’m going to be the best fucking father ever. “Here, son, play with this M80. Later, I’ll show you how to make your dad a Vodka Gimlet.”)
- Gay marriage (I came giddily close to offending my Christian friends by conducting a gay marriage, but the lucky couple eloped to San Francisco, where even the Christians are gay.)
- The Daily Show (I stopped watching because, right now, I don’t want to laugh at things I should be pissed about.)
- My neighbor (No song is good enough to play as often as you play that goddamn techno piece of shit.)
- Heath Ledger (I mean, he was good, but Oscar-worthy? He only had to do one mood - crazy. If that’s the only criteria, my ex-wife should get one, too.)
- Technology (I heart my Roku Netflix Player! And it hearts me!)
- Robert Novak’s brain tumor (What goes around, comes around. In your brain.)

This send-off is not incredibly poetic. In fact, there’s no poetry in it at all. I think most poetry is crap anyway. For a very poetic send-off, check out Will’s over at SixSquare. His is killer.

I’m not ruling out another blog in the future, but if I do, I will probably do it under my real name... or not. I don’t know. Shit, I don’t even know what to make for breakfast tomorrow.

I will say this has been a pretty wild four years. When The Factory Floor opened for business, I was a lowly office worker in DC, making fun of celebrities. Now, I’ve optioned a script (twice), scored an IMDb page and have attended a high-powered Hollywood meeting in the living room of one of the celebrities I’ve mocked on this very blog. Amazing. It’s like Ouroboros, if that snake’s tail was made of microwave pizzas. And shame.

Thanks. Seriously.

Deadpan
The Factory Floor Supervisor

Comments

[HeyJoe]

Farewell and best of luck.
Signed,
A regular (or irregular, but that's my own fault; too much cheese)

[laanba]

I knew this was coming and while I'm sad about it, I understand. I don't know you (or your real name), but thankfully found your wonderful blog from Freedom Monkey House. I have enjoyed reading it and I wish you the best of luck with all the good things coming your way.

[Kath]

No, THANK YOU!

You've been a breath of fresh vodka-infused air. Best of luck personally and professionally.

I don't do MySpace anymore but I do Facebook in case you ever go that route.

Peace out and happiness always.

Kath :-)

[brent]

i thought i remembered your name but don't see an IMDB page by the name i thought. BLAST! best of luck. don't look back. just go....

[Mark]

Four years of my life wasted. You have abandoned me... just like my parents.

[cookiebitch]

Still drunk. Read this months ago ... thought it was all a dream that would reveal itself in September. Fucker. Now I have to actually call you. Oh, the humanity.