The following message is from the Master Redactor:
THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE IS FROM TED CONCERNING HIS NEW SUBSTACK NEWSLETTER. THIS IS OFFERED WITHOUT COMMENT.
--MASTER REDACTOR
Yeah, this is Ted Crumski: Things That I Detest. Welcome or somesuch. It’s another dumping ground for my attempts at occasionally eloquent, typically misanthropic prose. What do they call it…? Mission creep? Still supposedly on staff and posting on Curmudgeon In A Jar, but that organic audience hasn’t grown much beyond the original four Eastern European shut-ins with zero command of English or their bowels, Microsoft hate cultists, grown men who play with toys, and a subculture of a subculture of robot fetishists. So, like, a few dozen reprobates at best. Will it improve our reach to be on a platform such as this? Doubtful. But what does it cost us to put forth one more feeble effort in the goal of fame, fortune, respect, and the inevitable regret of ever cultivating public personae?
“You’ve got to generate content!” they say. “Sure,” I say, “but what if I don’t want to churn out meaningless blather just for the sake of keeping current in feeds? What if I prefer to anguish over every sentence of my blather and wordsmith it to within an inch of its life so that when it is eventually and reluctantly forced into the grievous light of day its meaninglessness is all the more pitiful due to the obvious and egregious effort so incompetently concealed behind the Potemkin village of overwrought werdz rendered nearly incoherent by their slipshod but labored assemblage? And what is a narcissist who hates himself, anyway?!”
But I tend to say a lot of things. On that front…
What’s new here? Nothing yet. We’ve posted some of the CIAJ archives just to give this thing some initial bloat. It’s been claimed publicly, privately, and self-delusionally that I’ve been holed up working on a secret tome. Something BIG. This is partially true, though one might argue I should have perhaps displayed some proof of life or just gone outside for some fresh air in between the intervals of said ‘holing up’ and the basal state of unproductive inward recrimination and ineptitude-induced writer’s-giving-up. Sprinkle on a rounded tablespoon of languishing and undiagnosed mood disorder(s), and you’re caught up on the backstory for 2022.
This is kind of it. The entire sloppy enchilada, ladies and germs, is well encapsulated in the preceding paragraphs. If this sort of… thing… is not altogether repellent, consider subscribing so that you can receive such dumpage directly in your inbox on the infrequent occasions I spew something new.
Regards,
T. Crumski
Spew Forth Your Blather