The Spotted Bass -

Don's Dynamic Diary

Dear Diary:
Gentle readers, today I leave you. While my departure may be quick and unexpected, I assure you that my time with you has been a series of fleeting moments, frequently escaping my desperate grasp. I go, not the way of Hemingway (although considered); instead, I suffer the same fate as the dodo: Extinction.

Yes, extinction.

Hmm.

My inability to build on this simple metaphor certainly proves my demise; however, I still have a story to tell. Indulge me, one final time, as I empty my heart onto these blank pages, effectively filling them with the pain and helplessness which I feel each day.

My story begins "in media res," which means, as far as I can tell: After a bunch of stuff has already happened, stuff you don't know about, but still stuff that I will always reference. This stuff seems unimportant, but by the end it's really important, and you'll wonder why it was not included, but that's the way it goes. Deal with it.

As many of you now know, this website, which you have accidentally come across while searching for fishing lures, has suffered great hardships in the previous weeks. The writers, though brilliant and fantastically wealthy and attractive, have succumbed to the demands of creating fake stories. I, like my colleagues, began to wonder if our compensation for the work completed was fair. Said compensation, which currently has leveled off to $0.00 per hour, seemed to be low. Thus, we striked. Struck? Striked…striked. I'm sticking with "striked." Though the rest of The Spotted Bass "team," as I so lovingly once called it, has decided to succumb to the pressures of "bills," I have decided to remain on strike, holding out for more mo--, nay, more respect.

My brief conversation with corporate, though heated, proved that I was dealing with a group of people who know little about the importance of a published diary.

Don: You can't take the diary away. It means too much to too many people. This website will crumble without it. You can't take the diary.

Corporate: We're taking the diary.

Don: I shall remain on strike!

Corporate: Don, stop it. This is embarrassing. We're going to publish this in your last column whether you like it or not. We need to completely wash our hands of you.

Don (stomping out of the room, shouting): What do we want… more money! When do we want it… in media res!

Unfortunately, the conversation will not be included, as the corporate fat-heads were humiliated after my demands weren't met, and I stormed out to raucous applause from my fans, some of which were chained together outside the office. (Editor's note: Nothing that Don has said in this paragraph is true. The conversation outlined above, however, is completely factual. Well, fake factual. You know what I mean. Factual in the sense that it really happened in the fake world of journalism in which we currently reside.)

Thus, readers near and far, I tell you that I shall remain on strike, fastened to my apparently antiquated notion that a poorly written and usually hurried fake online diary does have a market. And when I find said market, I shall rise like a phoenix, prepared fully to enlighten readers with my thoughts, theories, and…another "th" word that I'll add later.

The writer can be reached at don@thespottedbass.com.



Home > Don's Dynamic Diary Don's Dynamic Diary Dear Diary: Gentle readers, today I leave you. While my departure may be quick and unexpected, I assure you that my time with you has been a series of fleeting moments, frequently escaping my desperate grasp. I go, not the way of Hemingway (although considered); instead, I suffer the same fate as the dodo: Extinction. Yes, extinction. Hmm. My inability to build on this simple metaphor certainly proves my demise; however, I still have a story to tell. Indulge me, one final time, as I empty my heart onto these blank pages, effectively filling them with the pain and helplessness which I feel each day. My story begins "in media res," which means, as far as I can tell: After a bunch of stuff has already happened, stuff you don't know about, but still stuff that I will always reference. This stuff seems unimportant, but by the end it's really important, and you'll wonder why it was not included, but that's the way it goes. Deal with it. As many of you now know, this website, which you have accidentally come across while searching for fishing lures, has suffered great hardships in the previous weeks. The writers, though brilliant and fantastically wealthy and attractive, have succumbed to the demands of creating fake stories. I, like my colleagues, began to wonder if our compensation for the work completed was fair. Said compensation, which currently has leveled off to $0.00 per hour, seemed to be low. Thus, we striked. Struck? Striked…striked. I'm sticking with "striked." Though the rest of The Spotted Bass "team," as I so lovingly once called it, has decided to succumb to the pressures of "bills," I have decided to remain on strike, holding out for more mo--, nay, more respect. My brief conversation with corporate, though heated, proved that I was dealing with a group of people who know little about the importance of a published diary. Don: You can't take the diary away. It means too much to too many people. This website will crumble without it. You can't take the diary. Corporate: We're taking the diary. Don: I shall remain on strike! Corporate: Don, stop it. This is embarrassing. We're going to publish this in your last column whether you like it or not. We need to completely wash our hands of you. Don (stomping out of the room, shouting): What do we want… more money! When do we want it… in media res! Unfortunately, the conversation will not be included, as the corporate fat-heads were humiliated after my demands weren't met, and I stormed out to raucous applause from my fans, some of which were chained together outside the office. (Editor's note: Nothing that Don has said in this paragraph is true. The conversation outlined above, however, is completely factual. Well, fake factual. You know what I mean. Factual in the sense that it really happened in the fake world of journalism in which we currently reside.) Thus, readers near and far, I tell you that I shall remain on strike, fastened to my apparently antiquated notion that a poorly written and usually hurried fake online diary does have a market. And when I find said market, I shall rise like a phoenix, prepared fully to enlighten readers with my thoughts, theories, and…another "th" word that I'll add later. The writer can be reached at don@thespottedbass.com. Don's archive Don sits down with TWill Hide your daughters Cats fans, Herbstreit is coming to town Religion, a geriatric, and a struggling football team Steve Spurrier is a true game cock What is a classy fan? The always intriguing NBA Draft left Kentuckiana's finest wondering "what if"

Don's Dynamic Diary

Don's archive