There’s a ping-pong tournament going on in my office today and I wasn’t invited to play. It’s not because they all hate me, but because I just started here — a magazine in New York — and the tournament was bracketed and made before I actually came on board.
At least that’s what they tell me. Little do they know, I often played in tournaments in my Tampa days, so them dawgs is lucky. I’m picturing them wafting shots back and forth like pure n00bs, giggling at the new d-bag who’s upstairs editing stories and deflecting annoying, frivolous emails from the digital team. “Hey Terse, do you approve of the latest SEO titles we put up for the latest magazine issue?” “Yeah, for the eighth time, everything is fine.” “Ok, splendid! How’re you doing in the ping-pong tournament?” “They didn’t have room for me.” “LOL YOU SUCK.” “I know… I know I do, Marc.” Perhaps they all dislike how I insist on being called Terse. I feel like David Adams — everyone hates me before I even get a chance to do anything good. Hopefully there’s not a steroided, crappy Twitter-user waiting in the shadows, willing to pounce and take my spot once his dead hips are resuscitated. I can’t compete with a 38-year-old ex-magazine MVP, I just can’t. I WON’T. Speaking of A-Rod, I think you should pick him up and use him for this year and plan on keeping him for 2014 and 2015. There’s still life in there.
Please, blog, may I have some more?