Thursday, February 21, 2013

Friday Misery - Kyle King, Caribbean Conquests and other arts of alliteration

It's not Friday, it's Thursday evening. I had a deadline and I've met it by the skin of my teeth. Any other problems you have with the specifics of this post....well, just STFU.

Yes, it's an unusual time for a miserable post as it is not a football weekend. But misery has set in my friend. And when that happens we must let it out. So zip up those big boy pants Internet Wanderer, let's get to steppin'.

The Mayor and his sunset
On one hand, T Kyle King is no George Washington because he did not (to my knowledge) chop down his mother's cherry tree. However, he thoroughly disappointed the Dawgosphere when he did not tell a lie and made his truthful and heartfelt announcement that he's retiring...hanging up the vaunted thesaurus...secluding himself to a life of watching Sex and the City reruns while sipping cheap whiskey straight from the bottle and lamenting the fact that paying off the judge will never lift Charlotte York MacDougal Goldenblatt's restraining order against him. Not to mention make her into an actual person.
T Kyle King, not an Austrian. But possibly a
future Duck Dynasty stand-in.

He didn't lay waste to fans, readers, admirers and other social misfits with any leftover Spike80DF, but there was much wistful wilting of limbs and leaves. Then, quite casually, King issues a challenge and just expects me to accept it. A parting shot, much like cannon fodder from the Battle of Toulon in the War of Austrian Succession. Only this battle is fated to have an actual victor. And that victor is claimed to be an evil force that resides in the internet solely to eat bloggers' wills, shortening their typeable diction until there is an abrupt end, and the good and hungry people are left to wonder what park, tree, building, museum, or just a fast food chain's corner booth next to the playscape to name after him. As my weary and worried fingers type this I am sure Joseph Henry Lumpkin would be both proud and disheartened, and would also likely ask that the T Kyle King Memorial Honorary Lawyerly Library of Really Widespread and Wide-Ranging Words and Surprisingly Sprawling and Sprangled Sentences* not be placed anywhere near Herty Drive. We feel ya Lump...the Mayor is a enigma wrapped in a red and black sweatshirt inside of the keyboard with years and years of coffee stains...[dramatic pause to give added weight to transition]...

And all this brings us to the matter of a commissioned work of art to remember King's blogging and editorial achievements. A master's work that can be duplicated for the masses, but still hold its value and depiction of Kyle clumsily and carelessly collecting his cigar in his mouth, a handle of Jack Daniels in one hand, and giving Prez Adams the finger with the other. Something Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot would never dream of undertaking. But surely a curbside artist in Jacksonville in late October would jump at the chance. After all, a clever and courageously created caricature would bring some life to the pose and a certain quaint and composed dignity to the muse's life work.

Because it is there!...There at the World's Largest Outdoor Cocktail Party that we will avenge this dire, disagreeable and displeasing news. King understands the magnitude of the rivalry and accepts its importance, even more so than the fact that Kristin Davis is far superior to that horse-mouthed fake writer wannabe blogger that Ferris Bueller married. Fear not Mayor of Dawgtown and rest easy kind sir. Set aside any anxiety Fair and Wordy Proprietor of Dawgsports as you embrace your literary sunset. You witty and whimsical wordsmith...we will carry on...somehow.

Vaya con bourbon amigos
Sing it Billy!
Holy shit. I'm exhausted. Just those last four paragraphs took 18 hours to compose. Kyle probably does something comparable in the time it takes Michael Adams to cash another check [BOOM!]. I'll have a (much) less wordy tribute to the man tomorrow. And then.....

I'm out y'all. Mrs. Bernie and I have cashed out our BCS savings and are heading eastbound and down for some time spent relaxing in a warmer clime. Suck it Saban! One where kids don't bitch about menial chores and my boss can't make me punch a clock at absurd hours of the day when I'm more inclined to be sleepi...

...whoa whoa whoa! Don't unplug just yet. I've got you covered until I come back, should that unfortunate event take place where I'm forced to return due to lack of funds or some distasteful diplomatic incident or because the mother in law simply insists on not raising any more children. My guys from around the tailgate are ready to take things over. We'll address a topic a day starting late Friday or early Saturday. I gave em questions and they gave me answers. Quid pro quo!

For you folks that haven't ventured inside the friendly confines of the T Kyle King Memorial Honorary Lawyerly Library of Really Widespread and Wide-Ranging Words and Surprisingly Sprawling and Sprangled Sentences*, that's simply lawyerly latinese meaning "this for that". See ya soon Reader!

Go Dawgs!

[*post edit: either the bourbon or just blatant ignorance caused me to confuse "memorial" with "honorary" late last night. Kyle is not dead. It's just his thesaurus. I think.]