Feagler: I'm Outta Here, Ya Sissies

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Today's topic: Retirement.

I was at the coffee shop and the guys all agreed: We're the only group of fellas worth talkin' to on this godblessit planet. Why, back in my day, you could hold a quorum and gather some bright minds to discuss the pertinent topics of the day — the shapely ankles of the matronly vixen down the street, Communists coming to feed our children tofu, whether mutton is best enjoyed intravenously or by snorting the manly meat, with what kitchen utensil greedy businessmen set out to ruin our beautiful city can fuck themselves with, etc.

But that was back in my day, 50 years ago when I dipped my toe (or what used to be my toe — I sawed it off and replaced it with a steel nail just to see what it felt like) into journalism, a lengthy and noted career you'd do well to appreciate as I retire this month to enter regional strongman competitions in Eastern Europe.

Journalism was better back in my day too. Guys with steely gazes and bellies full of moonshine could look a politician in the eye and ask what the hell was wrong with them, and the politicians, scared to tell us anything but the truth lest we punch them in the nipple, would give answers like, "Dick, I can't count. I should tell you that right now. I have my Filipino whore do all my counting for me. Thanks for making me admit that. I will now dedicate my life to the service of others instead of begging for your vote."

But journalism now is nothing but a sham covered in doilies and undergarments and flesh. We covered our flesh back in the day — in leather we made with our own hands after importing a buffalo from Canada just to skin it ourselves. We didn't write crap like "7 Ways to Make Your Own Moccasins" afterwards, either. We just made the damn moccasins, put them on our stubbed feet, and walked 37 miles through polluted rivers to go ask people real questions. And when we got back to the newsroom and some ninny reporter pitched a story reviewing the newest Bob Evans in town, we'd put him in a box and mail him to China. Simple.

And the guys all agreed: China was better back in our day. They didn't make shit for America; they just stood out there over the edge of the earth and acted like a good enemy should. And the guys all agreed: mortal enemies used to be better back in our day. Time was when even Lucky your dog had an enemy across the street and... This has been the final installment of Deep Insights WIth Dick Feagler.

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