That’s right kids, I know that you’re secretly celebrating, but can you at least pretend to be a little sad? No, this isn’t when granny died and left you some cold hard $$$. Instead of buying yourself a fancy watch and selling his old clocks on Kijiji, you’re getting new GW editors. That’s right, your boy is stepping aside, old and obsolete, for fresh blood: Sam Goldstein and Brendan Robson. This very well may be on the of the last times you see my mug in this newspaper. It’s been a really really fun time, and while I’m sad to say goodbye to the role, I know I can dry my tears with the millions of dollars we’ve successfully laundered.
Indeed, I’ve thought a lot about how I would write my goodbye. I wanted to say goodbye but not farewell, not so long, not see you later. I tried to come up with a word in the English language to use in my farewell, but I gradually came to understand that there was no such word. The English language is not good at goodbyes, and thus I had to look to other languages I knew to find exactly how to say goodbye. I started with my strongest languages: Arabic, Chinese (yes, it’s a language), Hieroglyphics, Estonian, Pitkern, and Mandeali. Don’t tell UNESCO about some of these languages, because they are close to extinct and those bureaucrats will likely want me to help maintain them. Just like my future wife and kids, when I die I’ll take those languages down with me.
When I finally gave up finding the proper word to say goodbye, I turned on the television and quickly popped on my third favourite TV show: Dexter’s Laboratory. This dude was my inspiration as a kid. He was smart, mean as fuck, and wore purple gloves. Not only that, but he knew the fuck out of the French language. Despite my ability to learn a language merely by masterbating to a video where the plot involves it in some way, my 10 years of French class didn’t teach me much. In the third part of the ninth episode of season one, Dexter needs to invent something for his French class. The big ol’ fat girthy juicy D makes a tape recorder that he falls asleep to, but instead of it teaching him French it skips on the word “Omlette Du Fromage”. What does this word mean you might ask? Well no one actually knows, but it seems as though it is a term that indicates great respect or reverence. Well, the fat hockey-puck shaped D ends up getting an A+ on his test, kills it in his math class, and gets mad honeys on his big cheese.
So instead of saying goodbye, I’ll say “Omlette Du Fromage”. What does it mean? You can decide. All I know is that I am out of this fucker. Enjoy an immediate drop in GW quality followed by a gradual increase until it gets better than when Leah and I were eds.
Peace out RIP Tupac. Thanks Leah, Emily, Lucas, Esther, Evan, Voltron, Brothers, Dogs, Tata’s, Raheems, and The Winged Dragon of Ra.