Farewell Big Brother
Dear John/Big Brother,
I think the time has come for me to say goodbye. Please don’t be upset. When we first started this crazy ride together we both knew it wouldn’t last forever. We’ve had fun, right? Like that time the bisexual scrubber let the bogan dry-hump her in the sauna. Or the time the fat chick hurt her ankle and proved to the nation that fat people suck.
I remember when we first met. We hung out all the time. Every day I’d see you around the same time and on weekends I got to see you for ever longer. I watched a lot of television in those days and you fitted in well. I remember many tests for uni that I went poorly on because I chose to watch your first episode rather than study.
Things changed a little. I grew up and watched less television and you grew up and put yourself out there more. Your night time incarnation came around at the perfect time—just when I was unemployed and stayed up late nights to watch infomercials. It was great. There was no editing, no crappy voiceovers, no challenges. Just folks hanging out. That’s what you were all about, you know?
Eventually you got shit with a tiny elf always accompanying you at night, but I still watched. The took away my infomercials but you remained. Even though I didn’t see you in the evening I could still tell what was happening. The last times I saw you were some of the best. We saw that cute brunette playing with her vadge’s settings in the sauna while the paddlepop lion chattered endlessly, and we say that one nice guy that had a brain act like a brainless twat around the aforementioned cute brunette. She knew some amazing guys, she said. Amazing. But she just didn’t see him in that way. And we cried together a little.
And so it’s with sadness that I say goodbye for now. I dislike your evening shows, I now sleep when you come around at night and you can forget about that godawful weekend shit, so we won’t cross paths anymore.
All I can say is good luck with everything and thankyou for being there for me when I needed you.
Love, Always,
Jobe
I think the time has come for me to say goodbye. Please don’t be upset. When we first started this crazy ride together we both knew it wouldn’t last forever. We’ve had fun, right? Like that time the bisexual scrubber let the bogan dry-hump her in the sauna. Or the time the fat chick hurt her ankle and proved to the nation that fat people suck.
I remember when we first met. We hung out all the time. Every day I’d see you around the same time and on weekends I got to see you for ever longer. I watched a lot of television in those days and you fitted in well. I remember many tests for uni that I went poorly on because I chose to watch your first episode rather than study.
Things changed a little. I grew up and watched less television and you grew up and put yourself out there more. Your night time incarnation came around at the perfect time—just when I was unemployed and stayed up late nights to watch infomercials. It was great. There was no editing, no crappy voiceovers, no challenges. Just folks hanging out. That’s what you were all about, you know?
Eventually you got shit with a tiny elf always accompanying you at night, but I still watched. The took away my infomercials but you remained. Even though I didn’t see you in the evening I could still tell what was happening. The last times I saw you were some of the best. We saw that cute brunette playing with her vadge’s settings in the sauna while the paddlepop lion chattered endlessly, and we say that one nice guy that had a brain act like a brainless twat around the aforementioned cute brunette. She knew some amazing guys, she said. Amazing. But she just didn’t see him in that way. And we cried together a little.
And so it’s with sadness that I say goodbye for now. I dislike your evening shows, I now sleep when you come around at night and you can forget about that godawful weekend shit, so we won’t cross paths anymore.
All I can say is good luck with everything and thankyou for being there for me when I needed you.
Love, Always,
Jobe
posted by Ben at 8:34 PM
6 Comments:
Jobe, I feel your pain. It's just not the same is it.
Anyway, do you know this guy?
Forgive my linking skills, or lack thereof.
http://whoisjobe.blogspot.com/
No, Steph. It isn't.
I'll take an NFI on whoever that is. immediately dislike him and his shitty writing style.
Amen, brother!
Oooo a new commenter.
Welcome, Angela. Let's be friends, shall we?
The people's Jobe. Well, i suppose it seems only natural we should be friends, given we seem to have the same name. Though, if we were truly related, we should probably hate each other. Then again, your name seems to be your first name, and my last name, so it does get a little confusing...assuming that Jobe is your real name... Either way.. Your call.
(ps glad you didn't take me down like our aforementioned friend, whoisjobe, i was a bit nervous about that..heh)
Well Jobe is, in fact, not my first, middle OR last name. It is merely an idea for me, yet a way of life for you. Which is a good thing, I suppose, because when our friendship inevitability blooms into love we won't have to double check our family trees for matches before we do the dirty. And if we do get married then it won't be confusing, as you will already be known as Ms Jobe.
Quite shocking that the name revelation has already come out though. If I were you I would have kept it to myself for quite a while and bided/bode my time. But you're you and I won't try and stiffle you.
Oh and whiisjobe is a friend to no one.
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