So, I got an email the other day informing me I’ve been assigned the task of writing about why print is dead. What the hell kind of horrible fucker would assign anyone such a task?  Probably the same type of miserable bastard that would pack a box chock full of puppies and kittens, then toss it into a river.  Right about now, I feel like spending 15 buckaroos to  jump on the good old Fung Wah to the Big Apple, endure 4 hours of breathing egg roll farts, along with  braving the driving skills of a washed up Hong Kong stuntman, reminiscing about his glory days, while using this driving job as training tool for a most glorious come back to the silver screen.  Once in NYC I’ll pay a visit to that horrible prick Sykes. I’ll put his family jewels in a mason jar, then  keep them in my office as a warning to other editor types about the consequences of assigning me such putrid tasks . But for now, I’ll have to think about- who the hell would have wanted  print dead in the first place?

It isn’t going to be easy getting to the rotten core of this apple. Luckily, I know just the type of scum to help me.  The type of  God less bastards who’d tie their own mother’s fallopian tubes into knots and cunt punt her uterus up through her nostrils if the price is right.  God knows I don’t want to make that call. But if need be, I’ll have them spoon feeding some techno geek his own testicles in order to find out why print is dead, and who the hell wanted Print’s ticket punched in the first place? First things first though. I need to polish off this bottle of scotch in order to smear some preparation H on this raging cerebral hemorrhoid of a story.

In this high tech age of techno geekery- status update – twittering-youtube link- porno coated-instant information- high speed- celubutant gossip- blogophiliac- age of despair we have been thrust in- it’s no wonder Print is dead. I wouldn’t be surprised if the poor fucker took a .45 caliber aspirin to ease the pain of trying to keep up with the  internet.  Between the internet and these God damn tree hugging bastards trying to save every tree on the planet the poor fucker must have been in rough shape.

I suppose this could be a lead. I’ll go deep cover and infiltrate the perverse underground culture of the eco nazi. It’s going to be a rough task. I’ll have to stop bathing for a month, tie dye everything I own, change my name to Sky Whisper, and travel with no less than three dogs of an indeterminate breed everywhere I go. I’ll  start writing folk songs about the evil lumber jack raping the earth mother’s womb. Once I’m belting these songs of the earth mother out on street corners, open mic nights at coffee houses, and the parking lots of hippie fests across the country, surely in no time these vegan tree humping paper haters will let me in on how and why they assassinated print.

The conspiracy could run even deeper. According to the book of revelations when mankind accepts the mark of the beast from the Anti-Christ the apocalypse will begin. I do believe I discovered what this mark is. It’s to be a number assigned to each and every man, woman, and child if my memory serves me right. So therefore I say it’s an ISP address or a Friend ID # on any social networking site. Surely only Satan himself would want print dead in order to fulfill this ghastly prophecy and bring on the end of days.  I’ll have to work my connections and link up with Tom Hanks to get to the bottom of this one.  No one knows the inner workings of the Catholic church, the knights templar, and the Illuminati better than him. Well maybe Nicholas Cage, or perhaps Harrison Ford. Fuck it somebody in Hollyweird owes me a favor and I’ll be cashing that one in if need be.

So I suppose it’s time to start gearing up on my quest to find out if print really is dead, who killed it, and why? I’ll be meeting my contact Octavio a one eyed El Salvadorian gun running dwarf with a taste for Mescal, sodomy, and cock fighting at an undisclosed location to gear up for this mission. Together we will hit the open road on Octavio‘s WWII US military package Harley Davidson 42WLA complete with sidecar and machine gun turret . Across this great country we will beat down any  and all doors and leads we need to get to the bottom of this. This mission will surely take us straight into to the festering bowels of this nation’s seedy underbelly. But we are up for the challenge.  Who knows? We maybe we’re coming for you.  May God have mercy on your worthless soul if this is the case!

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