Stuart Gimble: May 2002 Archives

Pardon me fair Pork Pony patrons while I take a bite of this delicious crumpet. Ah. A doughy cloud of satisfying bliss it is!

You say Thomas' English Muffin? I say, "Nay!" English muffins are naught but a two-cent trollop at the regal ball that is the breakfast table. Thomas, the heretic! That foul man and his family should be publicly humiliated in the stocks for their sullying of my favorite traditional breakfast treat. Commercials gloating about the nooks and crannies. I ask thee, Thomas, hast thou touched tongue to crumpet?

But of course you have! You attempted to steal its very essence, that which breaths life into the crumpet. But hast thou succeeded? NAY!

You only have the crumpet's husk. Its soul still lives in every crumpet lover. You, of course, are no crumpet lover. You're just a poor old crumpet coveter.

Back off, man! Do not covet my favorite food of grain. Go back to your factories and filthy toaster ovens and eat of your own evil wheat.

Oh yes dear reader, as I partake of my crumpet, I hum my own tune: The March of Gimble. It shall soon be made available to your ears. The recording engineers continually complain of the problems they've been having putting the song together. I'm starting to further suspect them of shenanigans.

Alas, I'll master it myself if I must. The legacy of Gimble shall carry on!

Oh how I press upon my bosom these times! Spirits are soaring around the Pork Pony offices. Why, you ask? Dear reader, you do ask silly questions sometimes.

It is because my song, The March of Gimble has been passed around the office and all agree: it's tops. Its magnificent chorus, "GIMBLE!" is being shouted in the hallways. Everyone is rather chuffed and cheery and I thank myself for this optimistic atmosphere.

I am a bit wary, however. It seems to me that the mixers and engineers have had the master tapes in their grubby paws a bit too long. But what could they do with my perfect words and melody? A song such as this purposely marred would certainly send all sonic vandals to Hades to live amongst endless Falco, M & N, and Lump Biscuit hits. What truly respectable audiologist would want such a fate?

Folks, if you haven't caught a ride on the wave of Gimble, do so now because it's cresting and may soon be too high to catch.

Where are you now David Kendall?

Ha-Ha! Round one goes to Gimble!

Ah yes, dear reader, victory is sweet and victory is Stuart's. What, you ask, have I won? I've driven one of the wretched Pork Pony writers out of the office and out of town. David Kendall has fallen. Who's next?

That's right, I've pushed out the one who slandered me, the one who sullied the name of Stuart Gimble in such a heinous and cowardly fashion. Did you think you would last, Mr. Kendall? Did you think you were any match for my cunning and Stuance?

I know you're curious, reader. I know your anticipation is high in the stratosphere. You're thinking, "What did Stu do to that sap Kendall?" I'll tell you. First, I poured every last ounce of alcohol down the drain. I stacked the empty bottles in front of his office door and attached a sign that said, "Thirsty?" Next, I obtained copies of all his manuscripts and transformed each of his stories with the powers of Stuance. I dare say he cried when he saw the massive improvements. I then posted some of my favorite Stuancical changes on the company bulletin board for all to see. All saw. All stood in awe. All knew the shame I drenched Mr. Kendall with. But the final, deciding blow was yet to come.

It was song that brought my disgrace (albeit temporary) and I decided that I would reciprocate. I wrote and recorded a little number and delivered it to David Kendall Jr.'s office. The next day he was gone.

You want to hear the song, do you? You'll have to wait, for the kind folks who recorded that awful garbage theme song are mixing and mastering my meister werk as you read this.

Mr. Kendall is currently in the midst of a cross-country trek. He's moving from Los Angeles to Pennsylvania, the home state and birth place of a majority of the Pork Pony staff. You'll still hear from the bastard, but not before his words are touched by a little thing called Stuance.

Who wants it next?

Shall I even attempt to tame my vitriol? I've been duped again by the wretches who surround me and I say, I'm none the better for it.

Last week, as you may recall, I was in one of my better recent moods. Pork Pony announced to me that they had recorded a theme song based on some of my writing. This excited me for I figured that the foolish naïfs I'd been working for had finally acquired some taste.

Bunkum.

The horrid lot of them put David Kendall up to "singing" this song. First off, the bastard's voice sounds like Mickey Rooney after an opium binge. I do not lie, listen for yourself. Secondly, he was obviously drunk. A few days ago I found a bizarre plastic whiskey jug outside Mr. Kendall's office. It was empty, of course. When I presented it to the man himself, he explained that it was a special "grip it and sip it" bottle. Slightly telling? Yes. Lastly, the dunderhead openly slanders me in this song. To this, I do not know how to reply.

After flying high on the hopes that I'd finally broken through to this herd of below average, sheep-minded simpletons, the delivery of this song nearly brought death's rusty scythe to my throat. Hearing such awful things said about oneself can be rather damaging. I was crushed and appalled by the slander and depression fell upon me like a mid-monsoon mudslide. Alas, dear reader, there is always light at the end of the tunnel for Stuart Gimble.

Today my beacon beam, my guiding glow is the fire of war. Not war in the physical sense; war on the psychological plane. I will not rest until I have personally sucked the creative soul from every Pork Pony writer. Sleep will not be my companion until these fools see the world my way. They will be mere shadows of Stuart Gimble, dust in the shape of this great writer.

Victory will be mine.