Gone But Not Forgotten…

By: Mike Rudon Jr.

About a month or so ago I made the very difficult decision to walk away from a job which had become a little too overwhelming. There were different factors which led to that decision but I don’t feel like sharing them here and now. It’s enough that the secret is out…the fat drunken editor of the slimes (as my friends in the UDP affectionately refer to me) has left the building, departed the hallowed halls, bid political colleagues and good friends adieu and embraced the joys and sorrows of unemployment and freedom from stress. Actually all I’ve done is exchange the stress of work for the stress of making ends meet but hey, so far I have no regrets.

With that bit of personal garbage out the way, let me just reveal something which is a little embarrassing. I’ve been going through quite a bit of turmoil in the past few months which has affected my life to a great extent. I won’t go into details because I’m sure nobody cares, but suffice it to say that I’ve been going through a rough time lately and it’s made me very emotional. Hell, an episode of Sponge Bob had me sniffling last night and the latest Hannah Montana had me crying buckets. See what I mean – my hormones are all messed up.

So you can imagine that I almost broke down over the weekend when a friend called me to say that the powers that be over at the Guardian newspaper had devoted considerable space to me in their last issue. I haven’t read any of the papers in the past month because I’ve been so caught up in my own stuff but truth be told, I’ve been scared stiff that my departure would have been unremarked, that I would have gone gently into that goodnight without so much as a ripple to mark my passing. I understand that the ode to Mike published in the Guardian was long, spirited, personal, petty and venomous. Guys and gays over at the Guardian, I give you thanks from the bottom of my heart for keeping me alive in your hearts and minds and in the hearts and minds of readers. I am truly touched (though not the way Fonso likes to be touched) that I have not vanished into political obscurity as I so feared, and that even a month after my departure my memory lives on. I know we haven’t always been on good terms but if its not too much to ask, could you guys keep throwing insults my way, at least for the next little while? Please?

See, what pisses off the guys, gals and gays over that side is the fact that I have the audacity to openly loathe their supreme leader, the big cheese, the great bald hope. How dare I, say they, insult this sacred creature week in and week out without fail? I must be out of my mind, they opine, to question the character of this god among men, this modern day black Moses, this paragon of virtue. Well boss, I’ve got a newsflash for you – when I was editor at the Belize Times I thought Dean Barrow was a megalomaniac fool so caught up in the hype of his own greatness that he was running the country into the ground. I still feel that way even though I haven’t worn the editor mantle for over a month.

I won’t say that Mr. Barrow is a stupid man or make disparaging references to his intellect because the dude can sure turn a pretty phrase. But the man does stupid, moronic things which make me question with regularity his mental fitness. I mean, let face it…sometimes the fellow seems to have a screw or two or three missing. Add to that his monumental self-adoration complex and his unhealthy fixation on his ex-wife’s bottom…line (couldn’t resist that one) and what you have is a recipe for disaster. And you don’t even have to imagine the possibilities of the unsavoury stew concocted from such a recipe. We’re living it right now. There ain’t nothing good happening in our country…nothing to smile about in the jewel. I thought I was in bad shape…hell, just look around and you’ll see what Mr. Barrow has done to Belize. Talk about bad shape.

According to my friends at the Guardian, I am, among other dastardly things, a fat, drunken, worthless, stupid, ignorant, dimwitted, immature, irresponsible, hopeless, good for nothing two-bit poor excuse for a human being. According to those same friends, Mr. Barrow is a glorious, divine, intellectual, visionary bastion of virtue and unparalleled integrity who deigns to walk among us common folk with his feet clad in golden slippers. But boss, a month after I resigned from editor of the Belize Times, that glorious visionary is still giving orders for this worthless, fat drunk to receive ‘rave’ reviews in his newspaper. Who’s the fool now?

| | | | | |