Monday, July 4, 2011

Maximum Fitness is no more

Hi All,

Ouch! That stings. The magazine where I hung my hat the last six months, the esteemable Maximum Fitness, is no more. It's kaput. I hear it's the first time in the umpteen-decades-long reign of Robert Kennedy Productions that they've ever had to shutter a magazine. So thirty-odd years they went off without a hitch, then six months ago a redheaded jackass came to work for them and soon they're closing magazines. I take great pride in that.

Actually, no I don't. Actually, I sort of hate being out of work. Actually, it sort of scares me. Actually ACTUALLY, they offered me a lateral to another title, with the same spot on the masthead and salary, but I couldn't quite bring myself to accept it. The reasons behind that are a little lengthy to get into, but ultimately if I don't feel 100% committed to something I can't really tell my boss, or anyone who's relying on me to perform, that I'm with them down the line. I certainly debated the "don't let go of one branch until you have a firm grip on another" notion, but I don't think that's fair to anyone. I promised my girlfriend there would be no financial heeby-jeebies, either, and thankfully I do have some money ratholed away in a jam jar buried in the backyard.

So that's right: no more lat-blasting. No more ab-ripping. Begone with biceps-shredding! No more shall you slash fat and build muscle! (Fact: We have a pair of 20-sided dice here at the office, which we bought at a Dungeons and Dragon Emporium next to a pewter statue of a sorcerer; each side of one die has body part names, and the other die has violent verbs. We roll them to come up with headlines: Shred Your Thighs / Pulverize Your Calves / Vaporize Your Breadbasket / Obliterate Your C-4 Vertebrae, etc, &c.)

Well, anyway, that's life in the big city. I am currently available for all manner of jobs. I am taking offers. Do you want someone to swab out your eavestroughs? I'm your man. Need a leg-breaker? I can do that, too, maybe, just so long as the deadbeat whose legs I am slated to break is a weak-kneed nelly. All of my organs are in relatively hale condition, so you can make me offers on those bad boys, too. (lungs cost extra!) And if you have any leads on jobs, do let me know. I will probably write short stories for nickels at the bus stop for the next little while and see how that treats me.

All best,

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