Hey, Gawker! Haven't been around these parts in a while. Nice digs! Actually...nice traffic. Man, last time I posted here I ripped on Remy Stern and something called "Media Bistro." Anyway, young Foster popped over to Deadspin for a second.
So I came over here just to let you people know that you're losing a very, very special weekend editor. I mean, this guy may look like the fun house mirror version of Space Camp Joaquin Phoenix but he's definitely a good guy. Like...solid. I mean, like, two-day old stool sample solid. And he's so driven. Wow! The Village Voice. Like, the fucking VOICE, man. That's the ultimate landing spot for a young, edgy writer-person...in 1983! What, too good for the New York Press? Taibbi moonlighted there, you know. You could have taken time out on your lunch break every day to rub your face over the old chairs to see if there were any Neo-Marxist fart ghosts on there to make you better at yo...
Oh, wait! He's back.
Gotta go. Fuck you, Foster!