The Local Independent

By Patrick Brodrick

            “Try to stay in touch, huh,” I said to an old friend that I hadn’t spoken to in almost a year as we were about to part ways after bumping into each other outside of a local watering hole. She was on her way in with a group of friends, dressed to the nines for a night on the town; I was on my way out, lost in a warm whiskey haze that had the dangerous potential of spinning completely out of control. “It’s been too long.”

            “It doesn’t seem like it’s been that long because I watch your show all the time,” she said. “You’re like the King of All Clinton Media. You’re a celebrity now.”

            “Yeah, I’ve got to go pick up my cocaine-addled supermodel girlfriend for a night of drunken debauchery the likes of which haven’t been seen since Caligula ruled before the paparazzi show up,” I scoffed before we both went our separate ways.

Celebrity…Jesus, I hate that word and every vapid thing it stands for in this media-driven sty, but I suppose, as reluctant as I am to admit it, in some twisted way she’s right. Between my prison-like time spent at the Times & Courier, at least under CNC’s soul-crushing reign, hosting “In The Loop” and hunting the monsters that roam the dark countryside of my mind and crucifying them for all to see on this blog, I’ve met more people in this town in the last five years than my previous 25. And, for good or ill, people feel comfortable enough to approach me to talk about local politics or the latest episode of the show.

And while I’ll never consider myself anything more than an eccentric recluse with a nasty deviant streak, I may have to start to learn to embrace my new found celebrity status, especially after a reader sent me the following link, www.thelocalindependent.com

Oh sweet imitation, the sincerest form of flattery. (Seriously, please take the time to click over to this link and read it – especially the part where they compare me to Hunter Thompson. That’s seriously the greatest thing anyone’s ever said about me, although I’m pretty sure that’s not the reaction the shaved monkeys were going for.)

Apparently the leeches have decided to rouse themselves from the rank and murky depths of their free-speech swamp to latch onto my status as a “celebrity.” Let this be a cautionary tale to the Heath Ledgers, River Phoenixes and James Deans of the world; there will always be vampires and human traffickers looking for any opportunity to try and live off your hide. Jesus, they couldn’t even come up with something original for a name. I mean c’mon, seriously? That’s the best you’ve got?

The founders of The Local Independent Redeux claim that they’ll report the news without the “hate and venom” and won’t use “words to assassinate the character” of certain local politicians. Of course, if I was a betting man – and I am so if you’re giving odds get in touch with me – I’d place a substantial wager that the treacherous swine that started this site are the same homophobic pigs that started a similar site, http://www.kevin-haley.com/, claiming Selectman Kevin Haley was a drunken, closeted homosexual. It sure is a good thing they’ll be getting rid of the hate and venom and won’t be using words to assassinate the character of our elected officials.

Of course I’ll never be able to prove this since, like all leeches, they don’t have the spine to put their names anywhere on the site. Say what you want about me and the things I vomit up onto this blog, at least I have the courage to put my name above each story I write. You see that’s what’s called integrity; something that’s sorely lacking from those jackals and the conniving politicians that put them up to their latest scheme.

Apparently they are still the bunch of prepubescent schoolboys in the gym locker room, cracking themselves up with whispered jokes about sodomy and getting erections while they read books about the Holocaust. They’ve just traded in the whispered conversations and locker room for secret Internet chatrooms, posting with bullshit bravado under screen names.

Normally I’d worry about the repercussions of writing something like this, but why bother. There’s not one of them that has the guts to approach me like a man to tell me they don’t like what I write or, perish the thought, try and have a rational discussion about the issues. Nope, they’d rather post about it in communication-blackout chatrooms behind secret identities. (Again, see my name at the top of the page)

That’s alright, it’s almost butchering season and the swine will have to watch as their political allies are slaughtered at the polls come May. And in true swine fashion – as anyone that’s ever butchered pigs knows – we’ll be able to watch as they run over to lap up the blood of their fallen brethren. (Hell, even if they get reelected I get another three years of writing about their bullshit cronyism so either way I win.)

But enough of this talk! It’s getting late and, like most celebrities, I’ve got to go blow lines of crushed Ambien off the backs of the strippers that have wound themselves up into a mass of writhing flesh on my living room floor, doing unspeakable things to each other with slabs of meat, as a Mexican transvestite midget looks on.

            Yeah, I think I can get used to this whole decadent-celebrity thing…