Best Of 2023 - What In The Fuck Is Going On
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Yesterday, the final nail was driven into the coffin of the Barstool I once knew. At 2PM, the company gathered to shower Kayce Smith's buffering child. There were cookies, gifts, advice cards... a jug of punch, white wine, flowers, table cloths, and lots of cooing over Kayce's pregnant glow.
Compliments oozed: "You look so good! Are you ready? Can I... can I feel your bump?" (For the record, I did place my hands on Kayce's stomachs, only to be quickly told she is not expecting twins and I was about seventeen inches too high.)
Frank sang a song. An eye-reddening, ear-wrenching, stomach-turning song so unpleasant that it conjured notes from the sound disorientation techniques utilized by field agents at Gitmo to break detainees. I'd have drawn a map to my family to make it stop.
Ironically, among the songs said to have been featured on the Guantanamo Bay torture playlist was Eminem's "Kim." Fitting, as the architect of yesterday's waterboarding was none other than Kontent Kim herself.
Now, Kim is a wonderful person. She bakes cookies for the office and sows love and warmth into the hearts of all. Yes, I mean sow, not sew, though both might work in this poetic sense. But nine days ago (NINE!) we received a company-wide email from Kim:
Looking past the incredibly offensive gendering of an unborn child, I was aghast at the inclusion of a baby registry in small print at the bottom. The gall! The deafness of tone! There are employees on this email list who scrape by on less than $500,000/year. They can barely afford their rent, let alone punny, graphic onesies for newborns.
Shortly thereafter, we received a second, clarifying email:
Amazon! Not BuyBaby! Phew, dodged a bullet on that one. I was about to harvest my 401k on the wrong registry!
Still, I thought perhaps the hubbub might die down. Maybe a higher-up would alert Kim gently to the discomfort caused by her invitation. Until, three days ago, we received a second, reminder email:
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By this point, I'd received so many emails that I started to wonder if I was the father.
I mean, what is happening right now? How did we get here? Dave, we need you more than ever.
It all felt a bit like receiving an invitation to an afternoon prayer at work. Just—pardon? Is this even allowed? Dear HR: are you aware that we are being invited to purchase gifts for a child not yet born to this world? Strong religious connotations there, and I'm not finding frankincense OR myrrh on either BuyBuyBaby or Amazon. Plz advise.
I had so many questions. Is attendance at this shower mandatory? What even is a baby shower? Are we required to buy a gift? Will Kayce be checking to see who purchased a gift and who didn't? When I am on the eve of having a child someday, are we going to throw me a baby shower too? Do I get paternity leave? Am I even ready to have a child? What if he's not athletic? What if SHE'S not athletic?! How late in life can you bring a clumsy, unskilled child to a foster home?
At one point, I watched Kelly Keegs feel the baby kick, which made her walk away crying, which made Kayce cry. And that's when I'd had enough. I walked straight to my pediatrician and asked him for a vasectomy, then and there. Of course he calmed me down and told me to count the monkeys on the wallpaper, which always helps. But boy, I was ready to do it.
In the end, this really did feel like the end of the Barstool Sports I've known all these years. But maybe, just maybe, Kayce's baby will be the next Big Cat, or Kevin, or Joey Camasta, or Dave. And the empire will rule for another thousand years.
And with that thought, I poured myself some punch.
PS:
"I think all the young girls should have babies ASAP!"
Yes Aunt Lydia. May the Lord open.