‘No, Really. I’m NEVER Coming Back.’

03.02.11 7 years ago 84 Comments

Some of you people think I’m bluffing when I say that I’m leaving Cincinnati. For some reason, “I will never set foot in Paul Brown Stadium again” isn’t perfectly clear to some people. Well let me make this clear: I hate Cincinnati.

No, I really hate it. People say that they have real seasons here. I hate seasons. People say how nice everyone from Cincinnati is. I hate nice people. I grew up in California, where personal opinion is verboten, the way it should be. People that live here can’t even spell “Cincinnati.” Three Ns. One T. Not two Ns and two Ts. One. How hard is that?

But that won’t be my problem anymore, because I’m done with Cincinnati. You know what? Fuck Cincinnati.

Fuck the Cincinnati airport. It’s not even in Cincinnati. It’s in Kentucky. They don’t have paved roads in Kentucky, but they have an airport. Great.

Fuck you, Fountain Square. You’re the only people of color that can actually get jobs downtown.

Fuck you, “WKRP in Cincinnati”. Every time I tell someone I’m playing in Cincinnati, they ask “Oh, like WKRP? You know, the TV show?” Wait, do you mean THAT STUPID MOTHERFUCKING TV SHOW THAT WENT OFF THE AIR THIRTY YEARS AGO? I was two years old! I was shitting my pants instead of watching that show, and quite frankly, I’m pretty sure I got the better end of the deal!

But I did actually know a Jennifer Marlowe in high school. She got married, divorced, and then lost a bunch of weight and now she’s smokin’ hot. It’s all good, though. I sent her some pics. Of my car, you perv.

Fuck you, Skyline Chili. Looks like shit. Smells like shit. Tastes like shit. And it’s just as hard to scrub out of upholstery. I AM A PROFESSIONAL ATHLETE. I HAVE NO TIME FOR STAINS.

Fuck you, Hall Of Justice. Where was Superman when Kimo Von Luthor was crashing into my knee? CAN YOU HEAR ME, SON OF JOR-EL? I DENOUNCE YOU!

And fuck you Mike Brown. I wish I could take all the money you save from revenue sharing and your rent-free stadium deal and cram it down your fat face. You probably keep your father’s ashes in a coffee can on the mantle, don’t you? And you probably stole that can from Marge Schott. Prick.

And fuck you all, Cincinnati! I’m never coming back!

Carson out!

Okay, maybe I need to work on the signoff but I’m still leaving!

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