Greetings future and former friends! All 36 of my devoted readers can rejoice as I, the best, the beautiful, the only Nick Moose, have found a new home at Points in Case!
It's been awhile since my award-winning (I swear!) column was tickling the funny bones of hungover and often times still-drunk Kent State students.
For the uninitiated, "Nick Moose's View" was a whole bunch of awesome, and a much beloved staple of the Daily Kent Stater. I wrote about octopi and girls whose boobs I'd seen and Totally Spies and Pez and girls whose boobs I wished I could see.
"When I wrote for the Kent Stater, I was limited to only 62 masturbation references a week."I never figured out which channel the "news" or whatever was on like the other writers. My column was basically the only alternative reading material for students who didn't care about the conservative (or liberal, I forget which is which) conspiracy to crush the life out of everyone's puppy.
Then one tragic day, where once there were boob jokes, there was a big dark boob joke shaped hole. I was gone.
For those of you who experienced this, I can imagine it must have been something akin to the part towards the end of The Neverending Story where "the nothing" consumed all of Fantasia. Yes, the Rock Biter may look like he has big strong hands, but it seemed my column slipped right through that bastard's fingers.
Theories abounded regarding the cause of my absence. Here are just a few:
I Died 20 Years Ago
Much like a plot concocted by R.L Stein, this theory's supporters claim I died 20 years ago and never wrote any columns to begin with. Oh, and a sasquatch wearing a lettermen jacket with my name on it was found next to my gravestone.
I Was Lindsay Lohan's Sex Slave
I did talk about Lindsay Lohan a lot. Her recent professional and personal dives could have been part of an elaborate front to cover up her enslaving of me. I mean, she wants to remake Kitten with a Whip! How would she know about that movie if I hadn't been ordering DVDs with her credit cards when she wasn't looking?
I Got Really Super Drunk
To this I say, when have I ever composed a column WITHOUT being really super drunk?
Regardless of whatever the hell happened to me, if my disappearance was like the part towards the end of The Neverending Story, think of me writing for Points in Case as the part after that part-when everything goes back to normal, and even the horse you clearly saw die comes back to life and Falcor chases those kids into a dumpster.
But I'm sure you're wondering, "Does Nick Moose have what it takes to be a Points in Caser?"
Have no fear Moosekateers! My PIC columns don't necessarily need to be great. They don't even need to be good .What they need is to be 800 words long. This may seem like a daunting task for lesser columnists-"I don't know 800 words!" they might be heard to say-but even those same doubting Thomas's concerns would evaporate if they knew that not all the words have to be different, and some of them can be "fuck."
This opens up a door to a whole new world of inappropriateness for me. When I wrote for the Kent Stater, why sometimes I was limited to only 62 masturbation references a week, which left me with fairly little material. But now, thanks to the magic of the information super webway, I can say things like "beat that puss" or "moistened vagina lip," and really what piece of writing not featuring those phrases can possibly justify its existence?
This may seem like a small victory to some, but I've never been a fan of what Lenny Bruce referred to as "writing while handcuffed." Writing while tied to a post with fluffernutter smeared on my nipples anxiously awaiting cheerleaders is a different matter however, but I digress.
My point is, I've embraced the internet as my new home. It may be a disappointment if you expect it to be similar in any way to Tron or ReBoot, but if you're a fan of pornography, it's more or less like being a kid at Chuck E. Cheese, only without the animatronics (unless you're into that). And while my musings may not be porn per se, they can definitely be classified as fodder for fetishists of fun!
For those of you new friends out there, reading a Nick Moose column is like humping a whack-a-mole machine: When you're done, you're really glad you did it, but for some reason you also feel kind of ashamed. And that sensation should be kicking in riiight about now!