Ozzy, Old Friend,

It is through a veil of sticky man-tears and over the damp rings of moisture left behind by an empty bottle of vodka that I write these words, a fond farewell to a loyal comrade to whom I wish only the best of luck as he embarks upon yet another of life's grand adventures. Your new web site, nocandyasses.com, looks like it will be a real corker, the kind of place only the realest of real men will be allowed to appreciate, the kind of place a gargantuan man-king like yourself was born to rule over and hold forth on the sporting issues of the day and what-not.

I applaud you, sir. You were always the bold sort, from that day you first walked in here with Gerry the Anemic Receptionist's throat locked firmly in one meaty paw, demanding to be heard even as the poor boy's face turned purple and his eyes bulged out. It was hard to deny you then and it's not gotten any easier since. As your reputation has grown so has your ego and your undeniable girth, as they should. You remain a man with a raging passion for truth and right and you've got the guts to stand up and be counted, goddamnit, a quality that truly means something in this world of mealy-mouthed, lolly pop lickers and dainty boys. I guess that's why you fit in here so well.

You will be missed, of course. I'll remember our days together very fondly as time goes on, I'm sure, as will everyone here. Even now the sting of public humiliation we all suffered when we sponsored you for the Beantown Bean Eating Free-For-All is fading and we can finally laugh at that stunt you pulled with the Port-O-Potty's. All of us except the DPW workers who had to clean up, of course. I hope you still send a card once in a while to that one guy who ended up in that institution.

And how could I ever forget the first (and only) Ozzy McGurt Bi-Annual Flounder Fishing Derby you organized and how you got so drunk you smashed Jim Nance's head through the bottom of our dinghy and we were stranded on that island for seventeen days. Oh, how we laughed when Nance went screaming in terror into the ocean that day when you suggested cutting off and eating one of his legs and got savaged by a school of poisonous jellyfish! I chuckle now just thinking of it.

So at least I have those memories to sustain me, old chum. That time we lured eight drunk Oakland Raider fans in their idiot KISS make-up to a gay bondage club and left them tied to a steel cage for the night. Or when we went pool hopping at Patrick Ewing's place and you left a floater for him. The events following the Red Sox 2004 World Series victory are pretty freakin' hazy to me, I admit, but the one image I'll never get out of my head is you, naked except for a freakish, neon plaid kilt that has somehow caught on fire, stage diving off of the Green Monster and landing on top of that weird midget that Pedro Martinez used to hang out with. Golden days, they were. Grand times.

So let me wish you all the best at your new site, good buddy. It's not easy running one all by your lonesome but it's a whole hell of a lot of fun when it comes together just right. And you know damn well that we're always here for you if you need us, ready to have your back when the chips get down and your up against it. Thats what pals are for, right? I say all of this in the most non-mushy, rough and tumble, macho way possible, of course.

Good luck, Ozzy. Take care of yourself and for the love of God, no more beans.

Ken

P.S. On the bright side, I can't help thinking of how much money we're going to save on hot dogs, beer and ribs at the company cookout this summer.

More Fond Memories of Ozzy, Courtesy of the Staff:

Gorman Moloko - Ozzy and I never really got along that well, I must admit. We found ourself at odds at times when it came to political matters and imy general disdain for the sporting type as a whole. Still, there was that time he helped me change a flat tire in the parking lot late one Friday evening and, afterwards, we sparked up a monsterous doobie and talked trash about Ken all night. He was a decent sort if a bit rough around the edges. He knew where to score some great fucking weed, I'll say that.

Shalla, The Edgy Intern - He made me very nervous. I mean really nervous. No one should be able to sweat like that, should they? While sitting down at his desk? Napping? In February? I understand that human science has probably not advanced far enough yet to be able to produce a deoderant that could help a man like that but neither should a person be forced to wear a raincoat and nasal plugs to be able to bring him his coffee.

Melma Frankengibson - I predict great things for Ozzy in the future. He possesses an aura that is unique in it's scope and ferocity and will lead him to accomplishments both grand and profound. On a side note, Andre T. Giant says that he hasn't forgotten about that Superbowl XXll bet no matter how hammered you both were and he'll be waiting to collect beyond mortality's shadowed veil. Ozzy was a great individual but he was always a sucker for the Broncos and the points.

Stinky Cratchett, Cafeteria Worker - Ozzy was my best customer, hands down. People would clear out as soon as they saw him coming, the line would just thin right out as if people suddenly decided they didn't have much appetite. He would just wave his hand, indicating whole sections behind the counter that he wanted, it was awe-inspiring. There was this retarded kid, Bill Stedgie, who would help Ozzy carry his trays over to a table and Ozzy would slip the kid a buck or two, maybe give him a few tips on the ponies or whatever. He was good like that, always willing to help the little people. Which, to him, was just about everyone. I'll miss the big bastard. Are there gonna be layoffs down here, now?

And Don't Forget To Visit:

www.nocandyasses.com

© Ken Socrates & Ozzy McGurt 2007. All rights reserved.