GYSO Reviews Part 27 - Eulogy

Published: 2023-11-19

Thim: Hey all and welcome to the new and improved GYSO. I’m your new host, Thim. The previous hosts died in my arms and I’m not at all traumatized about it. Nope. I’m not crying right now, you are.

I’m currently looking at the corpse of Tim, who was impaled like twenty seconds ago. How I’ll get this piece of shit on the website, I don’t know right now. Who’s laptop this is, I don’t know either, and I don’t know what this text editor is called but it sure is my favorite one; I know all the keyboard shortcuts like I’ve been using it for years.

What did you guys write about on this shit heap anyways? Let’s see… fast food, avocadoes… what’s with the 99 problems? Huh? I stopped paying attention like half way through the Drawing posts, but clearly that was a mistake. Not in the sense that Reviews is any better from a quality point of view, but rather in the way that it’s completely incomprehensible.

Anyways. Since Tim and Thor (or was that Thor and Tim?) are dead, like super dead, I’m going to write their eulogies:

What can be said about Thor that hasn’t already been waffled about in half a dozen circular GYSO posts?

Thor was a terrible artist, and an even worse reviewer (somehow). Through some sort of sick corruption he fell off the righteous path of actually treating this blog seriously and started indulging in the madness. Seriously, we could have been great, instead you’re dead lmao.

“Just keep writing, it’ll get better.”

That’s something he said, before he kicked the bucket so hard it blasted a hole through the moon. It really fits the whole attitude he had about this blog, that being nothing. To Thor this blog was just a fun get away from the nastyness of real life. Reviews? Drawing? Who cares. Thor certantly didn’t.

But that’s what we loved about him. Wait. No. Love is the wrong word.

But that’s what he resented about him. Yeah, that’s the one. Resent. Because god damn it, it’s 50% his fault that this blog is incomprehensible. Who’s gonna read through this crap and understand it? What am I going to do with this shit, you hack author?!

Ahem. Anyways. Thor was awful in every way that matters, and in some new unique ways nobody thought possible before he arrived on the scene.

If I can say one redeeming thing about him, I wouldn’t.

Wow. Tim. There’s literally nothing to describe you. You are dead. Some times you were a person drawing boxes. Some times you were an inconsistent character that turned into some Lovecraftian monster on a whim. You really liked bean bags, like the one I am writing this post on, and sometimes you wrote about it.

Because you were a prolific writer. The blog would have been, well, half of what it was, if it weren’t for you, because you were one half of the blog. Just like I am a fusion of you and Thor, I will now take over your roles, and I will not be happy about it. If I could die I would already be dead from the alcohol poisoning I have caused myself trying to rid my memory of you.

I want to commemerate two works in particular. First, the short story published in GYSO Drawing 21: Totally Normal, where you wrote a riveting story about some teenagers. Second, the insofar unreleased long-form blog post “Socks”. A work of severe magnitude, in every sense of the word. I cannot share with you its contents, and I cannot promise you will ever see it. But one day, I hope the rest of us will come to understand its importance.

Tim was a real author. He would get angry and write about his emotions, like the superfluous shed. Or he would get drunk and install software so that he could write more. He would use his money to buy a mechanical keyboard, clean it only once three years ago, and just keep writing. Some might see the correlation between the real writers of yore, the Hemingways and all the other ones that probably were mad drunkards. But I don’t mean to compare him to them; because in both quality and personality he was much, much worse.

If I have to say one nice thing about Tim, I’m going to have to stop talking.

Wow I’m glad that’s off my chest. Can’t wait to read this at their funerals. Much like how Tim doesn’t have a chest anymore, due to the spikes going through it. In fact I think he was alive while I was writing that, but he’s bled out now so it’s okay. Gooble gooble, gobble gáll. I’m not traumatized, at all.

Look at me, I’m so out of it I’m rhyming. At least I have good timing. Who’s cutting onions? I’m not crying, I’m evacuating my eyeballs.

Speaking of eyeballs, has anyone had ‘tear free’ shampoo and wondered how you could tear your hair with regular shampoo? Boy did I feel stupid when I realized. To be fair, I blame that miscommunication on the English Lanugage, and its creators.

The Conclusions

I think I’m supposed to write that? Honestly I don’t know, even though it’s literally in my DNA and I’ve been part of several posts before. I’m not sure how I obtained ancestral instints to write a blog, but it probably explains why I know how to use this text editor. The monarch butterflys migrate south, and I write GYSO. It’s beautiful in a way, being so close to nature.

I don’t know what to do know. Maybe I should start cleaning the house. Maybe Albert can help me clean up the bodies or something. My eyes are starting to get dry from staring at the screen with the little light that has been let in through the holes in the ceiling - or floor - or whatever. No this laptop doesn’t have a backlight, stop being silly.

There’s not enough post, but then again there used to be two people writing this blog so I guess I can be forgiven for not haiving two poeple’s worth of things to say. Still, I’ll write somthing…

nozzle nozzle nozzle nozzle nozzle nozz-
NO
GOD NO NOT AGAIN WITH THE REFERENCES JUST STOP IT ALREADY THE PAIN IS TOO M-
nozzle nozzle no-

like always

MAKE IT STOP

Sorry I sometimes make GYSO references. Loudly. In public. To the cashier.

I’m going to sleep. Bye.