Stace has been cyber-bullied into moving to a completely different state, you monsters, but she asked me to take over as Sharks writer here before she threw her laptop into the trash. She called the trash her "wallow zone" and stared blankly in the middle distance for a couple seconds after saying it. Then she jumped in herself and disappeared, and I saw a beautiful vision of my future.
As a middle-aged white male, I know the world is craving my opinions and unique point-of-view. I’m also a Sharks fan who actually lives in the goddamn Bay Area (shit, you just got geo-burnt, Stace and Meg). Stace always lived in SoCal but became a Sharks fan after losing a bet, I think. Meg was born in the Bay Area but remained a Sharks fan largely out of nostalgia and the kind of corroding blackness that overtakes the soul from reading supernatural horror fiction (he now writes about video games from an office in Vinci, CA but lives in Carcosa).
I myself escaped from the hellscape of Southern California in my late teens. In college I got to see a lot of Sharks games thanks to a woman at my on-campus work-study job who had season tickets. I cut my Sharks fan teeth watching a scrappy, rag-tag group of guys with names like "Dody," "Shawn," and "Link" get the bejesus beat out of them by dominating players like Mario Lemieux, Theo Fleury, Pavel Bure, or That Guy That Had a Pretty Restful Nap. Those lost years in a nutshell: one of the Sharks starting defensemen, Jim Kyte, was and is legally deaf. Despite the shitty on-ice product, I got sucked in, largely because they started acquiring some of my favorite players from the Nordiques (long story, but my dad and I watched a ton of Canadian hockey broadcasts because we had a satellite dish in the '80s and early '90s).
Because all the writers aren’t living in the same general area anymore, we can’t meet to workshop our amazing content at their normal conference room. Dunn lives in a series of halfway houses across The Southland, and Jer lives somewhere in the Inland Empire, which was the subject of a compelling documentary I saw on Netflix with that woman from Jurassic Park.
I feel it’s time to break ground on a brand new, luxurious BoC headquarters. For "optics" it should be the midway point between San Jose, Los Angeles, and Anaheim. I used my elite hacking skills to find out just where this place is, indicated by the "M" on this map:
Wow. San Emidio is a paradise. There’s plenty of room for our vast legal and fact-checking departments, and it looks like we’re close to the Basic School so I can take night classes on how to be a particular kind of bitch. This is going to be so awesome.