So last night I psyched myself up for this task and came up with a little arc about how the day was gonna go: We'd start off as enemies, you mocking me relentlessly, me crying into my seventeen iced coffees as I frantically tried to provide content for two sites at once. But surely, I thought, as the day wore on, we'd grow to tolerate each other, to realize that maybe we're really not so different. I imagined my final post of the day was going to be a warm acknowledgment of all the terrific readers who populate Deadspin, and that maybe there'd be a little grudging respect on your part for my keeping up my end of the bet.

It hasn't happened that way at all.

You fuckers have broken me. This is a brutal, backbreaking job, and I can't understand why Will Leitch is always smiling and cheerful. You've spent an entire day knocking me down, relentlessly mocking me, and generally just beating me into the ground. You are, in short, perfect Gawker editors. Whether you like it or not.

See? We're not so different after all.

Truth be told, apart from the agony of doing all these posts and the occasionally stinging barbs you managed to land in my hide, I sort of enjoyed it. I hope I didn't fuck things up for Will too badly, and you all are welcome to wander over to my place any time you like. But I'm going to make a promise I'm sure you'll help me keep: I will never do this again.

Thanks for your time,
Balk

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