I'm not doing this lightly or impulsively. It feels heavy, but I know its right.
We've been together now - what is it - four years? Almost five? Everyone of those days, I've opened my computer and landed on you. I never told you before, but you're the longest homepage I ever had.
You always felt just right, until....
You always felt just right, until....
....well, until you showed up yesterday like this:
I don't want to know her name. Besides the point.
Can we just call this The Slinky Bikini Cheap Trick Landing Page and leave it at that?
Spare me details. I already know too much: you posted Slinky Bikini before people even went to work yesterday morning [excluding bakers, ahem], and it was still there when the sun went down almost 10 hours later.
Can you understand how much that's just too much of a Slinky Bikini on your landing page? The same landing page that once railed fury and contempt at the coal industry for blowing mountain tops apart in West Virginia? I cheered you on inside for that, so let me tell you now: it is a long way from a mountain top in West Virginia to Miss Slinky Bikini.
I should say: I am not opposed to bikinis. Trust me, I am totally fine with bikinis. They don't even need to be eco-friendly.
Can you see where I'm coming from? I know things change. People change. Landing pages change. But still.
One day, contemptible coal industry executives and exploding mountain tops. Fast forward a bit, and we've arrived at Slinky Bikini [btw, don't think for a second I missed Don Draper's visage oh so close to guess what? May I ask: exactly what was the thinking on that one? 10 hours of Slinky Bikini front and center might not do the job? You needed Dapper Don's sweet mug just in case? Was he not cheap trick #2, a visual cherry on top of your Slinky Bikini cake?].
Truth be told, I've had some doubts about this relationship for a while. I know, I know, I didn't say anything when it happened, but your total graphic overhaul a few months back jilted me. Things have never felt quite the same since. Some days, I've looked at the new you and had no idea of where to begin.
Call me old-fashioned. I was a glutton for your one-picture/post-at-a-time, scroll-down way. A charmer. I could have ridden that landing page of yours into the sunset, I swear. You were such an easy read. I went post to post to post, it was too hard to stop, so I didn't try. I've missed those times, and I've been telling myself your change was okay, or maybe it was me, but I knew deep down. I should have seen Slinky Bikini coming.
I have to ask: has this felt right for you?
Just for the record, I've been faithful. This is not about another landing page. Even as I write this, I have no idea what type of landing page I'll be looking for next [actually, one idea: it won't have Slinky Bikinis].
I'll miss you, Treehugger. You showed me the ropes of so many thrilling forms of alternative energy. You taught me resolve on global warming - do you even know that? That was you. Comparative studies of prehistoric ice melt vs. the last five decades? I was riveted. You were even the one to get my juices going about progressive urban policy on bicycles, something I take seriously and will always cherish.
No question, I am sad, but this is the time to move on.
The way I see it now: We'll always have West Virginia and those exploding mountain tops. Those bastards.
Can we just call this The Slinky Bikini Cheap Trick Landing Page and leave it at that?
Spare me details. I already know too much: you posted Slinky Bikini before people even went to work yesterday morning [excluding bakers, ahem], and it was still there when the sun went down almost 10 hours later.
Can you understand how much that's just too much of a Slinky Bikini on your landing page? The same landing page that once railed fury and contempt at the coal industry for blowing mountain tops apart in West Virginia? I cheered you on inside for that, so let me tell you now: it is a long way from a mountain top in West Virginia to Miss Slinky Bikini.
I should say: I am not opposed to bikinis. Trust me, I am totally fine with bikinis. They don't even need to be eco-friendly.
Can you see where I'm coming from? I know things change. People change. Landing pages change. But still.
One day, contemptible coal industry executives and exploding mountain tops. Fast forward a bit, and we've arrived at Slinky Bikini [btw, don't think for a second I missed Don Draper's visage oh so close to guess what? May I ask: exactly what was the thinking on that one? 10 hours of Slinky Bikini front and center might not do the job? You needed Dapper Don's sweet mug just in case? Was he not cheap trick #2, a visual cherry on top of your Slinky Bikini cake?].
Truth be told, I've had some doubts about this relationship for a while. I know, I know, I didn't say anything when it happened, but your total graphic overhaul a few months back jilted me. Things have never felt quite the same since. Some days, I've looked at the new you and had no idea of where to begin.
Call me old-fashioned. I was a glutton for your one-picture/post-at-a-time, scroll-down way. A charmer. I could have ridden that landing page of yours into the sunset, I swear. You were such an easy read. I went post to post to post, it was too hard to stop, so I didn't try. I've missed those times, and I've been telling myself your change was okay, or maybe it was me, but I knew deep down. I should have seen Slinky Bikini coming.
I have to ask: has this felt right for you?
Just for the record, I've been faithful. This is not about another landing page. Even as I write this, I have no idea what type of landing page I'll be looking for next [actually, one idea: it won't have Slinky Bikinis].
I'll miss you, Treehugger. You showed me the ropes of so many thrilling forms of alternative energy. You taught me resolve on global warming - do you even know that? That was you. Comparative studies of prehistoric ice melt vs. the last five decades? I was riveted. You were even the one to get my juices going about progressive urban policy on bicycles, something I take seriously and will always cherish.
No question, I am sad, but this is the time to move on.
The way I see it now: We'll always have West Virginia and those exploding mountain tops. Those bastards.
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