Setting the Record Straight

Setting aside all the drama of going down right now, thanks in part to the betrayal of Andrew Baron, a man in New York who I hired as an “on-demand typist” for Return of the Reluctant (how else did you think I blog so prolifically?), there are a few facts I wanted to set straight because these pesky Internet writers don’t understand that this site’s full name is “Edward Champion’s Return of the Reluctant.” Not “Eddie & Andrew’s Return of the Reluctant.” Not “Edward Champion’s Return of the Reluctant with Andrew Baron.” Not “Return of the Rocketboom.” It’s me. Just me. Understand something: If you pitted my hubris against Mr. Baron’s, it would be a bit like Mike Tyson going up against Evander Holyfield. Not only would I TKO Mr. Baron in a few minutes, but I’d get a bit hungry and bite his ear. Granted, this is only personal speculation. We’ll save the facts for later. But my machismo cannot be understated. After all, Mr. Baron is fighting his own battle right now.

Nothing personal against Mr. Baron. But that’s the way it is in the Web 2.0 economy. Sometimes, you just have to bite your partner’s ear off. Literally AND metaphorically.

I had originally prepared a six hour YouTube video recreating every act of betrayal from Andrew Baron during his four-month employment at I hired six local actors to play different components of Andrew Baron’s personality. There was love and care and jealousy and hate in this video. But it was apparently too long. So I’m now reduced to explaining this in blog form.

Fact: Andrew Baron has a large cock. It’s bigger than mine. I know this because we both dropped our Dockers and it was Andrew who whipped out the ruler. It often clouds his better judgment in matters of the heart.

Fact: I am incapable of burying the hatchet.

Fact: I have ghost-written much of Andrew’s material at Rocketboom and have kept quiet up until now. Because much of it called for Amanda Congdon to whip her head around like a bimbo. But this idea originated from Andrew.

Fact: Andrew’s typing speed leaves much to be desired.

Fact: I am even worse on television than Andrew.

Fact: I did indeed undergo plastic surgery in an effort to woo Andrew to San Francisco. I spent $3,000 of my personal savings to extend my nose to six inches: Cyrano style. If it hadn’t been Andrew’s orifice, it would have been somebody else’s I would have done this for. I am now spending another $3,000 to restore my nose to its original size.

Fact: Andrew sobbed on the phone to me many times. I became his “West Coast therapist.” Never mind that I’m not credentialed. He’s doing worse than you think.

Fact: Nearly all of my paychecks to Andrew bounced and I had to pay him in Macy’s gift cards, which explains his wardrobe. I’m not proud of this. But if you knew what Andrew charged for typing, you’d understand.

Fact: I have written every blog post. Every sentence, every comma, every poorly placed adverb. Every time Andrew tried to edit me, I would call him up and ask him to slap his hand with a ruler. Hard. Repeatedly. I figured that my masochistic suggestions might help him with his Rocketboom project. It appears that I was wrong.

Fact: Andrew initially expressed interest in moving out to San Francisco and then became extremely frightened of me. He drew some of these anxieties out on Amanda Congdon and declared to me by certified mail (return receipt requested) that there was, I quote, “no way in hell I would set foot on the West Coast.” I am very sorry for these developments, Ms. Congdon.

Fact: Two million people who hadn’t heard of Rocketboom now know about it, thanks to my suggestion that Andrew whip up a silly scandal.

So what?! Obviously it hasn’t been important for me to air these concerns before. But if Andrew can do it, then so can I! I only say this now because there are vicious and hurtful rumors going around that have implied that I was the one with the larger penis, all evidence to the contrary. None of this devalues the spirit of edrants. I am positive that Andrew will stop stalking me and that he will stop sending me naked pictures to my cell phone. There are probably more important things to dwell on, but as you all know I’m more than a bit socially maldjusted. I think I’ll eat my own ear tonight for dinner. That’s how much it hurts. Let the Valleywag gossipmongers chew on THAT one for a while.


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