This is the last “Just the Right Bullets” there will ever be (but read till the end to see what that really means), and so I wish to come clean a bit.

Let me be blunt here: this column was fictional.

Yeah, my name is Adam P. Knave. In the columns I used the name Adam P. Knave as well, but that APK wasn't this one. Which could be confusing, as you might have thought that the fictional APK in this column was writing the other things attributed to APK on this site. He wasn't. See why this needed to stop?

Cards on the table time though, for the sake of doing it up right one last time:

I don't drink nearly as heavily as it seemed in this column. Shit, I can't! I have an ulcer, so really my drunken state would kill me in quick order. I want a drink about as often as it seemed in the column though, I just can't have them. Which is for the best. I've seen that guy's life, and I don't really want too much of it.

Yeah, I have a bar downstairs. I just don't write down there. I might, if there were tables, but there aren't. So I would be writing on the bar itself. I thought about it a few times. They would have let me, but I also know I would get nothing done and have more beer spilled on my laptop by random strangers than could ever justify the idea.

Shit, whatever. We had a good run, this column and I. D.J. Kirkbride and Dustin Grovemiller welcomed me with open arms and happily gave their blessings to my whims on this column. Did I want to write about being a drunk who wrote for a living and spent his days at the bottom of a glass? Yes, and they were cool with that. Wonderful, gracious, crazy fuckers that they are -- they just ran with it.

And I ran with it, too. I had adventures; I had a whole life that wasn't mine. But it did get to be a burden having to explain to people that it was fiction, at times. A lot of me is in there, sure as shit. But through a mirror that is covered in smoke.

And I thought about it and decided I wanted a change. See "JtRB" had a strict focus point. It had to be one thing. I couldn't do columns that weren't in some way tied to that character. It was his story, and sometimes that just weighed on me. It isn't why I started writing columns. I noticed that I had a point less and less and was just writing small bursts of serial fiction. Which can be cool, too -- it just wasn't what I wanted from this.

So I'm putting an end to it.

Instead!

Well, shit, you can find me here a lot over at the “Hooray for Comics!” column, “Beyond Book Club,” “Cinema Eaters,” and popping up in other things as well. Oh yeah, and did I mention that soon I'll be starting a brand new ongoing column here?

It won't be fictional. It will be anything but fictional. It will also be blunt and (hopefully) interesting and maybe even funny at times. I'm at a strange place in my life, and I'm going to detail it for all the world to see. I may succeed in my ventures; I may fail horribly. Either way, the new column will be a front row seat to every inch of it that I can legally discuss.

“Sight Gags for Radio” launches soon. Come over there and grab a seat and a drink and enjoy the ride. Because, fuck, D.J. and Dustin are still crazy enough to let me do things here. I'm compelled to reward that with some of the most honest, hard looking insanity I can muster. Though, there might be random insanity as well. Consider it a free gift with purchase.

But before I go, shit, let's go down to the bar and grab a cold one with that poor sad bastard down there. He's still looking out a fogged window, catching the lights of cars going by. He wants to move on, but he can't. He wants to grow and change, but he doesn't think he deserves to. And he still has more fun than you.