Joe Murphy BeerI write about death all the time. Fictional death. Come on, admit it, you like it. It's fun. You even beg me to write more. Because it's happening to fictional characters, it's abstract, it's escapist. But real death sucks donkey balls. Today we lost one of the pioneers of podcasting, Joe Murphy. He was a mainstay of the podcast fiction community, with his work on Dragon Page and the Kick-Ass Mystic Ninjas. I talked to Joe, both on Skype and in real life, only a couple of times. We weren't close friends in the traditional sense. But I listened to his voice every week. I got to know him and his droll sense of humor because of his podcast. There is something about the human voice, something that carries your soul and can connect you deeply to another person. I've got amazing friends from my past, guys that I would do anything for - but right now, my closest friends are all from the podcasting community. I've discovered that you don't have to hang out in person to develop a real bond. That's how it was with Joe Murphy: I heard his voice, and by hearing it so much, I got to know him. He did the same, listening to my podcasts, and somewhere along the line we became friends. It's weird, geeky as hell, it makes no sense, and yet there it is. Joe made me laugh. In my life, that's what defines friends - the people who make you laugh. He made me laugh, and in my heart, I always thought of him as a friend. And now my friend is gone. And I say goodbye with the only thing I'm good at - typed words. I was asked to record something for Joe last week, and I couldn't do it. I didn't have a clue where to start, or what to say. I left the guy a voice mail three weeks ago - all of seven seconds - and I couldn't even make it through that without choking up. I know, right? Me, at a loss for words. So I'm a pussy, so sue me. If you want violence, I've got your back. If you want emotions, I'm about as worthless as a day-old mule turd. Joe, this tall glass of Newcastle is for you. It's emblazoned with the logo of the Krakens, from The Rookie, a 'cast you'll never get to finish. I will miss you. I'd love to say something meaningful, but I'm just too pissed off. So that's all I've got - I will miss hearing your voice, and you making me laugh.
The Joe Murphy Memorial Fund.


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I Sent this in to,

I Sent this in to, Scott. I refer to you as the (Stephen) King of podcast novelists...
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Thanks for the very kind

Thanks for the very kind words, Scott. He'll be missed. And I'm sorry you have to share this sad day with your triumph on Amazon. But as has been said before, shit continues to happen. Though I am happy to see you drinking Newcastle. It's a step in the right direction. Though Joe would have preferred quality root beer. E.
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Hi Scott, i'm a fan of

Hi Scott, i'm a fan of yours. Reading the above typed words about a connection you lost in this world, does hit something within me. You at a loss of words, ok. Here's a tip: Joe, I'm gonna miss you! Left you a message, love to hear from you. Love your stories. Aat.
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May the light we lose guide

May the light we lose guide him.
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I feel for you Scott, and

I feel for you Scott, and I'm sure he'd appreciate the words you gave him here. I can't speak for shit when it comes to sad events like this. I may not have known him like you did, but I'm sure he's quite pleased with the fact that he brought out your softer side, which I have to say is actually quite beautiful. Great, now I'm getting all sappy too, so I think I'll just stop now. The podosphere has a hole in it, now. He will be missed.
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Scott, This is touching. I

Scott, This is touching. I know Joe would've been thrilled to see you dance alla James Brown all over Amazon. Cheers, Phil

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