On my way to work today—my last!—I stepped on a dead rat splayed out on Crosby street. At first I thought it was poop. And then I looked down and realized that at one point, the squishy mess had been a rat. I couldn't tell which was worse: dog poop or rat corpse? They feel the same under your foot. Then I realized that was as apt a metaphor as one could find on Crosby Street for my time at Gawker. Just kidding! (About the metaphor part. I totes did step on a rat on the way to work and it was gross.)

This is my last day—kind of. I'll still be doing some things for Gawker from London, mostly night-time newsy stuff. But I want to thank people now. Firstly, you, Time's person of the year. I eat for your pageviews. I live for your comments, I love your praise, I loathe your criticism. Commenters: Mathnet, you lustful fuck, you always made my day. Ditto: Elijah Pollack (you are on Facebook!) and your friend, my son Mordecai Stein.

Also to thank: Choire Sicha, who someone said once made me sound like a retarded Hemingway. What they didn't know is that he added the Hemingway while I brought the retardation to the table.

Gawker editors, both past and present. Alex Balk who taught me what it was to be grumpy, lovable, curmudgeonly and lovely, in a swarthy way. Doree Shafrir who once bought me half-a-clafoutis and whose sweetness hasn't yet been diminished. Emily Gould is someone who taught me many things, most of which I'm happy about and all of which I'm grateful for.

Maggie and Pareene, soon you'll be working under a different master, one named Nick Denton. For the first year I had no idea what he was saying ever. I just nodded and looked down in my Balthazar coffee and hoped I wasn't fired. I wasn't! You'll learn to love him, his stubble, his salt-and-pepper hair, his weird ideas that are scary and executed with Stalin-like swiftness.

Richard Blakeley, in many ways you are deeply unbearable, but in all the important ways, you are wonderful. Sheila McClear, in many ways you are deeply wonderful, but in all the important ways, you are truly divine. Lockhart Steele, you hired me! I love you forever.

Ok, and now the people, off the top of my head, who I don't know directly but to whom I am indebted. Emily and Michelle. You ladies are nuts and wonderful. We got an email today that one of you has a serious STD. So you might want to get that checked out. OR NOT! I don't know. Whatever you two are doing with your lives it is a thing of raging and sombre beauty.

James Lipton, I watched that Inside Inside Inside video we posted a while ago of you last night. I think, but I'm not sure, that you might be a genius. Or you are an unbelievable twat. Maybe you're both. Probably you're both but still whatever you be, it's breathtaking.

Um, Neal Pollack, I still think you are a tool but I do look forward to the day that our children Elijah and Mordecai write a joint memoir and we share the dedication page. (To our fucked up fathers, you have milked us, you have made us, you have bilked us, you have bathed us, you forbade us, we forgive you, this we give you, now you live through us.)

At any rate, it was a pleasure writing for/about/with all of you. Sallying forth into the future, every time I step or do not step on a rat or a pile of poop, I'll think of all of you and the wonderful time I had here.