We're doomed.

The secret is out and now everybody knows.

It's bad enough that more writers covering the . . .

. . . are saying nice things about us. I was hoping the crappy weather in the beginning of the week would continue and maybe, just maybe, we'd luck out and have a hurricane to boot. Or maybe a quarter-inch of snow so that everything would really get all screwed up like the last time it happened back in . . . I don't remember. It was a long time ago and the last time it snowed at all here.

Word is getting out, too, that people are having fun and not just at the big, fancy places downtown that were set up for people to have fun the short time they were here for the Super Bowl, but elsewhere. Like at some of the spots down at the beaches that are there year 'round and frequented, year 'round, by we who live here.

If that isn't bad enough, Diane Daniel from the Boston Globe, decided to play investigative reporter, checking out the flow of St. Johns River for four freakin' days.

I was already feeling down, but one article now has me now feeling downright depressed: Forget the Super Bowl, go to Jacksonville for the fried chicken.

Beach Road Chicken Dinners

If you look at the byline, you'll see it's a reprint. The article was originally published in The Washington Post.

We've been found and found out. The secrets we've kept to ourselves for so long have been discovered and revealed. Now others know. Too many others.

We are doomed.