Saturday, October 29, 2005

United Empire of Denton

Esq'r; Lieut Gen'l of His Majesties Sleaze Armies in America. Commander of The Queen's Regiment of the Light Hireling Blogoons. The strategic occupation of New York, conciliation over conquest. Hooking up blogs and making 'em function. Gossip,Gadgets, Porn, Cars and Sports, Video Games, Raw Tabloid Meat. It's not supposed to be uplifting. I dream of a world entirely without privacy (that goes for you too, Mr. Durst). You can't pretend to yourself that people actually have highfalutin taste. These hardy knaves and stupid fools, some apish and pragmatic mules, some servile acquiescing tools! The blog shall have its course. I will live and die by the blog! But then again, it's just the latest iteration of internet media. We all have a lot of rage; way better to take it out on the web.

Speed is a higher priority than accuracy, animated by these considerations; at the head of Troops in full powers of health, discipline, and full supply of 'Hot Pockets'; we are determined to strike where and when necessary. The domestick, the industrious, the infirm, and even the timid inhabitants I am desirous to protect provided they remain quietly in their houses, and not endeavour to obstruct the operations of the Kings troops, or supply or assist those of the Enemy.

Networking is no longer a substitute for a social life, but blogging is. Except most professionals, when talking shop, are boring. Blog people thought they were so fascinating as to be exempt from that rule. Bloggers are pathetic, I should know. But then Silicon Valley’s technology-hype complex is probably minting a new social-life buzzword phrase even as we speak. Feh. Idiots. But who cares? Blog and party on. Pretentious New York Media Party here, pretentious New York Media Party there. Snark. Snark. But you bloggers are not space-cadet monkeys bringing the world back to square one. Feh. I hate bloggers.

False Humility as art form. Full shotgun-blast blizzard of media attention-catching ploys. Eh? I don't know why you guys are so interested in my little franchise. It's just the next wrinkle of internet media. The hype comes from unemployed or partially employed marketing professionals and people who never made it as journalists wanting to believe. I do find bizarre the level of interest. But my own personal mood is dependent on two things: traffic and working out. And it doesn't even pay that much, well at least it doesn't for the hooligan-motley rabble of saucy boys and pretentiously outlandish writers I have churning out content for me. I love blogs. Speed is a higher priority than accuracy. I quit Moreover as they wouldn't buy Blogger, how so shortsighted of them. Feh. But, whatever, we would probably have messed it up.
And now will these Americans, children guided by our care, nourished up by our Blogs until they are grown to a Degree of Strength and Opulence, and protected by our Intellect, will they grudge to contribute their mite?
Blogs are BIGTIME BABY. But wait really they are independent films - really small independent films. But yet they are BIGTIME. A Blog Revolution? Get a grip. But they are Bigtime, not, yes, no, no, yes, kinda, sorta, no, yes, no no, yes. Yes and No both. We are up within seconds. Speed! Eat that Print Media. Yes, no. Feh, I don't care, as long as I am King of New York. Once vigorous measures appear to be the only means left of bringing the Americans to a due submission of the blogs, they shalt submit.
Lord Chancellor, did I deliver the blogs well?
'Very well indeed, sir,'
'I am glad of that, for there was nothing in it.'
Hey do a profile about me!! Yes. Do one now. Yes. What? Why are you media sooooo giddy about blogs? Do I look sexy enough? Do I? Do I? Make sure you sex up my copy. But blogs about blogs and all that geeky rot? That I don't read. How trite. I want to sex all these blogs up. Sex up. Short Attention Span Blog Theater. Hey can you make that gadget sexy? Spice it up. I mean stop being so droll. Sex sells! Sex is King. Never a double-meaning I don't like. SEX SEX. SEX. Do you UNDERSTAND the WORDS that are COMING out of MY MOUTH? Make it sparkle, make it shine! Perk it up, perk it up! SEX!

Creative individuals tend to be bad managers. Gossip, gossip. Prentenious New York Media Party. We hate Nikki Finke, but then doesn't everyone? I mean, feh. Well everyone I know at least. Such droll investigative negativity, don't bother me with reality. Pretentious New York Media Party. Gossip, gossip. Pretentious New York Media Party. All Hail Huffington. Pretentious British Media Party. Pretentious LA'ish Media Party. Pretentious Hollywood Media Party. Pretentious New York Media Party. Pretentious Ex-Pat Media Party. Gossip, gossip. Pretentious New York Media Party. Most high, most mighty, most puissant, and sublimely sexy. And lost Ed Wood PORN! I like blogs, but IM is so much more me. You know, I haven't even met most of our writers, all those high-on-the-job, 1960s-duds-wearing, notoriously-unemployable grade-school drop-outs. But oh, Tina Brown is quite simply divine. I have had it with being called a visionary, just the 'Party Toast of the Town' will do.

Guess who is coming out with this and that, I overheard this at a party. Will you blog for me? So what if you piss off half the sling-back-wearers in town? You can always become a blogger! Here's more of the latest gossip. We don't do hits just stories. But make sure you find some story to smear that slug. I mean she wouldn't even look at me at that one party. How so punk-rock. Equal Opportunity Snarkiness, but not for Soho House, not anymore. Snark snark. Proving that you need not have talent to be snarky. I was a real journalist once. I liked it for one day, afterward it's cold and dirty and boring and scary.

FT to network interneting startup people to Blogs. Faux Tuesday to Blog-All-Day. San Fran is corrupt and lethargic culturally and socially flawed, New York bound I am. Sex things up. Sex them up. Blogs! Hey Rojas make a joke about that phone vibrating. Can they blog or not? The blog doesn't lie. The blogs don't lie. Pretentious New York Media Party. Send in the Spiers. She can blog. Out with the Spiers. Do a hit, errr, I meant a story. Branding the Blogs. Input: web links, random gossip, celb stalking, add deadpan snark. Output: Faux Empire. I am the TOAST of the TOWN. Worship me. Don't hate me for being smart and beautiful. Just graven-image me and make sure you sex it up. Serious bitch-slappery by blog. Blogs are scrumptious when they crunches. And as far as Balthazar? Feh. Pathetic.

Degawmodogridyjelloscreenettedeadhackerfleshspin. Thanks Paris, that sex tape made us. Kudos Jude Law. Yay, Kate Moss! Hey, thanks, Katrina you were a traffic goldmine. Wilma not so much. Time for my work-out. Oh dear me, Wash DC is soooooo desperately unglamorous, let's SEX it up. SEX it up baby.

Cox: "Penis, penis, penis, penis, penis, penis. That what you wanted?"

The riff with Calacanis is hype. But how dare that twerp slag me, I was royally shafted. AOL will ruin him. The whole point about blogs is that they're not part of big media. Consolidation defeats the purpose. And Rojas, oh yea be foreverhenceworth damned, yah insolent ungrateful traitor vermin.

Jason: "This here engadget makes photocopies better than the orginials. And oh, Spiers sucks, now just a 500th feature writer for all those evil Newwww Yaaaarrrk mags, with your totally Confusionist Droll Johnson. And while I am at it, fuck Jeff Jarvis. When you start balling Jeffster, then you can question a baller, dat's the word up, from da Jdawg. And oh hey, Howard Stern likes me."

Nick: "Feh, when will Jason Calacanis put some of his 500 defunct WIN titles out of their godforsaken misery? And can't Jason do math...31 is not 85. He's just a crossposting never-ending sales pitch money-hungry, asshole. Plus, people want SEX. Sex it up baby! Yeah baby! S-E-X!!! And oh, Jason never gets invited to the cool parties. Plus he's insane, just look at him talk, he's his own worst enemy. That anti-Jarvis bit is from the mind of a paranoid nutcase."

And hey, guess who is coming out with this and that, I overheard this at a party. Snark snark. Speed is a higher priority than accuracy. I don't think you HEARD ME, speed is a higher priority than accuracy. Speed! And Catherine Zeta-Jones can kiss my sexy British ass. Kinja. Kinja. Sex it up. Or maybe not. We will retry that one later. But oh I hate it when others blog about me. Pretentious New York Media Party. Can't a guy just get a drink without the bloggers reading something into it? Damn bloggers! And oh, for the record, that pie merely GLAZED me. Yeah. Yeah. That's my story and I am sticking to it. This print mag's next issue is out in three months. Eat that, print media. Hit the radar hard. We don't do hits just stories. Oh those other bloggers, making ME look bad. Have mercy upon me, according unto the multitude of thy tender mercies blot out my transgressions and make it look sexy. I said SEX it up. Does this trendy t-shirt look sexy? I am too sexy for my shirt. I am too sexy for print. Blogs, eat some now, save some for later, eat some now, save some for later.

I shall prevent this so-called American Media from being ever-preserved from a state of inferiority and from consequently failing. SEX it up! And hey, guess who is coming out with this and that, I overheard this at a party. Hey. Tina Brown likes me, and likes blogs, she thinks they are changing the collective voice of journalism. Feh. That's pathetic. They aren't. But maybe they are if Tina said it. Tina rocks. Can you blog? SEX it up, fast, speed is the priority. You have only, when before you blog, to keep pronouncing to yourself nimini-pimini; the lips cannot keep taking their plie. Serious snarky gossipy bitch-slappery. But I've stopped reading blogs. It just annoys me too much, so I don't read them. Blog people are not like you and me. Blogs are only good for tearing things down. Sometimes you feel like a nut, sometimes you don't. Most everyone here is a misfit of some sort. And, in our own way, we'll be doing something to fix the capitalist system. But then not really. Blogs don't mean anything, they are only good for tearing things down. Don't think too hard, just party on. Pretentious snarking snark snarked-up with its own self-branding style of snarkiness...
If blogs buzzed after the press,
If gossip were on the front page,
Newspapers at sea,
And if celebrities could be chased
Into holes by the pajamaed mice,
If summer were winter,
And the other way 'round,
Then all the world would be upside down.