Wordsmoker

They told me this would be Guerilla Gawker, and asked if I would write for them. Of course, I was privileged to, right after we finalized the details of how I’d be paid every penny as much as Nick Denton schilled for the one and one-half pieces I did for Gawker. $200.

In pennies.

Apropos of the consequent lucredity of the enterprise–and given that I kind of dumped Gawker, and you don’t go back to a lover, do you, unless you are a spineless jellyfish lacking integrity or credibility–I’ve made the choice to flog my dried and desiccant bone upon the Labor Theory of Value; viz, I decided I’d rather fuck the cast of characters here. Editorially, I mean. I’m not much for huffing and puffing on the page. I like subtle and sinuous, insinuation with a hint of incendiary, and anything incandescent is always welcome, as long as your pubes don’t get stuck to the bulb. The folks here at Wordsmoker bring this Je ne sais hawt all over the dregs left at Gawker. [Now that you're gone, Sheila.] I’m sorry, but it’s just true.

I don’t know what this Gabriel Snyder character looks like, but “Gabriel” just don’t drip off the tongue in jizmatic frenzy–too many fucking syllables, and can you even roll your “Rs,” while in the throes of ecstasy? And Alex Pareene–I can (and actually, on two occasions, have) hear[d] myself shouting “GodDAMN Pareene!” during climax, but, I’m just tired of the whole “Alex” thing. Balk and his Caulk. Carnevale and his Cruises. There’s a whole “Alex Period” in the Literature of Snark waiting to be looked askance on at NYU, in Early 21st Century Flailing At Significance In An Impossibly and Possibly Entirely Insignificant Fragmented Media.

Sorry. It’s not you, that I’ve grown weary of. It’s Alex. And, Richard? He’s like a son to me. I can’t screw my little boy. Or at least talk about it. Oh. Hamilton Nolan? Would need photos. So I came over to Wordsmoker. I’m opposed to nicotine, even after coitus–and I’ve found ashes in some inconvenient locations, way, way too late–but these guys get me all itchy in my nethers, so I’ll hang around for a while, looking for hints of action. The whole point of this enterprise, if I may speak out of turn–and if I mayn’t, then, respectfully, piss off?–is to bring the Hot and Now back to the literature of the Blogosphere. Blogs of significance should not be showing navel, they should be showing T & A: Truth and Aspiration. And, of course, At[tit]ude.

No. No, I did not fucking raise an eyebrow, writing that. I’m all for Grand Gestures and Throwing the Gauntlet, if not the I Ching or the sciatica, so I’ll have you know right now: In my jaunts through here, I’m here for one purpose alone: to make you come through the aphrodisiac of words. And, well, also, to get some. And my 20,000 pennies.

[Call me, Nick? Really. I'm sorry!]