Running this place isn’t easy. I can’t console myself with the thought that I’m making a living from it. Not even close, my dears. The consolation comes in a different form. It comes when I get someone to write something – anything – here, when they were previously under the illusion that they couldn’t write, or wouldn’t be read, or didn’t think they had it – whatever “it” is – within themselves to get published. No money in the world can come close to the feeling I get when I tell them it’s been posted. It feels right, and it feels true, and the pride I take in somehow being part of a place where people can do this, well, that feels right and true too. That’s the consolation.

Hello there. It’s me – the Scottish Jerry Lewis again. I wish I was the Scottish Warren Buffet. Or even the Scottish Andrew Carnegie. But no. At best I’m the Scottish Jerry Lewis. At worst, I’m the Scottish Me. Anyway – that idiotic preamble aside – I’m here to leer through your computer televisions to remind you that this thing you’re reading right now and all the links surrounding it using special hyperwords is kept vaguely accessible on a server that is hosted by a nice company with a bad habit of wanting money for their “service”.

Oooh hello there! I love your hair! It always looks better on the weekends somehow. Why, if there was a little blue bruise shaped like a button on your neck saying “Like”  I would press it so your hair would show up on my Facebook newsfeed and everybody could see it. What’s that? You say there’s a little blue button below every Wordsmoker post now? Below the “Share” button that everyone seems to ignore? There is? I hadn’t noticed because I’ve been spending too much time trying to emulate your hair, which I like NOW TEACH ME YOUR FOLLICLE-BASED SECRETS BEFORE I START YET MORE AWFUL FIRES I WILL BURN YOUR FACE YOUR NOSE IS A GOOD ACCELERANT.

CUNNILINGUS. Yes, the word has no meaning now after last night/this morning, but that’s for me to worry about, not you, electro-friends. Where was I? YES I WAS BETWEEN YOUR THIGHS PLEASURING YOU LIKE PAN OR ONE OF THOSE GODS STILL WORSHIPED IN CERTAIN “FERTILE” PARTS OF SCOTLAND. See? Cunnilingus is ruining my life, and now I have to face the fact that I can’t even buy drugs without screaming LABIA at my dealer.

Oh yes – there’s still a bit of a backlog in the email queue with me being suicidal for a bit, so if you’ve submitted some nice clitoral stimulation copy I promise to get ’round to it sometime soon because I don’t feel as bad at the moment. So don’t worry, be licky!

The more sober astute amongst you may have noticed something slightly strange about Wordsmoker for the past couple of weeks. No, it’s nothing to do with us being bought up by Viacom in a deal literally worth dollars. No – there’s been a distinct absence of me. Long boring story short – my stupid depression caught up with me yet again, so I retreated to my bed to spend some quality time crying and mulling over possible methods of suicide it turns out I’m too scared to attempt. As exciting as this sounds, it isn’t. But there you go.

Oh hai! How are you? Fine? Moaning about an obvious fucking April Fool joke somewhere? OF COURSE YOU ARE. Is it degenerating into a virtual fist-fight? OF COURSE IT IS. IT’S WHAT FICTIONAL CHARACTER JESUS WOULD’VE WANTED! GOOD ON YA! Yes, I’m in an incredibly foul mood, and no doubt my non-existent atheist soul will burn in pretend hell or whatever.

All that aside, I’m here to bury a new member before things get out of hand, because things have a tendency to get out of hand. Sorry MomOf3WildKids, Wordsmoker is not for you.

Hello. I’m sorry about this, but I’m not doing too good at the moment, and I need to take a break from everything. So I’m delegating mostly everything to ReneSance for the time being. If you’ve mailed some copy in recently (or over the past two weeks) to the mailbox then it should get posted sometime soon. Please be patient with Rene while he (and probably Chillbear) go through them all.

Hello my darlings! Isn’t the internet a lovely place? It’s filled with people saying lovely – if not vaguely pornographic – things about each other. Why only the other day a young lady commented on how nice my trousers were! Her trouser comment filled me with joy, but I still paid a hitman to push her down the nearest flight of stairs BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT THE INTERNET IS – IT’S FILLED WITH HATE THE MINUTE YOU THINK IT’S FILLED ONLY WITH LOVE AND IT CAN TURN ON YOU LIKE A MICROSCOPIC BOXER WEARING LITTLE NANO-GLOVES DANCING ON THE HEAD OF AN ATOMIC PIN.

Ever wonder how Wordsmoker gets put together? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU IF YOU DO? Isn’t there enough going on in your life to think about besides this? Even I don’t think about how it gets put together and I’m the Editor. All I do is wake up, not shave, and start clicking on shit and apologizing to people because I haven’t answered their emails in a month. That’s it in a nutshell. Oh – Intern Strawberry Shortcake and I have intense editorial discussions that sometimes go off-topic. This latest one started after Strawbs came back from lunch and for it, I am truly sorry.

Holy Toledo Crap! Several pedants I know and love *ahem* ‘Penguino, ‘Latrigue and ‘Sance *ahem* have been getting their KNICKERS in a joyously excited twist (or panties in a love-bundle, if you prefer) over the FACT that comment number 30,000 is quickly and serenely coming our way like a big plastic steamroller driven by a clown who’s just fallen off the wagon. 30,000! Clown!

Yes, it was a weird period, the end of last year, the end of the decade. I spent it inebriated in one way or another, and got so drunk on New Year’s Eve I actually said something nice to Senor Wences. Before you say anything – of course I regret it, and I’ve cancelled my tickets to Omaha, or wherever the fuck it is he stays. Of course – between getting drugged out of my tits and the Wences-loving, a small backlog in articles grew in the electric mail box.

Hello YES I’M DEALING WITH IT NOW. The email backlog, I mean. If you’ve sent copy in by email over – say, the last year – and it hasn’t been responded to then DON’T PANIC because it’s in the big electric wordlist on my screen that appears when I click my mouse. In other, slightly different words – I’ll start work on publishing your HOT BUNDLES OF COPY as a series of posts on this very site very soon oh yes.

Hello there. Remember earlier on in the year, we were all giggling with astonishment and general love over the stories of now, sadly, ex-Wordsmoker N**d? Yes, that’s right – N**d. One of the saddest days of this year was when I received an electric mail from him, asking to get all his articles and comments deleted, because some internet twat had linked the amazing stories of N**d to his actual, real-life person. Depressing!

Hello you sexy internet bastards! It was little more than a decade 11 months ago that Wordsmoker (the thing you are reading now) started off out of sheer frustration at the continual mind-squishing, back-stabbing bitch-shed that Alan’s toy Gawker had become. Well, ladies and gentlemen of all sizes – pat yourselves on the back and maybe massage my stupid sore shoulder, because we just reached 1500 posts!

This week was a week of learning here at the Wordsmoker offices.  I learned how Mr Shoes likes things done around the office and a whole lot about Scottish culture and how that directly relates to what I should be putting in my mouth!  I also learned a lot about how to get on top in this cut throat industry of websites.  Oh and I learned that Alan Denton will step on that flaming bag poo no matter how many times in a row we leave it on his doorstep.  Yep, busy week for me in the office!