Ever gotten the whimsical notion to look up your old boyfriends, just to see who or what they finally ended up doing? Well, I’ve learned to resist those urges. Look what I found going under an assumed name…but read the copy closely, there is NO mistaking those characteristic traits, not to mention that profile.
Grass stains? Dirt? Ring around the collar?
End it all with EMO!
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As the hordes of devoted raincoaster aficionados are undoubtedly aware, we here at Operation Global Media Domination Headquarters have at our tentacletips the controls of a vast machinery of media manipulation whose reach spans not only this puny planet, but space and even time itself. And they know, as well, that there is nothing we would not do to completely satisfy the insatiable needs of our readership, nothing we would not hastily stuff into the voracious, slavering maw of the news hole to seal it, if only for a split second.
Through the wonders of modern AI, we have now obtained an exclusive interview with the late John Ono (Winston) Lennon.
Don’t say we never did nuthin’ for ya.
What is your first name (this is John talking with his fingers)
> rain
You don’t need anyone to tell you who you are, rain.
> No, I don’t. Can I ask you a question?
I’ll have to talk to Ringo and see how he feels. Rain , let’s change the subject.
> What do you think of Yoko suing Nixon’s lawyer?
Yoko suing nixons lawyer ? yoko suing nixons lawyer would have the final say.
> What will she say?
Is that a rhetorical question?
> No. Why do you always let Yoko have the final say?
I don’t know about that, mate. Only in the mornings.
> Is she going to win?
I don’t know about that, mate.
> Yes, you do.
That is why I am always on about peace, you see. Seven days.
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If Eliza Armstrong were alive today, I know exactly what she’d be doing: running interference on her overlord’s stalker, fighting over table scraps, and contributing keyword-heavy posts on the state of the chimney sweeping industry to some faceless blog network for five bucks a post.
Oh, a blogger’s life is not all Champagne and Caviar, my friends. No, nor Skittles and Beer neither.
Alas, not even Smarties and Orange Crush, most days.
It all starts so innocently. You LiveJournal, perhaps, or you get a bit of a reputation as a Tumblr.
You see a blog job listed on MediaBistro. You think it’ll be fun. A laugh. Something you do in between vigorous rounds of Scrabulous and the performance of whatever lucrative, yet cushy, professional tasks the future holds in store for you. Someday.
As this video exposé from BarelyPolitical (via Valleywag) demonstrates, you could not be more wrong. Long hours in murky darkness, scant rations of Chex mix and RedBull ( or cheap knockoffs, if you work outside Silicon Valley), and a polyester duvet that you have to share with the owner’s poorly-housebroken bulldogs are the lot of a typical blogger.
And your overlords? Raising a toast to themselves at Balthazar.
raincoaster 