Sometimes I wonder if even as a child Martin Luther King knew he'd spend his life fighting for the rights of his people. I suppose I wonder about this because I find it just as difficult to imagine a child with his determined ideals as I do a young man falling into that line of work. Perhaps there's a book I could read on this MLK character, but if that's the only way to satisfy my curiosity, I'll probably never know. What I can say for certain, however, is that when I was a boy I never imagined that I'd grow into the voice of those disenfranchised by Gawker and its various hangers-on. But I suppose it's true what they say about not choosing greatness. It chooses you. Or in this case, it chose me.

I say this to make you understand why I do it. Like the hopeful alcoholic wakes with no intention of taking a drink, I don't climb out of bed, naked and glistening in the early morning sun, walk out onto my balcony, use my engorged genitals to catch the brown fieldhands' eyes, and say, "Today I will critique a Gawker Media publication, and I will do it unfairly and anti-Semitically." It's something that just happens when I smell injustice. I'm moved to act, and I do.

More and more lately I'm moved to act by various fans. Like so many brides of serfs enraged at so many prima noctum and offering so many blowjobs to be avenged by so many Robins Hood, they come to me. Below is one such missive.

Dearest Sirrah:

Daily you comfort me with your wisdom, and you do it for free. You speak for those without voices, and by that I mean that you write for those without thumbs. Though I don't know you, I feel like I know you. It is for that reason that I come to you now.

I have been aggrieved by Gawker, and I pray that you will avenge the affront. I can not pay, so please take these photographs of my freshly-shorn, high school vintage vagina. It is the only currency I have.

Sincerely --

Hillary [MIDDLE NAME REDACTED] Duff

You can imagine how difficult it would be for me to say no.

It was in much that way that one of my many fans brought this piece of Jessica Coen political musery to my attention. In it, she references a Washington Post piece discussing our President's latest vacation. She closes by saying:

In the past year, I've had exactly 10 days away from my job (5 of which were spent freelancing elsewhere). And while my responsibilities hardly compare, I'm pretty sure I work a lot harder than the big guy. I'm going to go out on a limb here, but: Shit ain't right.

While I completely agree that our president takes excessive advantage of his flexible work schedule, the argument is undermined by the fact that the job she's so put upon by and to which she compares his consists of, basically, finding embarrassing pictures of Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen.

Like I said, I'm no fan of the job our President is doing, but when he's dealing with embarrassing pictures, it does involve the Geneva Convention.


Workin' hard or hardly workin'?

Analogcabin @ 3:04 PM
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