Hello. I love you. Won't you tell me your name?
Frankly, I think this is Balk's roundabout way of selling advertising to cover the moon:
It will only well-and-truly swing back when men have their necks waxed.
Who doesn't dream of a Union Hall blumpkin?
@jolie "Cleaner?" Please. Not when women play hovercraft over toilet seats.
@jolie Picture my response in animated gif format.
I'm in a post-check-writing stupor that I hope to replace with one made of liquor.
Say "no" to see-say.
@jolie I have to agree about critical responses to articles. I've been guilty of it, though I try to remember to not be an asshole. Maybe all commenting dialogue boxes should have mouse type saying "Don't be that jerk."
I started commenting years ago on Gawker and a couple of its sister pubs. At the time, it seemed to offer the same opportunity for clever banter and occasional insight one used to find on the pre-Web Intertubes, while also mutating normal civility by the same false intimacy. Worse, anonymity with a democratic medium gives a megaphone to every crank in a crowd. When Gawker's readership floodgates burst, standards for wit eroded. I think the lesson here is you don't have to flog traffic by lowering the bar to entry for the commentariat.
These days, about the only commenting in which I participate (reading or writing), is on Awl pubs and IO9. And also Etsy, because, you know, doilies.
On Everything Is Based On Fraud And Deceit And In The End A Handful Of Rich People Will Be Holding On To The Only Things Of Value Left While The Rest Of Us Dance Sexy On Command For Crumbs In The Shanty Towns Outside Their Golden Gates
As illustrated by a classic pyramid-shaped monetization of verticalityness.