Blogging Donnie Malkovich: One Act Play For An Audience of Three
Update: It's never fun explaining a joke, but if I must, this is all copy and paste movie quotes mixed with tweaked bits of email exchanges I've had with Sac, Gawkerist, Gage in an attempt to mock the accusations I'm all three of them and every other anonymous blog that sprouts up. If you really believe I am, that's flattering (or offensive?) since you give me way more credit (or disrespect?) than I'm entitled to. There might be some craziness to these methods (we're talking about blogging right?) but anonymous blogs are not part of the equation I promise. Enjoy...or don't read.
Update II: If ever words could disappear right before your very eyes then please ignore everything below. Gawkerist is Chris Mohney and he's the next Gridskipper. Blanked and spanked, I plant one more BJM quote: "I've been very lonely in my isolated tower of indecipherable speech."
There's a tiny blog in that empty office. It's a portal. It takes you inside Krucoff. You see the world through Krucoff's eyes, then, after about fifteen minutes, you're spit out onto the Upper East Side.
Krucoff: First of all, I didn't create Gawkerist. Denton did. S/he was sent in as Denton's evil spy with the intention of destroying the bot village, but the overwhelming goodness of the bot way of life transformed her/him. And as for the whole gang-bang scenario, it just couldn't happen. Bots are asexual. They don't even have reproductive organs under those little white keyboards. That's what's so illogical, you know, about having a blog. What's the point of blogging if you don't have a dick to write with?
Anonymous Blogger1: Whatever, you're still kinda fucked. Everyone thinks you're us.
Anonymous Blogger2: Yeah Krucoff, all any of us have to do is talk about blogs, throw in some Gawker references, and you're fingered more than Jess Coen on prom night!! Hey-Oh! (Love ya, babe.)
Krucoff: Nice one, are you stealing the lines I steal now? It's that type of shit that keeps certain individuals constantly accusing me of these antics and I've NEVER done an anonymous blog. Ever! I swear on the lives of my nieces and nephews. I don't fuck around with that. Gage, back me up.
Chris Gage: Hot lesbian witches! It's fucking genius!
Private chat
AB2: What's his problem?
AB1: He has his doctorate in blog impedimentology from Case Western.
AB2: Ahh. Meet you in Krucoff in one hour.
Krucoff: You don't know how lucky you are being a monkey. Because consciousness is a terrible curse. I think. I feel. I suffer. And all I ask in return is the opportunity to do my work. And they won't allow it... because I raise issues.
Chris Gage: Why are you wearing that stupid man suit? Gage leaves chat
AB2: Hey AB1, did he try to use that "swearing on lives" technique to out you as Sac or Gage too?
Krucoff: Fellas, I had to. I have seen a world that NO man should see!
AB1: Well, I am Sac and yes he tried to pull that shit when he had no doubt I was Gawkerist. I toyed with him a little. I would wait 30+ mins to respond and the delay would freak him out like a case of Jolt mixed with Buzzmachine. You should have seen the email exchange I had with him. Frankly I feared for the kid. Wait, who are you AB2?
AB2: Gawkerist! WTF? I feel like like I'm talking to myself. We're supposed to be "the same person" therefore implicating Krucoff as both of us, remember? I enjoyed the frantic emailing as well, except the part about my girlfriend in the emergency room, but I cut him slack since he's unemployed and we're actually keeping this act up from work. I forget if that makes us more sad than him.
AB1: He's worse. Why should I mourn for Krucoff like he was human?
Krucoff: I'm right here, dicks! Have you ever had two blogs look at you, with complete lust and devotion, through the same pair of eyes? Now how the fuck do I clear my name?? No one believes me. The more vigorously I protest, the more they're convinced I'm behind the blogs.
AB1: With all due respect, Krucoff, It's MY blog.
Krucoff: It's MY HEAD, Sac. It's MY head!
Giant evil rabbit "SomeBlogs" enters chat
Giant evil rabbit "SomeBlogs" leaves chat
AB2: I think it's kinda sexy that Krucoff has anonymous blogs, y'know, sort of like, it's like, like he has a vagina. It's sort of vaginal, y'know, like he has a, he has a blog AND a vagina. I mean, it's sort of like... Krucoff's... feminine side. I like that.
Krucoff: There is truth, and there are lies, and art always tells the truth. Even when it's lying.
AB1: I promise, that one day, everything's going to be better for you. You can start by putting an end to this embarrassing internal dialogue device because 1) you are doing an awful job by butchering our lines 2) this only makes you look even more...
Jersey Turnpike: Thunderous, almost mythological, rumbling fills the air. Mysterious jet engine plunges into ditch on side of the road. No one is hurt. Mystery solved within 15 minutes. Newark Airport is less than 1 mile away.
Stanton Street: Krucoff wakes up, goes to bathroom, returns to bed. An hour later he decides to update his blog(s).
Dear Nick Denton, I have reached the end of your writer's contract and... there are so many things that I need to ask you. Sometimes I'm afraid of what you might tell me. Sometimes I'm afraid that you'll tell me that this is not a work of fiction. I can only hope that the answers will come to me in my sleep. I hope that when the world comes to an end, I can breathe a sigh of relief, because there will be so much to look forward to. [publish post]
Ed. Note: Please excuse the Inside-Bloodbath here. This will all go away by June 6th when I start a job which will put an end to it all. Just getting it out of my system now. Then I'll concentrate exclusively on Manhattan follies and worldwide crime! Have a great weekend, off to Vermont.
Update II: If ever words could disappear right before your very eyes then please ignore everything below. Gawkerist is Chris Mohney and he's the next Gridskipper. Blanked and spanked, I plant one more BJM quote: "I've been very lonely in my isolated tower of indecipherable speech."
There's a tiny blog in that empty office. It's a portal. It takes you inside Krucoff. You see the world through Krucoff's eyes, then, after about fifteen minutes, you're spit out onto the Upper East Side.
Krucoff: First of all, I didn't create Gawkerist. Denton did. S/he was sent in as Denton's evil spy with the intention of destroying the bot village, but the overwhelming goodness of the bot way of life transformed her/him. And as for the whole gang-bang scenario, it just couldn't happen. Bots are asexual. They don't even have reproductive organs under those little white keyboards. That's what's so illogical, you know, about having a blog. What's the point of blogging if you don't have a dick to write with?
Anonymous Blogger1: Whatever, you're still kinda fucked. Everyone thinks you're us.
Anonymous Blogger2: Yeah Krucoff, all any of us have to do is talk about blogs, throw in some Gawker references, and you're fingered more than Jess Coen on prom night!! Hey-Oh! (Love ya, babe.)
Krucoff: Nice one, are you stealing the lines I steal now? It's that type of shit that keeps certain individuals constantly accusing me of these antics and I've NEVER done an anonymous blog. Ever! I swear on the lives of my nieces and nephews. I don't fuck around with that. Gage, back me up.
Chris Gage: Hot lesbian witches! It's fucking genius!
Private chat
AB2: What's his problem?
AB1: He has his doctorate in blog impedimentology from Case Western.
AB2: Ahh. Meet you in Krucoff in one hour.
Krucoff: You don't know how lucky you are being a monkey. Because consciousness is a terrible curse. I think. I feel. I suffer. And all I ask in return is the opportunity to do my work. And they won't allow it... because I raise issues.
Chris Gage: Why are you wearing that stupid man suit? Gage leaves chat
AB2: Hey AB1, did he try to use that "swearing on lives" technique to out you as Sac or Gage too?
Krucoff: Fellas, I had to. I have seen a world that NO man should see!
AB1: Well, I am Sac and yes he tried to pull that shit when he had no doubt I was Gawkerist. I toyed with him a little. I would wait 30+ mins to respond and the delay would freak him out like a case of Jolt mixed with Buzzmachine. You should have seen the email exchange I had with him. Frankly I feared for the kid. Wait, who are you AB2?
AB2: Gawkerist! WTF? I feel like like I'm talking to myself. We're supposed to be "the same person" therefore implicating Krucoff as both of us, remember? I enjoyed the frantic emailing as well, except the part about my girlfriend in the emergency room, but I cut him slack since he's unemployed and we're actually keeping this act up from work. I forget if that makes us more sad than him.
AB1: He's worse. Why should I mourn for Krucoff like he was human?
Krucoff: I'm right here, dicks! Have you ever had two blogs look at you, with complete lust and devotion, through the same pair of eyes? Now how the fuck do I clear my name?? No one believes me. The more vigorously I protest, the more they're convinced I'm behind the blogs.
AB1: With all due respect, Krucoff, It's MY blog.
Krucoff: It's MY HEAD, Sac. It's MY head!
Giant evil rabbit "SomeBlogs" enters chat
Giant evil rabbit "SomeBlogs" leaves chat
AB2: I think it's kinda sexy that Krucoff has anonymous blogs, y'know, sort of like, it's like, like he has a vagina. It's sort of vaginal, y'know, like he has a, he has a blog AND a vagina. I mean, it's sort of like... Krucoff's... feminine side. I like that.
Krucoff: There is truth, and there are lies, and art always tells the truth. Even when it's lying.
AB1: I promise, that one day, everything's going to be better for you. You can start by putting an end to this embarrassing internal dialogue device because 1) you are doing an awful job by butchering our lines 2) this only makes you look even more...
Jersey Turnpike: Thunderous, almost mythological, rumbling fills the air. Mysterious jet engine plunges into ditch on side of the road. No one is hurt. Mystery solved within 15 minutes. Newark Airport is less than 1 mile away.
Stanton Street: Krucoff wakes up, goes to bathroom, returns to bed. An hour later he decides to update his blog(s).
Dear Nick Denton, I have reached the end of your writer's contract and... there are so many things that I need to ask you. Sometimes I'm afraid of what you might tell me. Sometimes I'm afraid that you'll tell me that this is not a work of fiction. I can only hope that the answers will come to me in my sleep. I hope that when the world comes to an end, I can breathe a sigh of relief, because there will be so much to look forward to. [publish post]
Ed. Note: Please excuse the Inside-Bloodbath here. This will all go away by June 6th when I start a job which will put an end to it all. Just getting it out of my system now. Then I'll concentrate exclusively on Manhattan follies and worldwide crime! Have a great weekend, off to Vermont.
