Help Him! Help The Bombardier! Or The Blogger!
Guys, it's been one more shit day in a shit week in the fifth shit month of another shit Trump year. Which is why I need to remind you that it's not ALL shit out there! Oh, sure, it's MOSTLY shit, but you know what isn't shit? YR WONKETTE, and the strange community of strange internet people who have made getting through all this shit a bit more tolerable, that's who and what. Which is why you should give us money, so we can keep whanging away at the walls of shit with our shovels and laughing at the shit getting all over, because one of these days we will get it all cleaned up or at least not be up to our waists in shit, and we can all laugh about what a crazy fight it was, as St. Molly Ivins always kept reminding us.
In case you're new here, let me just remind you that Wonkette literally got me, Yr Dok Zoom, out of what wasn't quite poverty, but was pretty much paycheck-to-paycheck desperation. I started reading the site shortly before Barack Obama was elected, began commenting sometime in his first term, and submitted a story tip to Rebecca a few months after she bought the site for 47 dollars and a sandwich (I now understand it was a bit more than that). It was Memorial Day 2012, and she wrote back she was busy with some "stupid thing I have to do for some muneez," but would I like to try writing a blog post myself? "I understand if you say FUCK NO. But maybe you are thinking FUCK YES?" And then she warned me she paid only in Ameros. I did, the post was forgettable but OK, and then I wrote a thing (borrowed from now long-lost comments) that went semi-viral, and suddenly I was that hottest thing in publishing, a freelancer!
In less than a year, Rebecca asked you all to buy me to be your very own pet blogger, and my life suddenly became incredibly good, like as good as an Abba song. It's as good as "Dancing Queen." Thanks to the timing of the whole thing (and to Barry Obama and Nancy Pelosi), I actually had health insurance for the first time in years, a not inconsiderable thing. And you had an Editrix who was not working 12 hour days six and a half days a week and drinking too much from stress. Your continued donations helped hire Evan full time and Robyn and Bianca part time and a whole raft of freelancers, and now Rebecca is down to eight-hour days, five and a half days a week, and drinking because there's a madman in the White House and everything's terrible.
Think about that: You lifted a doofus who was, at the time, very very sad, out of terrible straits and into the middle class. You built that. I was driving my beloved 1973 Chevy, Vlad the Impala, as daily transportation then, and when it broke down 120 miles into an ill-considered road trip to a Wonkette meetup in Seattle, you wonderful people came through and helped me pay for the repairs. I bought a more reliable used car when Rebecca acquired me in 2013, and I was pleasantly surprised two weeks ago to find that since a long-ago bankruptcy left me living like a poor person, my credit is actually pretty good and I can now afford a bitchin' 2017 Ford Fusion hybrid with which I can help save the planet. (Vlad is alive and well and mostly parked, and I guess I'll figure out how to run it on sea grass when the Green New Deal or Jay Inslee's climate czarship arrives.)
It's really not too much of an exaggeration to say Wonkette saves lives, guys, in that it was mine and I am now the happiest I've been in ages, despite the shitty world we live in. (It also helps that I have a close and productive collaboration with noted political pundit Our Girlfriend, if you know what I mean and I think you do.) I still sometimes feel like Charlie Bucket in the chocolate factory, completely amazed I get to be here.
So this is the part where we ask you to send us money, because our secret project here at Wonkette is nothing short of saving the world by calling out the dumbshits who have made this mess, and praising the badasses who are working to make this mess better, and we can't do that without money to keep the lights on and pay the bills and let the bloggers have a semi-respectable life. At least until they admit they're bloggers, how embarrassing. I've been filling in "writer" on the occupation line of my 1040 since 2013, and goddamn, that feels wonderful. So now you suckers have to help me keep up my car payments.
And now, back to the fart jokes! Or whatever you like to do in your OPEN THREAD!
Yr Wonkette is paid for by readers like you, only not nearly as smart and good-looking and immune to flattery as you. Please sign up for a monthly subscription if you can afford it. And hey, buy our stuff, too!
Doktor Zoom's real name is Marty Kelley, and he lives in the wilds of Boise, Idaho. He is not a medical doctor, but does have a real PhD in Rhetoric. You should definitely donate some money to this little mommyblog where he has finally found acceptance and cat pictures. He is on maternity leave until 2033. Here is his Twitter, also. His quest to avoid prolixity is not going so great.