UPDATE, Thurs., Nov. 6:
Funny story, when I said we were at 5620 paid subscribers and set a goal of 6000, I was somehow off by 300 people, even though I am Businesslady and have many spreadsheets and leatherbound books? Anyway, we only have 21 to go!
Hello friends, lovers, Romans, countrymen. It’s been a long time since I rapped at ya (demanded money), because you know I don’t like to complain. And with the economy in the shitter and so many of you going DOGED and unpaid, the last thing I want to do is make you feel bad about PONY UP BITCHES.
But consider this an invitation, if you are currently still be-jobbed (or well-pensioned), to give Wonkette your fucking money.
I was reminded that it’s time to do it (beg you for money) when I went searching this morning for the post I’d written thirteen years ago, in the same month that I bought your Wonkette for $37 and a sandwich, on the occasion of Dick Cheney receiving his very first heart.
And here we are, and it’s 13 years later, and Dick Cheney is finally vice president of hell, and Wonkette, thanks only and entirely to you, is still alive and even, despite our bursitis and ow-my-hip, kicking. And thanks only and entirely to you, Wonkette will never die.
Yesterday, Conde Nast rolled Teen Vogue — the joyous spear of the Resistance — into Vogue, axing all its political staffers and assuring readers it would still cover … career advice. Here’s some career advice: Fuck Conde Nast! Here’s some other career advice: Teen Vogue staffers, please, and I mean it, feel free to email me at rebecca at wonkette dot com. You are valuable, and you are valued.
About nine (?) years ago (I don’t know, I can’t find it), I took all the crap ads off Wonkette and asked you to send us all your money. And we’ve been doing just fine, steadily growing, steadily hiring more people — Doktor Zoom and Evan and Robyn and Marcie plus Gary and Michael and Dom and Erik Loomis and Andrew and Martini and ZiggyWiggy part-time — helping you to deal with this insanity, this madhouse, every day of the week, even something (written ahead) on holidays. And we (you!) pay everyone a living wage including fully paid health care, which we need because this MFer is really doing a number on our blood pressures and our livers.
But our paid readership is down substantially since you all threw money at us after Trump won (UGHHHH) a year ago (UGHHHHHHHHH), and we’re once again dipping into our retirement, and our long-ago sold-our-house money, to keep payroll going. Insurance premiums are rising considerably next month, and it’s almost time for Christmas bonuses (not for me) and I hope raises (not for me).
If you are able, and please please please don’t stress yourself on our account if you are not, let’s give me some money!
But What’s In It For You Besides Laughing Through The Pain?
If we get to 6000 paid annual or monthly subscribers, either through Substack or the Paypal button — it’s a big ask, we’re at 5620 right now — I will give you a MONTH of no shitty people’s pictures on the homepage or in new posts, even though last time a lady complained (complained!!!) about all the pictures of cats.
So what do you say, let’s give me some money!
This post will stay up top until I’m too embarrassed to keep it there any longer.
I love you!
OPEN THREAD!
If we hit 6000 subscribers, I promise never to publish another Malort cocktail ever again.
Bless you, lovely subscribers! How about extra kitties along with your month of no jerk pix? I vow I shall provide such should the goals be met. 😻😻😻