I Had a One-Night Stand With Gawker

Today, the gossip website Gawker posted a piece entitled, "I Had a One-Night Stand With Christine O'Donnell."  It's with a heavy heart that I feel I must make this post.

I barely knew Gawker when she showed up at my door.  I had seen her standing next to an alleyway on my way to work, with a paper cup soliciting money.  I could see the desperation in her face.  She had clearly failed at everything in life, and was resigned to the fact she was going to have to spend the rest of her days being very poor and knew that no matter how hard she tried she would never accomplish or produce anything of value. I took pity on her, giving her a few dollars to buy food, every now and then, against my better judgment.  I knew the more people who came to see her would only be an encouragement to continue to waste her life.
I invited Gawker in to my apartment.  I had heard through a mutual friend that she had miraculously found a job but was still living on the streets.  It was Halloween night, and I thought Gawker was dressed up as a hipster.  I complimented her on her costume, only to awkwardly discover that she was not actually wearing a costume.  She told me these clothes were the only thing she could afford because her current job did not pay much.  I asked her what she did for a living, and she said, "I basically mock people who are successful or famous or who have made achievements in their lives on a group blog."  After she said this, I could see she was ashamed.  "That's great.  Snark is very popular these days," I said in an effort to make her feel better.  It didn't work.  She tried to fight back tears.  "Yeah, but I do it without being witty, clever, original, funny, or amusing in any way whatsoever.  I'm like Maureen Dowd only without the inflated reputation and salary."  
I was on my fifteenth beer, and offered Gawker one, although I could tell she had been drinking heavily as well.  We sat on the couch and chatted for a few hours and several beers.  At some point, Gawker began to awkwardly make passes at me.  I tried to ignore them, but no longer could when she stood up and took her jeans and thong off.  The aroma of tuna filled my apartment, and it was clear the whole "dealing with feminine odor" trend had passed her by.  I was taken aback, not so much now by the smell, but by the sheer size of her labia.  "Good gawd, Gawker!  There's a surgery for that you know."  She almost started crying again, but fought back the tears and bravely said: "Actually, this is the result of surgery.  I was born without genitals.  I was told of a very inexpensive plastic surgeon in Tijuana who specializes in constructing genitalia for those born without genitals.  He was recommended to me by Keith Olbermann. But as I said, he's inexpensive and in Tijuana."
At this point, Gawker broke down.  Sobbing, curled up in the fetal position, she managed to say: "I'm a virgin, but not by choice.  I'm an embarrassment to my family.  My job doesn't actually require me to produce anything.  I sit in cramped cubicle, in the dark and without heat, desperately searching other websites for tidbits I can put in a post along with a sentence or two mocking whoever is the subject of the tidbit. I turn my nose up at those who disagree with me while attacking them for being intolerant; I mock those who aren't as hip or as talented as me, but I'm a complete loser who has never had an original thought; nothing I've said could be classified as interesting, only as sad, pathetic, and ironically ironic.  Also, I have large labia.  I'm just like Maureen Dowd only without the long, long, long list of one night stands."
At this point, Gawker asked if we could see each other again.  I told her maybe out of pity, but I knew the answer was no.  After this display, I knew it was best if I never saw Gawker again.

NYT Plans Obama Victory Party

New York Times Executive Editor Bill Keller has begun preparations for an election night Obama victory party at the venerated newspaper's headquarters. "It's gonna be, like, a totally awesome night, ya know?" Keller said. Columnist Frank Rich is in charge of procuring music and has already signed up his favorite band, the Pet Shop Boys. Maureen Dowd, as chair of the entertainment committee, has hired the Chippendales dancers. She made her choice after exhaustive research with each member of the dance team in her private office. Master of Ceremonies Bob Herbert will be using the same material he used in 2004 for the Kerry victory party. Debutante David Brooks is expected to make a splash in his new, exclusive Vera Wang gown. He will be escorted by Mr. Kathleen Parker. Bill Kristol's invitation was accidentally shredded. Jayson Blair, in his first visit back to the NYT offices since being fired for plaigirism, will be providing the blow. In the unlikely event of a McCain victory, the NYT has seven reporters covering the prevalence of racism in America. The stories have already been written.

Dowd Visits Alaska

Pulitzer Prize winning New York Times columnist Maureen Dowd has ventured to Alaska to better understand the life of vice presidential candidate Sarah Palin.   "I feel like Jack London," she said from her hotel room as she finished her Kegel excercises.  "This place is dreadful.  Yesterday, I broke a heel on my Manolo pump and I was horrified to discover there is not a Saks anywhere in Wasilla."  Dowd was forced to continue wearing the broken shoe rather than face the horror of shopping at Walmart.  She also complained about the lack of good men in the small town, despite her desperate, unending attempts to find one.  "What kind of man doesn't wax his legs, or use moisturizer, or read Vanity Fair?" she wondered.  Dowd had to end the conversation as she was on her way to the local bar, where she will be shocked to discover they don't carry Belvedere vodka or have a tapas menu. When asked to comment, her fellow NYT colleague Frank Rich could only mumble unintelligibly as he had five Krispy Kremes in his mouth and was dancing in women's underwear to a Carole King album.