Delusional Literary Entrepreneurs
So You Made a New Publication on Medium? Congratulations, You Bellend.
You had to make the world that little bit more complex for everyone, didn’t you?
I did my research. I fucking did, you bastards.
I considered why the fuck anyone would want to start a Medium publication, and I’ve gotta say for the life of me, I just can’t find a single benefit to it. I mean, I came close, especially during my famous weed binge of April 2022.
I even came up with a name.
Spunk in my Anus
And look, a few people told me it might be a bit of a raw title for a publication given the Medium guidelines, but I’m edgy, ya know? I like to push the wheelbarrow into the Jacuzzi. I like to grease my nipples before I do the dishes. I like to —
Well, anyway, I liked the idea of starting a publication. I saw myself with one of those lime green Hunter Thompson caps and a cigarette holder sitting at a giant desk and saying stuff like,
‘Jimmy. I want a thousand words on autoerotic asphyxiation by Monday’
Of course, in my head, this all takes place in a Mad Men style office where I sit around and drink liver pickling amounts of whiskey and tell horrifically chauvinistic jokes about my big-titted secretary named ‘Margarine’.
And look, if all that were the reality of being an editor on Medium, I would be in.
I mean, I would also like to be paid for the work though. Or at least get free whiskey and free titties.
Now come on, Frank, there’s more to life than money and whiskey and titties.
My wife is always telling me that. But is there?
Sure there is, but if there’s no money involved for editors of publications like there used to be when Medium was first formed in 1951, what is the damn point?
Honestly? Like me, are you imagining some chauvinist editor fantasy in your head? Or do you just want to get famous? Because if you do, you are better off doing a shit in that goblet of fire on the Statue of Liberty, filming it and paying some political influencer $500 to shout you out on their channel. Being an unpaid editor is just going to lead to a necessity to read shite after shite after shite until you want to kill yourself (metaphorically, of course).
Fame will be very hard to achieve as an editor unless you are someone of freakish talent and extraordinary penile girth like Reuben Salsa.
And look, if, after all this, you still want to go ahead and start your tremendously interesting publication go ahead.
But don’t be a knobhead about it. Don’t fucking act like you are The New Yorker with your six thousand word submission guidelines and yer junior editors who ejaculate in their bloomers when they see a comma in the wrong place. And don’t make any fucking changes without checking with the talent, citing that it’s your right to make changes cos it’s your publication.
And don’t be a lazy prick and ignore people’s stories that they sweated real tears from their eyes over, AND don’t schedule someone’s story to be published two weeks from when you receive it because you have made up some shite about only wanting to publish a certain number of articles or you have finally just got bored and you think they will agree because they are so damn desperate to be published in your life-changing publication which has a nut-busting 68 followers.
And I know you are thinking now that you will be the best damn editor since Perry White at the Daily Planet, but once you realise you are doing a lot of heavy lifting and reading a lot of boring fuckers writing and not getting paid a dollar nor a drop nor a nipple, you might think differently.
And look, I’m not one to offer hints, but if you genuinely want to see how unpopular a publication is, just put /latest after the publication name. For example,
https://medium.com/spunk-in-my-anus/latest
And it will show you how many damn followers they got, innit?
Anyway, look, just don’t bother starting a publication okay?
Cos like everything in this world, at some stage, you will be sitting there thinking,
I shouldn’t have started this. Now it’s just a pain in my monkeypox dotted scrotum.
Or do. Go ahead and start it. I don’t give a fuck actually. Cos quite honestly, I could be wrong.
It could be more rewarding than taking a shit after a week of green smoothies.
But I wouldn’t know cos I don’t have a publication, and I am not a fan of green smoothies. (It’s the pulp. I fucking hate pulp). If anyone has any more blazing insight please chime in and tell me why in tarnation it’s a good idea.
And now look what you have made me go and do.
I’ve started this fucking article, and I have to somehow wrap it up like a professional so you can read it and go,
Frank, he is a damn professional the way he ties all of his points together in the final paragraph isn’t he?
Cos, that’s what we are told to do by those cunts in the writing elite so we can finally be accepted as real writers rather than the shitty, amateur writing Pinnochio long nose frauds we are right now.
Well, fuck you. I’m not tying it up. It’s not all going to come together Motherfucker. It’s like the final scene in Seven. I’m leaving it here. It’s a dead dog on the road. It’s yer wife’s head in a box.
It’s what I like to call a DEAD SPACEY.
