Tthis is a story about the longest, most sexist blog in the world. As such, this tale may degenerate into the longest, most sexist blog ever to be written about the longest, most sexist blog ever to be written. Should that prove to be the case, bear with me and I’ll do my best to keep you entertained as we progress, aided by witty asides and gratuitous images that are tenuously linked at best to the subject matter.
If you’re currently killing time before sloping off to the pub, by the way, this story will eat up a good ten minutes – provided you stop to laugh at all the right places. Focus your fiendishly short attention-span, kick back and let’s take a trip to the heady days of spring 2012…
In the beginning, there was one
Cherry blossom was falling in the Meadows. Japanese tourists were accumulating on the Royal Mile. Mackerel were being line-caught at Granton. And from a bedroom in the city centre, I was starting to write.
By day I would write articles for clients; by night I wrote Ed Uncovered. One for the money, the other for the lulz. As the former began to pick up however, I found myself with more writing jobs than I could handle. There just weren’t enough hours in the day to accommodate all the work that was being thrust at me. On a whim, I posted a Gumtree ad seeking aspiring writers to join my freelance vessel.
Then there were six
The ad was provocatively written in order to maximise the response rate and hopefully weed out the less confident writers. With any luck, the sub-standard ones would be deterred by the ad’s arrogant tone, leaving only the literary geniuses. In that respect, the ad was a failure. In every other respect however everything went better than expected: writers were found, friendships were made and lulz were had.
Best of all, the ad caused some unexpected butthurt in certain quarters. Today I’m going to share two of those responses – responses that prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I am a total penis. Why am I such a knob jockey? That should become clear in due course. First though, the ad itself. Have a read, and see if you can figure out why it rustled a few jimmies:
Do you have a special way with words? Would you like to supplement your income by making some cash in your spare time – without having to get out of bed? I work as a freelance copywriter, producing articles, product descriptions and blogs for clients all over the world. If it involves words – nice ones, boring ones and occasionally even naughty ones – I’ll do it. I produce stuff like this for instance: http://eduncovered.com/
Because I’m rather good at what I do, my list of regular clients is building regularly, to the point where I’ve now got more jobs than I can handle. I’m looking to take on an assistant to help me with my workload. In return for your endeavours, I’ll reward you with cash that can be used to purchase beer, drugs and possibly even textbooks.
Before you get too excited however, here’s what I’ll need from you:
- A resume: I don’t want a whole CV, just a quick summary of who you are, what you do and why you’re the right person for the job
- A sample of your work: Nothing too elaborate; a few proficient extracts from essays/reports/love letters will suffice.
- An impeccable grasp of spelling and grammar. If you can’t tell the difference between its and it’s, don’t bother applying. This is a job for native English writers, and good ones at that.
[I blabbed on a little longer, and then:]
Still interested? If you’ve read this far through the world’s longest job description, I’ll take it as a sign that your appetite’s been suitably whetted. That or my writing’s just so awesome you couldn’t bear to look away. If you think you can produce work that’s better than this smug exercise in ego-massaging however then get in touch – you’re exactly the sort of person I’m looking for.
I had anticipated 20 or 30 applications, from which the most promising writers would be asked to submit a paid test piece.
That idea was swiftly abandoned when my inbox was overloaded with 300 applications from all over the country. Many students got in touch after seeing the ad on Facebook, as it was rapidly shared about the web.
Britain would appear to boast an army of wannabe writers – most of whom will leap at the chance to earn meagre sums while they finish off their best-selling novel. I had no idea there were so many aspiring authors out there, but can only assume that they’ve been breeding in Starbucks.
Uh-oh, here comes butthurt
Now that you’ve read the ad, have you worked out why two individuals got insanely rustled by its wording? If you haven’t, the next recruitment ad sheds more light on the matter.
Wait, there’s moar?
Yep, there’s more. Two months after posting the ad, I had cause to run it again. This time it was worded a little differently:
Talented Writer Wanted
Do pink elephants eat eucalyptus leaves? What the hell have pink elephants got to do with writing jobs anyway? If you know the answer to both of those questions, read on – you might just be the person I’m looking for.
Earlier this year, I placed a Gumtree ad for budding writers to compose blogs and articles in their spare time. In return, I promised to repay them in the form of hard cash and lame jokes. I was as good as my word. 300 aspiring writers replied to the ad, of whom around a dozen proved to be writers; the remainder aspiring. The former now work with me on a part or full-time basis, writing about everything from iPhones to designer vaginas – not usually in the same article, it should be noted.
Each Friday, my assistants are remunerated for their week’s efforts. The writer who’s produced the best or funniest piece receives a bonus payment with which to treat themselves to a half bottle of Buckfast. I can’t remember why this arrangement came about, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.
If you love writing and are really good at it – or even if you hate writing but have been cursed with a gift for it – I’d love to hear from you. Like you, I didn’t grow up aspiring to become a sit-at-home writer, crafting blogs in my underwear about the merits of stainless steel. I get by though, aided by my cheery disposition and predilection for recreational drugs.
Before you go polish up your CV and dust off the thesaurus however, here’s some crap you should know:
[There followed a list of requirements, concluding with the following caveats:]
5. Sometimes I like to use bad words like ‘damn’. And ‘bawbags’ – that one’s a personal favourite. If you don’t like these words, it’s probably best we don’t exchange tetchy emails.
6. Pick an article – any article – in Ed Uncovered and read it.
If you hate it, the chances are that one of us is a feminist, the other a misogynist and we’re destined never to get on.
And that’s about it really. Oh, there is one other thing actually: What the hell have pink elephants got to do with writing jobs anyway?
Absolutely nothing is the answer, and yet in spite of that incongruous start, you somehow felt obliged to read all the way to the bitter end. If you can compel me to do the same with your writing, you’ve got the job.
Once again, the floodgates opened with applications from aspiring writers, but this time there was no butthurt. Clauses five and six would appear to have done their job, deterring those of a sensitive disposition from applying.
But what happened the first time round to necessitate such clauses being inserted into a simple Gumtree ad?
As it turned out, not all of the 300 writers who replied to my ad were taken with it. Some liked it; some loved it to the point of moistness; others shrugged indifferently and rattled off an application out of desperation. Two souls, however, took exception to my general cockiness and irreverence and misconstrued this as a sign of cockiness and irreverence.
The duo immediately did what jilted writers always do in such circumstances: took to their keyboards and unleashed a torrent of rage.
Just Call me Tina
The first victim we’ll call Tina, because her name sounds very similar to Tina. Her response – and the conversation that ensued – is printed below. I’ve italicised the typos in her first message for reasons that should become immediately apparent.
Thank you for your kind comments on my blog. The great thing about humour, don’t you find, is that it is universal and knows no boundaries. That’s why comedians take the piss out of everything and everyone – whites, blacks, fat people, stupid people. If you were to read Ed Uncovered closely, you would notice that as well as joking about fat women, thin women and sluts, the blog also attacks coked up guys, fat guys, promiscuous guys; everyone and anyone is a target. In fact, in one of the most recent entries (‘Planking’), I referred to myself self-deprecatingly as a ‘stoned idiot’. I am neither stoned nor an idiot, but I reserve the right to describe myself in such terms, just as I reserve the right to make sweeping generalisations about segments of society for comedic purposes.
PS: As I’ve currently had 100 ‘talented writers’ apply for this post, I’m not looking for any more staff. I appreciate you getting in touch however, and should a vacancy arise in the future, I’ll consider you for the position.
Tina bit back:
Do you hear that? ‘A lot of your readers only visit here for the pictures.’ She’s insulting you guys! Are you gonna stand for that? Oh wait, you can’t read, can you? Never mind, here’s some bewbs to ogle. While I assemble words for EU’s bona fide readers, the rest of you can beat off to the highly-fappable pics that are dotted about the blog; you know, like the Pizza Express one where you can almost see the girl’s tits – sorry, ‘the lady’s breasts’. Who needs RedTube when you’ve got Ed Uncovered to get you hard?
You’re right, I’m a complete misogynist. Every evening, after writing my misogynistic ramblings for Ed Uncovered, I retreat to the bedroom and beat up my girlfriend. She loves reading Ed Uncovered, but she’s not so keen on the physical manifestations of my outright misogyny.
Because you appear to have trouble understanding subtle concepts such as humour, irony and sarcasm, I’ll explain the following to you in big letters:
I was joking when I said I would consider you for a job.
Tina, I would never hire you in a million years. Let’s look at the first line of your reply:
Hi, I’m a very taleneted Edinburgh based writer.
Taleneted? I’m a very taleneted writer? Well there’s an oxymoron, if ever I saw one.
Also, putting the word ‘sexual’ in front of a word doesn’t necessarily sexualise it. I’m off to eat my sexual Weetabix now before locking my sexual front door and heading sexually off to work.
For the benefit of Tina and anyone else who’s reading along instead of fapping over the salacious pictures, I’d like to stress that I’m no more a misogynist than I am a misocynist – I love women, and I tolerate dogs. When it comes to blogging however, I write like a man who’s got a cock strapped to his waist because believe me, I do. A big fat yoghurt slinger that produces fuck-tons of testosterone which bleeds into my syntax, as this sentence clearly shows. Had I been born with tits and a fanny, rest assured that I’d be writing just as graphically, but from a female perspective.
Incidentally, a misocynist is someone who hates dogs, unlike a misogynist, which is someone who hates dogs.
That pause was to allow for the delightful complexity of the previous line to sink in, by the way. Do you need more time to appreciate it? OK, let’s move on then.
Just Call me Jamie
Our next victim of butthurt we’ll call Jamie – because that’s his name. As a fellow member of the male species, Jamie hadn’t noticed the rampant misogyny that plagues my work. Instead, he had found something even more iniquitous to take umbrage at.
After conceding that I was indeed ‘a total penis. A skilled and occasionally humorous one, but a total pork sword nonetheless’, I chastised Jamie for taking a week to respond, observing ‘your grammar’s excellent, but if I hired you to write 1,000 words, I’d still be waiting for them by Christmas.’
Sadly, a fruitful writing partnership never did blossom with Jamie and thus I was unable to savour his rich literary talents. If anyone would like to enlist his services however, I’ll readily pass his details on to you. As well as being a talented writer, you’ll note that he’s in a band and is writing a novel, attributes that set him apart from the 100 other talented novel-writing guitarists who’ve contacted me this week.
So what was the point of all this?
This tl;dr tale was recounted for two reasons:
1. Because it’s Friday, and it’s not as if you were gonna do any proper work anyway.
2. Because it’s Friday, and it’s not as if I was gonna do any proper work anyway.
When real men get pissed off at the behaviour of complete strangers, they threaten to knock them the fuck out. When writers get pissed off, they pen a strongly-worded blog. That’s about as lame a riposte as you can imagine.
Put it this way: who would you rather have backing you up in a brawl – a scrawny writer or a member of any other profession? OTI, we’re brimming with bravado and swagger; IRL, we scarper at the first sign of trouble.
Still, at least we’ve established that I’m not a misogynist – if I was, my girlfriend would have kicked my weak, sexist ass the moment I commanded her to go make me a sammich.
Lessons we’ve learned today:
- When trying to impress a writer, be sure to introduce yourself as ‘Taleneted’. That way, they’ll get super jelly of your leet skills.
- I am a penis.
- Misogny is funny – but not as funny as misocyny.
- Butthurt is funnier still.
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