One of us has held seven different fulltime media jobs over seven and a half years in New York. So, obviously, we like looking for new jobs — and we're betting you do too. As part of Gawker Media's ongoing effort to ensure you're as unproductive and useless to your employer as possible, we're now very proud to introduce Gawker Jobs.
On Friday night, Arrested Development star Will Arnett went on Conan O'Brien and engaged in some puppy love with his host; as they resumed their proper interview/interviewee positions, Arnett noted that the moment would likely be displayed on Gawker the next day.
Yes, yes, we know it's ironic.
We were as surprised as you were to find Smokey the Bear advertising on Gawker today. "Only you can prevent wildfires," he's warning us gravely, expertly tugging our heartstrings with what appears to be a picture of soon-to-be-incinerated Bambi. Is there really a big problem with Gawker readers starting wildfires? Could we even start wildfires? One imagines wildfires require wilderness, which — as someone might inform the Forest Service — is in short supply in Manhattan. Indeed, we can think of any number of more useful PSA campaigns for folks like us:
We're writing a book, and we want your stories to be in it! Send us your talesfrom the trenches on the suggested topics below.
Didja have some trouble loading Gawker yesterday? Well, apparently that was because of all the wham-bam gizmos on display this week in Las Vegas.
Unlike a "sick" phone call to dear Krucoff (and may we all forever hold that lad near to our racks, 'cause he saved our wounded asses), the dearth of content this morning has nothing to do with the state of our lungs or livers. Instead, we're experiencing some classic tech difficulties, thus preventing us from delivering the typical dose of cuddly dementia and diuretic wit. Our apologies for inconveniencing any procrastinating you had planned.
I'm sure the past two days were less fun for me than they were for you but all will return to normal on Monday. Jess & Jesse have promised to climb out of their spacesuits and deliver the kind of genuine media analysis and gossip that you are accustomed to receiving. Have a great new year, everyone. Even you Lizzie Grubman, regardless if I think you're the real enemy too. - Andrew Krucoff
Answering a phone call at 6:30am is not usually advisable; when the caller ID shows the name of a Gawker editor your best bet is to hurl the gadget like a grenade. Well, for the past month I've been tip-toeing around the Green Line in Israel and I once microwaved an egg so I'm used to things blowing up in my face.
It's been far, far too long since this familiar manifestation of naggery has appeared in the lower-right of our screen:
Now, it's your duty to make sure that these nubby-fingered slaves did design your shirt in vain. And be sure to place your final orders today because unless you do it RIGHT NOW and choose 2nd-day air, these snazzy cotton fuckers will NOT be delivered before Christmas. You know there's only about $29 left on your credit card anyway, so use the rest of it to outfit a sleazy co-worker, scrawny ex-boyfriend, or Real Doll in one of these. And for those heathens out there who have no intentions of getting anyone a gift, you can always just buy one for your own damn selves.
As part of our continuing efforts to whore ourselves out and keep you from being productive, we've found a new way to make Gawker accessible on your mobile device (Palm, Blackberry, Pocket PC, or any other magic Japanese toy).
.'Tis better to give than to receive, but damn if giving isn't just a big pain in the ass. We can hardly set foot in a retail store without immediately wanting to open fire on everyone we see. Obviously, we prefer the solitude of doing our holiday shopping over the internet — and so should you, what with the adorable Gawker t-shirts available at your point-and-click convenience. (Click image for close-up of art.) What better way to tell your best friend she's a total whore than with a fashionable gift?
