All these people sitting in front of their computers every day, typing in whatever pops into their heads. And hundreds of Web surfers, goofing off at work, reading what they have to say ... Brown-nosing the chef at some restaurant. Screwing up a joke they heard in a bar. Spreading gossip about the local mucky-mucks. Plugging their friends' bands. Rehashing childhood stories ... When all else fails, writing about the weather.
Pretty soon someone's going to catch on--that's what I've been doing for years. And unlike these amateurs, I get paid to do it, with an expense account and all ... Plus, I've only got to fax it in twice a week. Like they say at Nick's Coney Island, it's the same thing, only different.
If enough people start getting their jollies from these little Internet clubhouses, my gravy train could come to a screeching halt. What if they kill my column? ... I can't go back to my old daily gig. That bridge is way burnt. And another stint on the radio is out of the question ... That would be like Ishtar II.
Now I see they're even running one of these infernal blogs in Willy Week. I'm going to have to call over there and get them to put a stop to that. We dead-tree types have to stick together. They shouldn't be encouraging these kids ... At least not until our 401(k)'s kick in.
--Posted by Phil at 1:02 am.