A DUDE asks:
I was reading your hilarious OKCupid Opener post, and was thinking that if I’d sent you a dollar for every time your blog made me laugh out loud, you would have a nice little side income.
There must be other people who feel this way. Have you ever considered some sort of subscription service? Maybe, like, a $3 a month for some sort of premium content?
Thank you for your kind words. Many people have suggested I “monetize” this site, or my work in general, and I have thought about it.
But: let me tell you a secret. Nobody reads this blog. Nobody. Nobody reads anything in life except S & M fantasies about rich corporate overlords and children’s literature about vampires not fucking. Nobody reads anything on the internet except shit about Justin Bieber and how one of the political parties is trying to DESTROY THIS GREAT COUNTRY with the latest minor tweak to some obscure law. Or about how the Jews did 9/11. Or how everything is rape culture and also there need to be more plus sized clothing stores. A few people read web sites about men trying to have sex with women but 5 guys have that space sooooo covered, and they make minimum wage after ten years of work. This site is a niche of a niche of a niche. People who would be happier if they turned off the computer and went to the library and checked out books by Charles Bukowski, but don’t want to get up. That’s my audience. There are thousands of you, but, thousands isn’t money.
A reader is worth a thousandth of a thousandth of a thousandth of a penny that Google Ads keeps half of. And you get that atom of copper by flashing giant loud colorful ads for Single Christian Women Over 50 with a tiny gray x to “close” in the corner that opens a full screen pop up for more bullshit. Suddenly you don’t have thousands of readers anymore.
Nobody makes money off the internet. Maybe camwhores, and five dudes who spent ten years fiendishly optimizing their sites to get search traffic for “Best Camping Lanterns” or “Top Value in Lawn and Leaf Bags.” And then Google tweaks their search formulas and their life’s work is gone. Some writers are paid by other sites to create content but that’s a trifling amount. And even that’s going away. One guy in the entire world is a professional blogger running his own site. That’s Andrew Sullivan; he writes about politics in a way that lets people who shop at Whole Foods get even more angry at Dick Cheney. He gets a million unique visitors a month. He’s been doing it for twenty years. It would take a lot longer for this scatterbrained Livejournal shit to accrue even a tenth of that audience.
I am too old to stick a dildo up my ass on camera for gays to jerk off, so, I will not be making money off the internet. I will have to get a day job. Because I don’t want to string together a niggardly living “freelancing,” telling Single Christian Women Over 50 how to find romance online where you can’t say “fuck.” I don’t want chase traffic by inflaming men who hate women or women who hate men or people who think the Jews did 9/11 or any other partisan jackoffs who click on troll articles that tell no truth, that help no one, that only exist in the faint hope of getting linked on Jezebel and starting a flame war with Lindy West. NOT to disparage those guys– I read those sites and love them. I read Jezebel and the Man-o-sphere and I comment on both things but it’s been so done, it’s done to death every day. What is Lindy West’s life like, getting paid to be a robot whose work is like a book opening in chess– she and her imaginary opponent know all the moves and are just sleepwalking to the conclusion. Inside her is an intelligent person with nuanced opinions. A person who could write about her crazy life or just reveal her inner universe and make a novel that finally told me what it was like to be a woman. But, making the fat girls angry pays. Making unlaid men angry gets views. Nothing else gets noticed. So you become a feminist, and not a writer. A men’s rights activist, and not a writer. A professional victim-booster on a battlefield that means nothing to no one, but people like to pick a side and complain. Maybe they’ll click through and buy some Spanx.
And even if I wanted to do any of the paid shit, I am un fucking hirable. Remember all those posts where I talk about wanting to fuck 15 year old girls? Remember all the racist shit, the fat bashing shit, the shit about how women past the age of 33 are withered unfuckable crones? Guess who’s in charge of handing out online writing jobs. Fat withered unfuckable crones who spend eight hours per day rooting out that kind of shit to ruin their enemies. Or at least, whiny pussies. Unless Taki Whoeverthefuck comes calling, no one is gonna pay me. I bet even Jim Goad can’t make a living.
Plus, my life just isn’t of interest. You gotta be a Genderqueer Girl Gamer of Color™ receiving W.O.W. chat death threats or you have to be an ex marine gonzo reporting in Somalia and survive a land mine blast by tying your leg back on with your own intestines. No editor wants to be pitched some aging white jerkoff’s story about how he almost got laid but played Skyrim instead. Or you gotta have advice: Six Great Unexpected First Dates; Top Ten Tricks to Make Money Online. I’m not qualified to tell anybody how to fucking do anything. I can barely wipe my ass.
And finally: what about donations and subscriptions and etc. Well, thank you, thank you so much, to all the people who sent in donations. There were a bunch of you. But– I don’t want to keep hitting people up. Frankly, I feel like you all are doing me a fucking favor reading this shit. Commenting on it, spreading it around. Your page view on my stats bar is enough to ask of you. Your comment is more than enough. Your tweeting my shit, posting it on forums, on reddit, wherever, is WAY more than enough. God knows I don’t do that for anybody else. I am fucking GRATEFUL that you even sat through 2500 words of shit that could have used three more edits. Because when I read real writers– Uncle Hank and Joan Didion and Michel Houellebecq and Vladimir Nabokov and David Foster Wallace and etc. and etc. and etc., I am SHAMED. I cannot for the life of me fathom why people are reading my jerkoff ass instead of going to the library where these great minds are all there for fucking FREE.
I like writing. I do it for free and if I had to pay to fucking do it, I would cough up the dough. I like it because I can say “fuck” and I don’t have to take some editor’s pre-prepared stand on a Gluten Free Lifestyle™ or Adria Richards™ or The 40 Hottest Women in Tech™ . No one with money is buying the good shit. They are selling what sells. Could YOU be sexually harassed at a gaming convention? Would YOU get it on with the 10 Hottest United States Congresswomen? Is bottled water making YOUR children autistic? Details at 11.
Fuck that noise. I’m gonna work 9-5 at some job where you clock out and don’t think about it again for one second. I’m gonna come home and try to crank out good shit and give it away for free. Or if I ever finish a book you can buy it for ninety nine cents.
Even that’s asking too much.