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Gaby, be a dear and bring me another croissant please. (Please direct any legal documents to nickguidodenton at gmail dot com)

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Calls For Making Tracie Egan and Nick Douglas Redundant

Many of the e-mails filling my inbox today are vehemently calling for the heads of Tracie Egan, for once again violating the commenter privacy agreement that I really don’t give a fuck about in the first place, and Nick Douglas for being, well, Nick Douglas.

First, about firing Tracie: Are you fucking kidding me? In an organization whose crazy quotient exceeds that of dentists and Jihadists combined, Tracie is not merely the most mentally unstable, she’s a walking Lifetime movie. She’s Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction. On steroids.

This is a woman who is rumored to lure men that she dislikes, or has it out for in some way, into bed for unprotected sex so that she can knowingly infect them with whatever mutant strains of human social disease she happens to be incubating inside of the petri dish between her thighs at the moment.

This is also a woman who throws New Year’s Eve parties in her home, then turns around and shamelessly solicits donations for cleaning services from strangers on the Internet after her “friends” spill liquor on her possessions, long after she’s passed out while being sodomized and is unable to supervise her own party, mind you.

The angry mob will just have to let this one go because I truly fear what she might do to the love bandit in retribution. Besides, the Jezzies eat up Tracie’s rejected submissions to Penthouse Letters, and I’ll always be a capitalist first, and a misogynist second.

As far as Nick Douglas goes, they can all forget about that one as well. Yes, I know that people are pissed off over the penetration post, one that I prudently pulled down immediately by the way, and they say that he’s by far the worst contributor in the history of Gawker Media, but he’s a ginger hobbit, my ginger hobbit. In case you didn’t know, ginger hobbits are not only rare, but to gay, British new media overlords, they’re the equivalent of what midgets are to ibankers.

So until Boltlung can find another ginger hobbit in possession of the ability to construct sentences with a junior high school level of aptitude to replace him, Nick Douglas stays.

Now, where the fuck is my paperweight?

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