To the person on the Internet who said I’m a “Tech Media Douche”:
Honestly, you can call me whatever hater names you want (though only douches still say “douche”), but the fact is: my strat is tighter, my portfolio is fatter, and my buzz is louder than whatever bullshit blog you’re writing because you’re jealous of me.
When I wake up in the mornings, I check my expertly-curated Twitter list of thought influencers and buzz-masters, I get ideas for how to change the world with social media, and I sell those ideas to companies and brands for thousands and thousands of dollars. Then I use that money to buy super cool-looking glasses, designer blazers, and shirts with lots of extra straps on them, all of which I wear to the coolest media events and tech launches, where I get laid by ‘hot nerd’ college chicks looking for internships. You know, just stuff a “Tech Media Douche” does.
I’m not an early adopter. I get people pregnant with ideas, and then put the newest networks, apps and tech buzz up for adoption. Every day I get gadgets sent to me, for free, that would give you a geekgasm. I just made up the word “geekgasm”. I just got a book deal to write “Geekgasm”. On Foursquare, I’m the Mayor of more locations than Mayor McCheese, who is the Mayor of every McDonald’s in the world. And the only reason I let him still be the Mayor of those, is because I would never eat at McDonald’s because I only eat locally-grown sustainable organic food that has been prepared by an artisan.
I’m on the VIP list pretty much everywhere anyone would possibly want to be seen, and if I’m not, I tell them how many Twitter followers I have, and then I am. That’s just how shit works for me. I’ve checked in from every restaurant you’ll never get into. David Chang has a secret seat permanently saved for me at Momofuku Ko. I’ve hung out at one of Kanye’s futuristic robot palaces to eat a ridiculously expensive kind of space ice cream that only astronauts and ‘Ye can get (yeah, I can call Kanye “‘Ye”). Don Draper was based on me, except without my shitload of Twitter followers because Twitter didn’t exist in the ’60s (though if I lived back then, it would have).
I’m Justin Bieber’s swagger coach’s swagger coach. Pete Cashmore refuses to be photographed with me because I make him feel ugly and stupid. I’ve been turtleneck-shopping with Steve Jobs, Mark Zuckerberg personally “Likes” pretty much everything I post to Facebook, and Ashton Re-Tweets me constantly because he thinks I deserve to have more followers than he does. Larry and Sergey from Google are trying to figure out how to make an algorithm out of my life. Probably because I’m just some “Tech Media Douche”.
I’ve been profiled by more media outlets than I can remember because everything I say is hilarious and poignant, and everything I do becomes a trend piece. The New York Times and Wired Magazine have arguments over who get to celebrate me each month. I’ve been been artfully photographed more times than Julia Allison and that kid who started Tumblr combined. VCs and Angel Investors line up to pitch me on why I should take their money. I put last night’s dreams into a dream journal, and then those dreams start bidding wars to become the startups of tomorrow. I don’t have bad ideas, but if did, I’d sell them on eBay, with a $1,000,000 reserve. David Fincher also wants to make a movie about my life (called “The Whole Internet”), but I told him he can’t do it unless I get to play myself, and he gets Brad Pitt to play a guy who watches me make love to Angelina Jolie. He’s just waiting to hear back from Pitt’s agent (but Angelina’s already in).
Even Apple couldn’t design something as beautiful as my life. I’ve got millions of followers and everyone’s my friend. In the time it took you to read this, my content drove bajillions of hits. Today I’ll probably go viral just because I have nothing better to do. I’m not on the Internet, I AM THE INTERNET.
But you’re right, I’m just a “Tech Media Douche”.