ConFonz, is nursing a SloshCon hangover — "Aaaay, I'm up and moving!" — but even a morning migraine can't stop Valleywag's favorite correspondent from reporting.
The SID conference was a bit like walking into Asian gangbang night at the Golden Lotus. The honkies were far outnumbered here, and the giant plasma screens on every aisle of the show floor were hued with a distinctly yellow tint. even the press room was empty, and the attendees signed in on the media list were few and far between. At least the Wall Street Journal sent someone over.
Anyway, the conference itself showed off some amazing new technology in the area of preventing sperm from staining monitors. Many of the companies at the show were allowing patrons to bash their screens with hammers, spill water on them, and wag their cocks at the PR women, just to prove that they could take all the abuse.
Of course, that show ended at 2, and the ConFonz was forced to hide out in various Market Street bars until the freebies started flowing at the House of Shields. But once those liberal libations began flowing, the evening took a decidedly different turn.
O RLY ConFonz? After the jump, the Fonz proves he's a picky liquor drinker.
For starters, there's something deeply disturbing about watching that young ValleyWag editor be treated like a king. Women were throwing themselves at his zipper, men were handing him beverages, and everyone was waiting for this wee Willy Wonka to take charge of the festivities. For Christ's sake, people, a year ago he couldn't even get into this place because they card!
Not to look the free booze in its mouth, but the bartenders at the House of Shields were obviously suffering from some sort of degenerative brain diseases. Their drinks tasted like horse piss all night long. Your humble Conference Fonzie has trouble keeping his eyes open this morning, thanks to the strong taste of paint thinner in his swollen mouth.
And what happened to all those planned events, and doings, and presentations. As it stands, SloshCon did not meet the ConFonz's lofty standards for what does make a conference. This, instead, was sponsored drinking. An admirable event, nevertheless, it was nothing like an Expo. Unless you were trying to find out more information about how many people can fit into a joint with a 49-person-limit sign by the bar.
Next time there's a SloshCon, it needs to be A: in a larger place (Craig Newmark felt up some serious ConFonz groin... Or... was that Craig? If not, then who was groping the Fonz's little Chotchie?) B: In a bar with decent booze and booze slingers, and C: on a Friday night instead of Thursday.
Right now, half of the startups in Sillicon Valley aren't getting any work done because their management is all puking in the women's room. Of course, since there are no women at these startups, no one will ever be the wiser.