Here at the gay liberal art school grad white people headquarters, we are, to a man, (or woman if you care to whine about such things) flawlessly beautiful gay liberal art school grad white people. Most of the time, this is wonderful. What could be better than a salon of erudite and sexy conversants, even if some of them are zombified and utterly annoying exhibitionists? It is a shame, therefore, that some of you have to be witless fops and find your insults of the appearance of others to be contributions most valid.
While Gawker will probably never be the Socratic dialogue that my Lord Denton (and no one else) wishes for, we would all do better to not stoop to the level of a What Would Tyler Durden Do discussion. This week, as an example, all executions are from the same post and for the same reasons.
Any of the newly deceased may be granted resurrection if they submit a self portrait, which shall be posted on Gawker for ridicule, by me, of your various and no doubt many imperfections. Or, more likely, you can just email Ian Spiegelman, as he seems to be in the business of undoing all my work in an effort to keep his weekend sewing circle intact.
And one more bonus execution: "Jump the shark." It's dead now. Say it at your own peril. (Including such unfunny meta-commentary as "Jump the shark has jumped the shark.")
As always, condemnations, bribes, pleas for mercy, and ridicule-ready pictures of yourselves may be sent to GawkerExecutioner@gmail.com. Don't email Denton, Pareene, Richard, Sheila, Hamilton, Nick Douglas, Ryan or anyone else from the Court of Gawker. I'm not them, and they don't care.