This week, a couple of our pen pals wrote some ostensible "fan mail" that turned so aggressively creepy that it bounded over that fine line between love and hate. Other writers served up some checks to our ego, inquired about how we make any money at all, and tipped that Gawker had dove off the deep end last Friday night. More from our correspondence below:
But it's so hard not to be obsessed with ourselves when your complaints are obsessed with how obsessed we are. You're reinforcing.
SUBJECT: About what
BODY: Apparently shame on me for not knowing wth Gawker is, but honestly your "about" page is the least informative one I have ever seen online.
That annoyingly long and information-less video was a giant waste of my time. It just keeps repeating the G word over and over and over and over[kill].
Why do you not want to tell people what it is you do? If you are operating under the assumption that everybody should know by now, then you're missing out on getting the message out to those who still don't know what you do. You are just preaching to your own choir.
This might be love.
SUBJECT: Hamilton Nolan
BODY: Here's a tip: Every single thing Hamilton Nolan writes is the dumbest thing I've read since my last Hamilton Nolan article. Sometimes I get mad at myself for clicking and giving him another unique visit just because I want to see what insanity he has concocted today (I hope that's been his plan for hits all along, but that would require him to admit to capitalistic actions). I get it — he's a fascist gym snob living in Brooklyn. Even in an ideal world, his principles are shaky at best, and, believe it or not, this world is far from ideal. I don't know how he goes to sleep at night but I know he doesn't do it after thinking rational thoughts. Some days, I'll be going about my normal life, say, washing my scrot in the gym shower, then suddenly stop what I'm doing, shake my head, and think about how last August's "Let's Have a Maximum Income" article literally made every single person on the internet dumber whether they read it or not, and how I can't believe anyone allegedly college-educated could possibly write that nonsense.
But then: Hamilton Nolan.
SUBJECT: Hi Dear
how are you today i hope that every things is ok with you as is my pleasure to contact you after viewing your profile in love today at www.gawker.com. really interest me in having communication with you
if you will have the desire with me so that we can get to know each other better and see what happened in future.here is my email. i will be very happy if you can write me through my email for easiest communication and to know all about each other.
yours, new friend.
Sent last Friday at 7:40 PM. Seamless subject line incorporation.
SUBJECT: Your website
BODY: is flipping the fuck out right now
And you, dearest writer, added a speckle of sunshine to my day. Continue your cheery attitude towards life—it's a gift and a revelation. And just in case you're still interested, Tom Scocca wrote some thoughts about advertising at Gawker.
BODY: Good morning Gawker,
Your website is amazing, i just found out how to write comments on it. Beside telling you your awesomeness i wonder how you're making money because i didn't encounter any ads while reading the articles.
That's all for this week—have a forgettable Flag Day and a fantastic Father's Day. But really everyone should celebrate everyone and all pieces of fabric all the time, isn't that just the truth? Enjoy your weekend!