Fuck. You.

Bloody bugger off.

No, let me be plain about this: Fuck. You.

I don’t bloody care whether you’re one of the top-(k)nob content providers out there. Seriously, I don’t. I’d rather fix stuff for people with less money and more cojones. But, in the end, more appreciation towards what people like I’ve done or what we could have done or what we bent over backwards to accomplish won’t make that much of a commercial business. Will it?

Won’t it?

Chrissakes!

I don’t need your money. Or your connections. Nice to have, but bloody hells, just because you hire me doesn’t mean I’ll be available 24/7 and put my personal Credit up-front. Ya, you’ll pay for it laters and whatnot, but hells, no!

Subliminal message: Fuck! No!

You know who I am talking about, don’t you? Well, probably not, as all them huge fucking media shoguns moguls act the same. No bleeding idea of what the wobble is all about. No, you expect more money will make it easier to play “the community”, just as more money did for print mags.

You still think this is all about you, na? Well, let me put this in your path of self-righteousness: No.

Seriously. Get off the web, or do it properly.

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2 thoughts on “Fuck. You.

  1. Pingback: Angry Sascha is angry.» Blog Archive » Why you suck as online publicist, and what to change.

  2. Pingback: Angry Sascha is angry.» Blog Archive » Fuck you, Part II.

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