Fuck Me, I Hate Marketing
You know Frank, good writers are good marketers these days
In 1995 I wrote a strongly worded article in which I announced to the Medium world that I had quit marketing forever.
And yet, here I am again, waking up and finding myself chewing down on the worm-infested apple of capitalism and creating masses of slippery gonorrific content because it’s what people like Gary Vee say we have to do to be successful.
Frank, you have to produce ten to fifteen pieces of content a day if you want your channels to grow.
Is that a fact?
Well, why don’t I just stand in the middle of a field and fuck myself in the eyeholes with a shaved zucchini?
I fucking hate marketing as an activity in itself. But what makes it worse is that I’m not a good multi-tasker. I’m either in blogging mode or writing mode, editing mode, or damn marketing mode.
And when I’m in marketing mode, my creativity pulls its ejection leaver, salutes and says I’m out. But, I still have to write some turd for Medium so I can desperately try and get the Stubblebine reacharound, AKA boost by sending my article to some amateur wannabe editor of a random publication.
The result is a turd sandwich with extra piss sauce.
Whoever the fuck said good writers are good marketers needs to have their knackers chopped off and fed to the horses.
Because they are full of shit.
And I don’t want to do it.
And as I said in that Neil Patel article, I’d rather live on the streets than become another entreprewanker.
That’s easy to say. But you know how it goes.
You don’t sell any books, and you sit there watching with red eyes as some ex-salesman called C.P. Deephole releases the Jack Flashcock series and sells over a million copies.
And you think:
Fuck, that guy must be a good marketer, or people are just fucking knobs or both.
And before you know it, yer sitting at your chafing station at 2 am making fucking memes on Twitter that no one sees or starting Facebook pages that no one joins or making clever pictures on Instagram that you fucking hate twenty-four hours later.
And you look in the mirror and think,
What have I become? I fucking hate myself right now.
And Gary Vee’s words echo in your skull:
You have to produce 10–15 pieces of content a day, Motherfucker.
And you just think: Fuck you, Gary.
Fuck you, and your sandpaper wank.
Fuck this capitalist piece of shit society.
Fuck you, Stubblebine and Medium, making it impossible for anyone who self-publishes their articles to get views.
Fuck you, Neil Patel, for your pyramid schemes.
I don’t want to be a marketing prick.
I’m a god damn writer, you fuckers.
Did Johnny Tolkien have to put up with this shit?
I’m off to fuck a goat.