You know I never ask you for anything. I write for your enjoyment reams upon reams of amusing and semi-amusing material, and all I ask in return is that you sit there patiently while I complain that none of you read it. I don't ask you to buy my book, because I don't have one*. I don't ask you to pay for the web hosting on the Ludic Log, because I only update it once a fiscal quarter and I don't actually think anyone is charging me for it anymore. I don't ask you to buy my t-shirts, because I don't have any of those either*. And I don't even ask you to visit my advertisers, because who in their right mind would advertise on a site featuring my work?
I have this LiveJournal, where I fulfill all your funny-hat-poll needs. I have a blog that will help you become a better drunk; I have a blog that will help you laugh at ridiculous right-wing conservatives; and I have a blog that will help you get through the day with a bewildered chuckle, if I ever updated it, which I don't. I contribute to a hilarious political humor site and a top-notch indie film blog. I've stopped talking about what a pathetic, friendless, love-starved freak I am, and you will never again see a photo of me shirtless on this or any other website. All this I do for you, and still I ask for nothing in return.
But now I'm askin'.
I want to go to CPAC. I want to go because I am delighted to the point of obsession by loony right-wingers and the things they say. I want to go because I want to be there when Ann Coulter next calls someone a faggot. I want to go because I want to ask Michelle Malkin an embarrassing question that makes her completely flip her shit. I want to be there to liveblog the whole thing, sitting in the hotel lobby with a bunch of other fat middle-aged dickweeds who are also liveblogging about how Rudy Giuliani gives them a terror boner. I want to get featured in one of Crazy Pammy Oshry's video-blogs. I want to be there because it's an election year, and you just know that people are going to be talking a bunch of crazy crap every chance they get. And most of all, I do not want to pay for it. And that's where you come in.
The whole trip -- air fare, hotel, and top-tier attendee package that will ensure that I won't get thrown out of all the best events despite being a spy in the house of hate -- will cost about a grand. That means that if each of you tosses a mere five bucks my way, it's paid for. Ten bucks from half of you does the job. And a thousand bucks from one of you is all I need! Simple! What will you get out of it? Jack shit that you aren't getting now, really. I'll blog about it; I'll write about it; I might even take some pictures and make some voice posts. You won't get anything tangible -- if I get a book deal or make a t-shirt based on the trip, you'll have to pay for that shit too. But you will be a part of a grand experiment in super-fun-making. Haven't you always wanted to be part of a grand experiment in super-fun-making? Haven't you always wanted to be like one of those people who flew a banner over the Big Brother house? Wouldn't you like me to go back to being funny one of these days? This is what the internet is for, people. It is for total strangers to fund my trip to see a bunch of right-wing jackasses gassing on and on.
All money, guaranteed, will go to getting my fat ass to CPAC. Any additional money will go to getting me drunk while I'm there. I'm gonna go anyway, even if I have to pay my own freight, but all money will be refunded if I don't. You're even welcome to stay in my hotel room while I'm there, if you agree to make out with me beforehand. So come on: this is going to be fun as hell. You'll be subsidizing something new and exciting in the world of mooching blog posters, and also me getting drunk. So do it. DO IT. Press the button below, and send me to CPAC! It's as easy as pea pie! I won't even ask you again, except every day until next February! CAMAAAAAAHN
*: Yet. But watch this space.