Wow, You Guys Really Like Posts Making Fun Of The West Wing. OK, Here's Another One.

Well, some of it is about the West Wing.

As I mentioned at the end of Saturday’s newsletter about The West Wing, originally, that whole post was supposed to be just the brief introductory lede to a completely different post, but it got so long that I severed them into two parts. I also said that if you could guess what Part 2 was about, I would give you $100. The truth is I could have promised you $40,000,000 since there was no chance anyone was ever going to get it right because, though it had a somewhat cutesy relationship to the 100-word quick version of that post that only ever existed in my head, it has absolutely no connection to the 5,000-word version that I actually published.

I figured you could have a good little chuckle about what a disorganized dumbass I am when you read Part 2 and discovered how hilariously tenuous the connection between the two parts was.

But then something unexpected happened: you guys really liked that post! And not just “you guys” as in my base, my ride-or-die supporters. That post brought in lots of new guys! Way more than I expected. More than any post in at least three months, to be honest.

A lot of those people are on 7-day free trials, and I need to get them to stick around. This means I can’t, in good conscience, merely publish the post I was originally going to publish because—though it is a fun and good post, and I will eventually publish it in a few days—it would be just too risky to publish now since it has nothing to do with the West Wing! Nothing to do with Aaron Sorkin, or politics, or the census, or anything any of these folks have signaled any interest in whatsoever.

The only thru-line between Part 1 and Part 2 is my writing style, which is not nothing. I’m a delight. In fact, it’s the central appeal of this Substack, but I can’t just rest on my laurels. I need growth.

If I was consulting for a department store and it was doing ok, it was scraping by, but it wasn’t Macy’s— it didn’t have a Thanksgiving Day Parade that went straight down Broadway with big giant balloons based on popular animated characters—and some fresh meat came into the store, I’d tell the staff, shoulders back, tits up, let’s turn these looky-loos into customers!

To be honest with you, I am frankly tired of scraping by. I am ready for my years in the wilderness to be over. I would like to return to a level of professional success that gets people to suck up to me again. I’m not even just talking about the self-interested fakes who are nice to you because there is some cynical, transactional reason to be nice to you. (They’re great, don’t get me wrong.) I’m also talking about people who have such deep-seated emotional problems that they can’t help but gravitate toward anyone with even the slightest smell of success.

Those people are the ones I miss the most because those people don’t have to fake anything. They have such profound psychological problems that it’s an organic win-win situation. You get a sycophant; they get an endorphin release.

For three years now, I have been judged by the content of my character, and my main priority at the moment is to stop that from happening anymore as soon as humanly possible because, honestly, it’s just not my sport.

So it’s selling season, baby doll. I’m ready to see the chart go up. Ready to put in the work to grow my support. Hug every hand, shake every baby.

Shoulders back, tits up.

Now, new subscribers? Please don’t read the next few paragraphs.

They’re intended for the beautiful people who were already subscribing to my substack before this weekend. Don’t worry. It’s not about you. It’s just an inside joke you wouldn’t understand.

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Alright, they’re gone.

Look, guys, here’s the deal. These 19-year-olds just got off the bus at Port Authority, and I need to get them hooked on heroin before their worried parents have a chance to buy them a ticket back to Peoria, you dig? I want you to know that you’ll always be my number one. I just need to wine and dine these greenhorns until they’ve debased themselves to such an extent that they won’t ever try to go home again, lest people who used to know them be brought to tears by learning that someone who was once so young and beautiful could become so old and ugly quite so fast.

But don’t worry. It will just be a few days.

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OK, START READING AGAIN, NEW FRIENDS!

Like I was saying, I want to show these impressive, sophisticated, discerning charmers who have signed up for the free trial the best Calm Down has to offer! The problem is, I don’t know what they want. I could ask them what they want, but that would be a waste of time. People don’t know what they want until they want it, and even when they want it, and even when they know that they want it, they still can’t be trusted to be honest about it because people are liars.

You ask someone what they want; they tell you they want peace on earth and goodwill towards men; they tell you they want to read the smartest books and be challenged by the brightest ideas. But you, me, and every motherfucker breathing on this Earth knows what they really want is to watch Pam and Tommy fuck on a boat.

So, how can you figure out what they want? Well, you come up with theories and try ‘em out! Then, you look at the results and make data-driven decisions.

If theory one doesn’t work, then I try theory two. If theory two doesn’t work, I go to theory three. If theory three doesn’t work, then I’ll probably give up. ¹

The first theory I’m going to try is the most straightforward: they like long posts where I make fun of the West Wing.

What I know and you are about to learn is that this post? The one you’re reading right now? This is a long post making fun of the West Wing.

Everything you have read so far is just the wind-up.

Without further ado, here's my first follow-up to Saturday’s smash hit gateway drug/post about how the West Wing is stupid.

Part 1.5