Dear Mark Cuban…
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Jun
06
2006
06
2006
This is me.
No, really.
I am a writer, poet, spoken word performer, actor, singer, improviser, content creation and idea machine, freelance iconoclast, and the internet's janitor that dispenses pop culture wisdom to the protagonist of your choice. I have seen too many movies, read too many comic books, and when the zombies finally come, I'm the one you want to call. I sure as hell won't answer the phone, but it's the thought that counts. I advise people on the net, websites and technology, because I know these things instead of having a life or sleeping.
If you like something I've done, donate to the Widge Wants to Kill His Day Job Fund. Or if you'd like to hire me for a job, my rates are terribly reasonable. We thank you.
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You know, sometimes we forget, but not everyone is online.
I realize this may come as a terrible shock, but there are *actually* people out there (most of them old, mind you) who still get all their news information off folded sheets of paper delivered to them each morning. So until Cuban (and everybody else) is willing to write off the cash in those pockets, they have to deal with dead-tree media.
Folded sheets of…wait, you mean that crap I use as gift wrapping paper…has information on it? No, go on. Pull the other one. There's bells on it.