Whew! I finally have some time to take a break today. Let me tell you, writing summaries of books on drugs and addictions just really make me want to light up a cigarette, down a couple of beers and follow it all up with some espresso chasers. Anyone want to join the party? Imagine the halitosis that would follow that bender. That could knock over an elephant. Plus, I wouldn’t know if I was depressed and in love with everyone or if I should impulsively clean my house.

Lately I’ve been thinking of my adventures in the Dot Com world that I barely survived. I should really document those stories and share them with the world. The inept management, disgusting use of investor money, Play Boy Bunnies and sockless, sweater-vested bastards, is just too juicy to ignore.

For example, early on at one of my Dot Coms, we got the editorial team together with the Business Development team. We sat down to discuss strategy, development of our sections of the site and how we were going to proceed in building an amazing website that had no chance in hell to ever draw revenue without selling organs on the black market. (Conclusion: we were all idiots because we live in the Midwest. They were all superior because they lived on one of two coasts and did not wear socks.)

We decided to discuss our credentials and were introducing ourselves via conference call.

My introduction went something like this: “I’m Gary O’Brien, the ________ Editor. I spent five years in the publishing industry developing the content of college, medical and nursing textbooks. I have a degree in English, with a minor in creative writing. I’m an award-winning short story writer and have written movie reviews for several publications since 1996. As of right now, I’ve had roughly 300 movie reviews published. I’m a Taurus, enjoy long walks on the beach and frequently protest the treatment of midgets in Hollywood movies. Chicks dig me because I rarely wear underwear and, when I do, it’s usually something unusual.”

Most of my colleagues had similar backgrounds. We had writers with experience in magazines, newspapers, people with degrees in film, former radio personalities, etc. One of our editors had an MFA from Iowa University. In the writer’s world that’s akin to having a Nobel Prize in chemistry or being a Rhodes scholar. Most of us had quite a bit of experience in developing content for websites and were all published authors of one sort or another.

Well, our Coastal friends got to speak. One touted the fact that he was “employee number 11” to which my boss replied, “I’m employee number one.” They had all done something with cable stations and various other entertainment industry businesses. At first, we were all impressed until their ringleader spoke.

“I’m Dippy McDipwap. My career has been long and interesting! I started in the business as a break dancer in the 1984 Olympics opening ceremonies.”

At this point there were muffled giggles. But he went on.

“I was a television stunt man for many years. Maybe you’ve seen my work on Hardcastle & McCormick. I have produced several movies, including (a large blockbuster) . . .” (Note: I checked this out. It was true. He had produced one movie. A movie I had reviewed a few years earlier as a direct to video release. It was horrible. Simply horrible. He was not in anyway involved with this blockbuster, that I could see. In short . . . he was bs-ing us.)

Oh but it goes on!

“I founded XY website on deep sea fishing in California. Oh, and I went on tour with Ray Parker Jr. as a back up singer and dancer.”

At this point the speakerphone was on mute. I was on the floor gasping for air I was laughing so hard. If these were all lies, this guy needed to double-check what he considered cool. If it was the truth, well, it was sad. Just plain sad. He admitted to break dancing for a living. Oh my God. This man needs help.

He finally wrapped it up with a few more exaggerations of his career. His boss got on the phone and lauded his brilliance “in the industry” and how he was an asset to the company (number of business deals he closed in his time with the company: zero. Number of knockdown, drag out arguments I had with him: 10. Number he won: 0). And this staff of coastals worshiped this idiot and assumed we would be impressed by his ability to bust a move and the fact that his brother-in-law as a crappy B-Movie actor.

All of these people were VPs of the company. None of them wore socks. I’m serious. For some reason they viewed socklessness as a sign of their superiority. I viewed it as unhealthy and a breeding ground for fungus.

These people had no concept whatsoever of how a website worked. They assumed that when they wanted a change to the entire database, we could send Tinkerbell out to sprinkle her pixie dust on the servers to make the change. They had no idea the amount of work or time it took to make their “necessary” changes. They had no idea of the hours we put into creating the content they didn’t ever look at.

In the end, we were vindicated, however. They became the laughing stock of the company. They worked for stock options, we worked for salary. I had a check; they now have very thick toilet paper. Oh boy!

When we went bankrupt (it was inevitable, but we all had a blast), I was one of six employees retained throughout the sale of the company. They all did such a thorough job of pissing off the entertainment industry with their stupid ideas and brazenness that they had to explain this two-year mar on their resume. I was able to get a higher paying job based on that resume.

Oh, and when they finally sold the company the one asset they could list? The database that my colleagues, our staffs and the tech team built. In the end, we were what were valuable.

And the sockless bastards turned out to be just that. Sockless bastards.