Fuck You, Arianna Huffington

This is a true story. I swear. I will not make up shit in this story, because I might (?) get in trouble for printing the truth in public about something that happened to me, in real life. A big part of this story lies in you, the reader, knowing about who Arianna Huffington (AH) is, and where she gets all her power and prestige, if you want to call it that. AH has a big blog, where lots of people go everyday to read called http://www.huffingtonpost.com/. Fuck that site, and fuck AH. Read her stupid wikipedia here.

It all started when I used to really really fucking hate my job and want to get out of here STAT. I STOPPED SMOKING WEED for like 2 weeks so I could pass a drug test, if a potential employer were to ask me. That shit is no joke to a smoker, I fucking quit cold turkey. I sent in my resume to her weak site in probably early November for a similar position to what I’m doing now. I was like what the fuck, I’ll send my shit in and maybe she’ll get me back. Well, readers, divine providence struck in the form of an email from one of her minions, “Call us” or something like that. They wanted some of my sizzle, and I said, let’s do it. I was talking to her right-hand feminist woman friend on the cell phone in the hallway of my office building. That’s right bitches, I do my first interview on my boy DW’s cell phone from the office hallway; it’s a standard practice. I usually go down a flight or two, so my boss doesn’t come out to see me scribbling notes and directions about some espionage shit on his dime.

So I get the call, I call back, and it’s fucking on like donkey kong. The first day I call, the girl on the phone is like, when can you come in, I said, today, she said, let’s do it. I was like Oh Shit. Back and forth a few times with Minion #1, and I get the green-light, with personal info. The interview and job itself is at AH’s house, right in the middle of Brentwood. For you losers who don’t know, Brentwood is where the big $$$ lives. As an aside, AH is big-time left-wing, pro-environment, blablablablablablabla. She drives a Prius. WOW. Her house uses as much electricity a day as Mexico City people. Like Al Gore. There’s a disconnect.

ANYWAY, the meeting is on, and it’s on at AH’s mansion estate-home thing in Brentwood, and I’m not really dressed up for a powerhouse job interview. Fuck it, I say let’s do this. I drive directly from work, and up through the winding canyon roads to this mansion (Arnold Schwarzenegger has a house on the same street I think, and his arch nemesis Stallone does too). So I get there, I see the whole Prius deal parked out front, and I ring the gate, and I get to go in. Wheeee I’m thinking.

This girl H answers the door. I’m not going to blast the employees too hard, because I do in fact know what it’s like to be somebody’s bitch, and it’s not all their fault. So anyway, H answers the door, and I get to come in, and I go to the sitting/waiting/living room deal, which nobody really uses I can tell. It’s got a fucking tree that’s literally 25 feet tall in it, in this huge fucking mansion in the hills. I cannot emphasize the estate-hood of this place enough.

So I go in and wait, blabla, her right-hand power feminist woman comes out and gives me the schpiel…”Hard work blabla, no mistakes, blabla, CEO face to face, blabla, TAKING CARE OF THE KIDS, blabla” The hair rose a little on my neck at this point. “We’ve had a really hard time keeping an assistant for AH lately, we’ve been through a bunch over the past few WEEKS.” In other words, this bitch has a higher turnover rate than McDonald’s, and you better watch it when you’re changing her baby’s diapers. Etc.

So then, I get to go meet AH herself, whheeee, in her big old library with TONS of fucking books. TONS AND MILLIONS OF BOOKS. AH is very nice to me, and has a big thick Greek accent, she’s this kinda old lady who looks nice, acts nice etc. BUT it was weird. Very fucking weird. She asks me about archeology, because it’s on my resume per my pimpness, and I suave it real nice with her, etc.

Then, her right-hand lady is like, “Let’s go upstairs and I can show you where you’ll be working.” blablabla

Let’s get to the point, all this wording is killing me. I go upstairs and meet the slaves. I am a stoneywageslave, but these kids were fucking sweatshop labor slaves, and I could sense immediately that something was very wrong. I was the oldest person there at 23, which meant to me, that all these kids (3) were just out of college and needed a job, and thought it was normal to get yelled at by an egotistical maniac. So I sit down, and they’re kinda like, “Show us what you can do.” So I point, click and edit 100 of these comments. I got my name in the backend, I worked for about an hour on this shit, reading these bullshit comments, and taking out the “ad hominem” arguments in the comments. This girl half-assed explained it to me, and I was asking her questions on basically every comment, because I DID NOT KNOW WHAT I WAS DOING; I HAD NOT BEEN TRAINED OR GIVEN PROPER INSTRUCTIONS, BUT I WAS DOING WORK FOR AH WITHOUT SIGNING ANY PAPERWORK OR ANY OTHER SHIT, NO PAY RATE, NO NOTHING. NADA. That, little kids, is a violation of employee rights on a number of different levels.

So I do work for an hour. I worked from 4-5. That puts my total working hours for that day at 12, being as how I’m at work usually at 5 AM. Talk about fucking toast.

I get home and tell Lady T about my adventure, and SHE IS IMMEDIATELY SUSPICIOUS AND UNHAPPY ABOUT THE WORK SITUATION. SHE CALLED IT “SKETCHY”. I instantly attribute her suspicions to selfishness and jealousy, but remember kids, do not underestimate the intuitive powers of women. That shit is no joke.

So, with a new job on the line, what do I do. Fucking smoke a bong and pop a pill, that’s what bitches. I could tell that this place was not for drug-testing, one of the kids looked like gayass Pete Wentz. Anyway, me and my girl are driving to the Joker, and her phone rings with an unknown number. I immediately knew it was AH on the horn, calling me up to bitch at me about my work.

We get to the bar, and I call back because I didn’t want to deal with her shit while I was driving. Lady T was right there watching. I called back and got CHEWED THE FUCK OUT by AH. Apparently I missed a few “ad homenem” comments, and I approved some stuff that AH didn’t want on her site. I backpedaled and tried to cover, but failed miserably after she used logic to prove that I had failed to do a perfect job. Minion #2, the one who told me to do this bullshit that was actually HER fucking job, was on the phone too, and tried to take some of the blame, but while still smearing it around like a dirty poo-wipe.

Let me tell you something, any and all prospective employers. To have the rights to bitch me out, you have to actually be my boss. You have to pay me something. I worked for free for this bitch Arianna Huffington for 1 hour, and you know what I got?

An earful of Greek accent logically proving to me that I didn’t do my job.

Want me to do my job? Pay me money and explain to me what to do. If that doesn’t work, give me 1 more try, and then fucking fire me. You know why I get to fuck off at work and write this kind of shit? Because I do my job, and I get paid for it, I do it well, and that is all.

I say, “Fuck You, Arianna Huffington,” for a number of different reasons, but mostly for her terrible attitude towards a prospective employee (me), whom she illegally used to do work without going through the proper government methods. On top of all that, she was a fucking raging bitch to me on the phone, ego-tripping and getting her granny panties in a wad.

Maybe that’s how they run the sweatshops in Greece, bitch, but not Hollywood. Get a clue, you suck.

It’s obvious this bitch is full of herself, but so am I. The difference is, I’m not a rich mean old bitch, I’m a fucking pimp-ass StoneyWageSlave savage. Please.

I came back to work the next day with a full appreciation for the shittiness of my job.

Editor note: This blog has been kicking for a month now. Very nice!

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3 Responses to “Fuck You, Arianna Huffington”


  1. 1 suityourself March 28, 2007 at 11:29 am

    you told me this story in brief over telephonic media, but it sounds even worse this time. i had no idea you had actually “worked” for the bitch. you should have said, in the midst of her bitching, “Yes, Ms. Huffington, you’re absolutely right. I should have done a better job, and I will, as long as you raise my pay from zero dollars an hour.” Then, after the requisite long silence, you could have said, “That’s right. Fuck you and your sweaty-ass sweatshop.” Then, you should have hung up on her… Not that I’d have had the balls to do it either… Blogging is a good opportunity to air your grievances. good work, sirstonesalot.

  2. 2 haganav March 29, 2007 at 9:23 pm

    This post is hilarious and I’m drunk on rum and coke!

  3. 3 Roughty March 29, 2007 at 10:17 pm

    Ease up neophyte. You need to define drunk, I have no faith in your drunkeness. You have been mouthing off lately to Stoney and me in private about your drinking, but I do not believe it. True, I knew you when you were a whiney little bitch about to enter college. And more true, you are still a whiney little bitch, but I am hoping you can amend your situation. Get your shit together and post, Haganav. Im too drunk to continue berating you.


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