Let's be a Gawker Rooftop Party!

I'm Julia Allison! That's J-U-L-I-A...

I'm Alex Blagg. I have a job where people send me pictures of idiots at parties and I make fun of them. What, you want to take a pic? Sure thing.

I'm Beth Ditto, frequent target of Alex Blagg. I have more talent in my left nipple than he does in his limp-dicked hipster carcass.

ill Be Peter “Chili Dog” Thiel.

I'm Emily Gould, forearms bedecked with 1970s kitchen wallpaper designs. I'm rolling my eyes so violently they might fall right the fuck out.

I'm Alice Walker Wright, AKA PartyPants. I will start my own satirical blog mocking tech twerps. First it will be bad. Then it will be very good. Then it will suck!

I'm black people!

I'm the sneering hipster cunt who tries to make up for what I lack in talent with a steady stream of elaborately snarky comments. I imagine I am incredibly fascinating... but I am not.

I am shame. I will be incoherently pondered in a long form essay by Emily Gould years after this rooftop party takes place.

I'm the soulless monotone mixed with occasional upspeak.

I'm Rolls Royce Revenge, ill-natured transsexual heiress! Watch me swan past you exuding toxic clouds of decadence and evil.

I am Shelia. And I am fired.

I am Choire Sicha, double-jointed gay asshat. I have a hate-read thing going on with Candice Bushnell.

I’m the South African husbear. I’m here strictly for the payout.

I’ll be the string lights.

I am Liz, Gawker's curator. I spent all day tacking Japanese comic panels to the walls as part of our art program. Let me hypnotize you with my dangling earrings.

I'm the uniform of a plaid shirt, ugly spectacles and unfortunate facial hair/tank top, tragic tattoos and a tongue piercing depending on if you are a man or a woman.

I'm Devorah Rose. Every day's a special occaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaasion.

Omg.

I'm Jakob Lodwick, pasty libertarian. Explain China in three sentences or stay out of my lane.

I am Joshua David Stein, the straight guy everybody drools over.

By 2019, I will be the divorced father of two kids openly dealing with borderline personality disorder (and probably bipolar, but that hasn't come out yet).

I am Joshua David Stein's face, which, on reflection, wasn't anything to write home to Julia Allison about.

I am Ian Spiegelman, sporadically funny writer with anger management issues galore. Will the drink I just hurled across the room find its intended target or simply take out one of those fucking awful Japanese paintings?

I'm Liz's twenty art world friends, giggling at the bong someone left in the fridge.

I am also Joshua David Stein, and I am the only remotely hot guy to come out of Gawker.

... which is saying something.

I am John Fitzgerald Page, AKA Worst Person in the World.

I dunno.

Looking around, I'd say there's competition.

I am Emily Gould's pelvic floor.

I am Richard Blakeley. If this is pre-2007 I am playing up my cheery fat hobbit loser shtick. Post-2007, I will aim for plump James Bond and miss by a county mile. Either way my Y-fronts are emptier than Paris Hilton's cunt on a Monday night.

I am a fire extinguisher filled with raw sewage.

I would be useful right about now.

These superficial, whiny, catty bitches were the definition of white privilege.

I'm far from an SJW, but those losers earned salaries to blog about other privileged people.

And they pretended they were on some holy First Amendment crusade.

Exactly what social change did they effect? Fucking losers.

Nick Denton should be put in stocks in a public square, with everyone invited to piss on his face.

Then maybe he'd understand what he created.

Evil troll.

I'm the sad fact that Nick Denton would probably enjoy that.

I'm Rufus Griscom, the founder of Nerve.com, masturbating furiously over the Gawker rooftop parties, envious over Gawker's "success."

Not realizing their "success" would bring destruction, because I have no morals myself.

I am LOLCait, sad-sack otter. I am promoted to Gawker contributor after making sad-sack funny comments.

I’m Sam Biddle, I should have steered clear of this dammed lot.

What’s Sam Biddle doing now? And who is Sam Biddle?

Datalounge has had a similar arch. As a matter of fact, gawker and DL are kindred and occasionally was referenced on gawker.

Although DL wasn’t sued out of existence, like gawker, in like a lion, out like a lamb.

Keep going. Nice to hear some names of writers I used to follow. I only came to DL after Gawker went down. Thanks Nick!

[quote] I'm black people!—I'm not invited.

Except for Nick Denton’s fugly trophy husband.

I’m Emily Gould writing about her favorite topic: herself.

I'm Nick McGlynn of Last Night's Party, tubby imbecile in a fedora. I think I can make a fortune off taking bad photographs of these media rats. I am sadly mistaken.

Sam Biddle is the guy who wrote the story about the tweet that ruined that poor PR girls life--remember, she made some dumb joke on Twitter about Africa and AIDS, not realizing that the world could read it (she had about 50 Twitter followers) and Biddle turned it into an article.

He later felt so guilty-ish about it he tracked her down to apologize (and then wrote about his apology)

Or: Just Another Gawker Asshole.

(Any DLers know if he's related to those Biddles?)

I'm Jordan Sargent, here to ruin your life if I can glean any secret you are trying to hide from your family that will surely destroy everything and everyone you love. I have what you might call, a lack of moral compass.

I'm Drew Grant. Who is Drew Grant?

Well, according to Sophia Jones: "Drew Grant took three years to accept the proposal of Ari Melber but had to find a new way in her life with another man. After relishing three years of married life with the journalist, she has been dating Richard Alexander. The Pop Culture Writer, who is best known for her works in The New York Observer, exercised her beauty to find the love of her life and has been enjoying her the dating life."

Or something.

OOPS! McGlynn's website was Random Night Out. I apologize for the oversight, Fatso!

I'm Princess Coldstare. You can almost see the dotted lines converging on Blagg's lice-ridden head.

I'm Mary Rambin. Julia's not here, right?

I'm Rachel Sklar, cackling away with my enormous horse face.

Who here just loves Sarah Jessica Parker!?

I'm the complete lack of a contingent career plan. I will be more recognizable in, oh, about 13 years.

I am Nick Douglas, adorable ginger moppet. I currently have 321 followers on Lifehacker!

I am the fact that all of these dipshits are now entering their forties with resumes that would be most useful as toilet paper.

I am smugness. You could literally slice me, plate me and eat me at this thing. And you just might have to.

[quote] I am the fact that all of these dipshits are now entering their forties

Oh, honey. Just now entering their forties??

Emily is 38 - I think she's about the average age.

This feels like hearing gossip in the teachers lounge. Should I be listening.

I am Balk's cock.

I am Mr. Hippety.

I am the DJ. I am really cool and don't do requests or acknowledge other people or ever play good music. Yes, this used to be an actual job.

We're Rich J and Hamilton N

We're just as bitchy and messed up and pathetic as everyone else at the party.

AND WE'RE FUCKING GAY

Why is Datalounge ignoring us?

Rich is a slutty top (just ask him!) and Ham works out in grungy gyms (just ask him too!)

The fucking losers are idiots like r30, who is probably one of Peter Thiel's flunkies.

I’m Super Squats

I'm Joanna Rothkopf, and I have a real writing job at Last Week Tonight.

I'm Reblogging Donk. Or I was. After nearly ten years Julia Allison finally sued me out of existence.

I'm Cord Jefferson; I'm the only one who'll have a career after this site goes kaput.

I'm David Karp, fish-faced Tumblr founder and spender of investor's bucks. Check out this swell penknife I got with my new boots.

I am The Awl, founded by Balk and Sicha after they leave Gawker and intended as a more thoughtful version of same. In fact I am tiresome, self-obsessed and trivial.

I am CollegeCallGirl, a commenter who ran the one interesting thing about her into the ground.

I'm a former regular Gawker reader who is enjoying the trip down memory lane reading the comments in this thread.

I think of it more as Memory Slough, myself.

I'm the Le Corbusier glasses of Alex Pareene, glinting softly in the string lights.

I'm the Commentariat. I provide 85% of the content and laughs associated with this crapfest but receive zero payment for doing so.

I'm The Hipster Grifter.

I coast on my quirky Asian prettiness and refuge in audacity.

I'm lightning.

I’m that socialite lady who backed over the pleb onlookers in my ranger rover at a Hamptons nightclub.

Ah, yes, [R74] Lizzie Grubman!! PR flunky to the dreaded Peggy Seigel and very nearly as universally loathed.

Although I admit in my professional dealings with her she was always very civil.

I'm flip-flops as work attire.

I'm James Frey's massive gunt.

I'm Mr. Hippety trying to chat up Rolls Royce Revenge and being pelted with various insults for doing so.

I'm Bored Looks.

I'm Ryan Tate.

Help me, I haven't slept in three fucking weeks.

I’m Tinsley Mortimer.

R81 Last I heard you were drunk as a skunk and being escorted off an Ex boyfriends property. How the mighty have fallen.

I'm Caroline McCarthy.

R82 but this is Gawker era where I still maintain an a shred of exclusivity and mystique.

I’ll be Kinja.

I'm the drunk, lonely, bitter queen making most of the posts on this thread because Nick Denton or Gawker didn't hire me. I'm wittier and smarter than all of them. Now if you excuse me, I have to go to my job at Family Dollar.

[R86] Nah, just bored and remembering - not without nostalgia - a certain era of fuckwittedness.

I'm Peter Thiel, trying to shut down the party

I'm bald British cunt Toby Young, trying to fail upwards again.

We're Will and Jada, still pissed at Gawker for outing us

I'm Alex Balk once again. I hope that if you're a man, you're not wearing shorts. The very idea!

I'm Caity Weaver, eating lunch at an obscure place so you don't have to.

Julia Allison never did happen outside the Gawkerverse, did she?

I'm Max Read. I am gonna resign over the breaching of the wall between management and editorial. But I will also out a guy for no good reason, who has never done anything to warrant this outing.

Not for lack of trying, [R93]. She actually snagged a show on Bravo but it only ran one season and she came off as a neurotic mess. She was followed about by a legion of haters on a site devoted to her every (stupid) move, so that couldn't have helped. I hear she's gone full hippie these days.

I'm Graydon Cater, occasionally hearing comparisons of this garbage to Spy Magazine and ruefully chuckling.

*Carter

I’m still Graydon Carter, run out on a rail at Vanity Fair because I got old and caught up in my own hype, and replaced there by an incompetent moron.

I'm the same party at the offices of Spy Magazine 20 years earlier. I'm probably just as annoying, but there is less evidence.

I'm the gawker writer who spammed the site with about 50 posts per day about that Cavallari woman from The Hills. I think I am just so adorable, tee hee. But really I am a talentless and unimaginative cunt who should be cleaning toilets for a living.

I, as luck would have it, am cleaning toilets for a living. AKA "Where are they all now".

I am a sweep of nostalgia for that time. I remember being there. And although i now see how obtuse and malicious and just plain stupid it was, it did seem like the possible center of something.

Ah well.

And when your looks are gone and you're alone How many nights you sit beside the phone What were the things you wanted for yourself Teenage ambition you remember well It was the heat of the moment Telling me what your heart meant The heat of the moment shone in your eyes

BTW, did anyone ever actually find out who Rolls Royce Revenge was? I heard she was a transsexual and an art gallerist but not sure if that was the case. You wouldn;t think there'd be so many of them at that point that it would be hard to figure out her identity.

R92 oh good Caity Weaver is still around.

I follow a lot of the staff of former Gawker and other Gawker Media sites on Twitter. Nostalgia is forever if you want it.