The Internet has changed the world forever, but nobody seems to have taken much notice. We are being served the same old tired spiels and pitches, the same old geriatric advertising, the same old game shows and political propaganda. Worse, many seem to have accepted as god-given fact that the co-optation of the Internet is now complete and that hoping for anything better would be naive.
To such people, we can only say fuck you!
While Hunter S. Thompson pioneered the genre now called gonzo journalism, and Gonzo the Muppet has inserted some oddly skewed semantic drift on the concept into common parlance, we believe the time has finally arrived for something we will term Gonzo Business Management, or simply -- because acronyms cleverly imply previous acceptance -- GBM.
Our general theory of business is twofold. First, we believe it to be an activity that nearly everybody is sucked into in one form or another for the primary purpose of not starving or freezing to death. We suspect there will be little debate on this point among our readers -- excepting of course those True Buttheads who attribute to this otherwise pedestrian activity a form of Manifest Destiny or some Higher Calling horseshit. If this describes you, we have included a handy UNSUBSCRIBE form for your convenience...
Second, and less obviously, we believe business to be an adult carryover from childhood play. In more innocent days -- less obsessed with the Politically Correct -- we happily shot the Native Americans to pieces from our impregnable cavalry forts, or joyfully lobbed white phosphorous grenades into German/Korean/Viet Cong/Black Panther machine gun nests. This is pretty gender-specific of course. Little girls dressed up like Betty Crocker or Nancy Reagan and experimented with weird costumes, lipstick, and various other sorts of deadly charms and amulets. As adults, these same people have found cunningly camouflaged methods of continuing these practices under the guise of Serious Business. Men mount elaborate corporate campaigns against Evil Competitors. Women rip the imaginary dicks off their Ken-doll colleagues. We can't prove this without intensive double-blind research, but it seems to us to