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Choire: So, new Gawker Editor Jessica Coen, who starts work today officially — when I told you that you had to send me a picture for posting against your will, I was hoping for one that emphasized your rack, not completely hid it. What's the point now?

Jessica: Well, Outgoing Gawker Editor Choire Sicha, you and I both know that my rack, while perky, is rather small. Unless I were to give you that picture of me with the push-up pleather corset, there's no way we could have a racktastic image. Unless, of course, you went and worked a little Photoshop magic...

Choire: Yeah, I'll be cutting and pasting Cameron Diaz's boobies on you all night. Okay, so I'm trying to think of useful advice to pass on to you before I give you the Editorial Tiara.

Jessica: I may wear the tiara from now on, but you'll always be the queen.

Choire: Hmm. Uh, "bitch." Okay, here's some advice: With gossip columnists, sisterhood is global, so be nice to Paula Froelich and Joanna Molloy and Ted Casablanca. Be mean to Chris Wilson and George Rush. Ignore Richard Johnson and Lloyd Grove, they'll just want to get their hands on your nubile ass. (Well, at least, that's how they were with me.)

Jessica: What about the young, sprightly ones? Ben Widdicombe and Elisa Lipskywhatever? Are they with me, or are they part of the Cindy Adams/Liz Smith Axis of Evil?

Choire: Excellent question, grasshoppper. I think that still remains to be seen — you'll be the judge of that. What I do know is the tabloids want to sell some Sunday papers, so I'm expecting extreme things from those two kids.

I wanna see some libel, you know what I'm sayin?

Jessica: Seriously! Why can't anyone just talk honestly about who's fucking who anymore? Can I use Gawker to fill that slanderous void?

Choire: Well, I guess now that I'm your boss, I have to deal with the legal letters, so... sure! Hmm, more advice: Okay, it took me like the first 900 or 1000 posts to hit my rhythm.

Jessica: Oh, wait — you want me to stick around for that long? Okay, cool, I'll clear my calendar. Now, this "rhythm" you speak of... Schedule? Tone? Hygeine? All seem to be worthy challenges.

Choire: Really, it s an inside job. Let's just say that, as Charlene put it, I'd moved like Harlow in Monte Carlo, but I'd never been to me. Oh — and around post number 3400, I hit a seriousl slump for like 400 or 500 posts. Don t worry about it. It ll happen.

Jessica: You're right. I guess I'll stock up on crank ahead of time. Oh, and can I use the drugs as a tax write-off?

Choire: If you wanna give the government a cut of your pittance, knock yourself out. Let's just say I've been getting paid in money orders made out to Juice Newton that I cash on Fifth Street and Second Avenue.

More advice: our readers fucking rock. They speak their mind, I'm warning you. I'm about to unleash a flood of Gawker email on you. But they're all pretty awesome — except this one guy Sean, who works at a museum here in town that will go unnamed.

Jessica: Oh, is he the one with the goiter who's always outside your apartment? 'Cause that guy's been milling around my fire escape all weekend.

Choire: He's crafty like that. What a dick. Anyway. So the job I'm entrusting to you: all over Manhattan, tens of thousands of people are trapped in front of their computers. They must not be allowed to work. Your duty is to wake up early, still drunk or not, and help them un-work. Can you do that?

Jessica: It's an honor, one I embrace wholeheartedly. I've dreamt of this sort of responsibility. Anything to prevent the economy from improving!

Choire: Oh and you should probably pose as a whore and sleep with some delegates to the Republican Convention.

Jessica: Oh, please. I am so two steps ahead of you on the whoring-convention thing. What sort of prepping do you think I've been doing for the past few weeks?

Choire: Sweet. You're double-hired. Seriously. Hmm, that's all I can think of in terms of advice... any questions?

Jessica: Yeah, one: what time do you normally start drinking? Is 10 a.m. too early?

Choire: That s gonna be your call. Intern Neel makes the best drinks — for some reason, the colonial history of his subcontinental people adds a certain subservience to his bartending, which I quite enjoy.

Jessica: While he's nice and submissive, he's a bit too generous with the vermouth. I had to beat him with a shaker until he got it right. That's okay, though — we're all learning.

Choire: Indeed we are. Wait, I have another question— are you single? That's something I forgot to ask before we hired you, because that would be, like, illegal.

Jessica: Uh, I don't know how to be funny about this since I'll just sound like a whore. So, like, yeah. Single. Whoo.

Choire: Okay, I'm gonna set you loose now. Remember — rich people matter. Answer all emails. Forward the legal threats to me. Magazines are totally awesome. And eat lunch at Lever House once a week, but make someone else pay.

Jessica: The Editorial Tiara is much heaver than I expected, but it feels good. I'm crying uncontrollably; the tears of joy have sent mascara running down my cheeks. I am, in a word, complete. Umm — excuse me? Holy fucking shit.