Even all of your favorite bloggers have taken sweet, sweet Sulzberger severance deals and will no longer be working after 6pm today. Luckily fictional freelancer Betsey Morgenstern was skulking around looking for something to do. She had quite the week!


What a Difference a Week Makes
 By Betsey Morgenstern

I've been trying to get a job at the New York Times for years now, ever since I barely graduated Hunter College Journalism school by blowing a physics professor. How did they expect me to pass that for my degree with all that math? I am not good with numbers, but words, I can do words. And now that there are going to be all these open positions at the Times because all these people are leaving, and they're doing it on purpose. Even my personal role model Jennifer 8 Lee is leaving. I just love her so much. She's so smart and classy and well-dressed. I really love her.

Well, I don't love her like a lesbian. Lesbians are gross, especially lesbian teachers. The only worse teachers are ones that punch girls in the face at bars on the Jersey Shore. And if I were a lesbian reporter, I would try to get myself changed into a straight girl like killing gay people in Uganda.

Enough about death, because if I don't find a job soon, I'm going to be dead. So, now that everyone's Facebook pictures were revealed due to some crazy new privacy policy, I've been skulking around looking for something to use to blackmail someone. We know that reporters sleep with their sources so the pictures shouldn't be hard to find.

I found some great shit about Michael Steele guy rubbing all up on his interns, but I have no clue who he is. Also there was some pictures of a group called Armor Group International where they were pretending to fuck each other. That would be great, but I heard they just lost their government contract, so what's the point?

That's when I came upon Rod Jetton, 42, reasonably attractive (by my standards, which are very high), and into all sorts of kinky shit that involved S&M and green balloons. I worked as a dominatrix on a phone sex line to get my way through college, so I could defintely talk the talk. I would pretend to be into his scene and then I would take all sorts of unflattering pictures and then charge him to keep them quiet. It would be perfect. For a second I heard Bart Simpsons voice telling me my "crusade" was wrong and I should convert, but I must have been hung over from the A Single Man premiere party I crashed covered for Gawker.

On Wednesday night I was going to stay home and watch the Top Chef finale, but this asshole Brian Moylan ruined it for everyone. God, if I knew where to find that prick, I would kick the shit out of him. My plans were ruined and the phone rang. It was Rod Jetton, responding to an email I sent him over Facebook. He said that he had been reading Sarah Palin's Op-Ed in the Washington Post, and he was all hot and bothered and wanted to hang out.

I was all "What do you want to do? I'll do anything for love, and I'd even do that." He said he wanted to take me down to his hot tub on the Jersey Shore and watch me make out with his friend Billy Corgan's girlfriend. Isn't he dating Courtney Love again? Or maybe Ashlee Simpson. I don't think I'd want to make out with either, but I had to play along.

First, I needed an excuse why we couldn't hang out so he'd want me even more. "Sorry, Rod, but I have to...um...I have to....uh, paint bike lanes in Brooklyn. So I can't make it."

He was really upset. So upset, he said, that he was going to treat me like that evil man who threw tomatoes at Sarah Palin. God, he really had a boner for this lady. What was I getting myself into? He is obviously a nut case, and I wasn't going to pretend to be a nasty lesbian for anyone! I told him that I would meet him at the Howard Johnsons near the George Washington Bridge at midnight and he could take me. He was very excited and asked if I would wear a red blazer. I said sure, and hung up.

No way I was going to hang out with that guy. Instead, I put an ad up on Craigslist to try to meet a man for some quick, easy sex. Then I had a brilliant idea. I heard that the owner of Craigslist was doing

But he should definitely hire me. I only used Twitter to source a story once and it was only for Men's Health, which doesn't even bother to make new covers so it doesn't even matter. If that doesn't work, I'm going to have to fall back on being an underwear model or become a film critic and make picks for best movie of the decade or work at Metro. God, they'll put anything in their paper, even dick.