To keep the comments as fresh and outstanding as they've been up to this point, we've commissioned Commenting Guru Rob Iracane to write a bi-weekly Comment Ombudsman column. It runs every other week. This is that week.
Mr. Iracane is the guy who approves and deletes comments around here, and the fellow to whom you should address any comment account requests, and he will explore issues involved in commenting, what makes a great comment thread, what's working, what isn't, answer your questions, so on. We want the place to continue to be as much fun as it is every day, and it's not an execution thread like our friends at Gawker do. We like to be inclusive here, because if we're not, we'd be forced to rely on our own wit and knowledge, and that's a scary thought indeed.
So here's this week's column, about your love affair with the Snorg girl ... after the jump. Of course, don't be afraid to let him have it in the comments.
My fellow commenters, you know who I'm talking about: the comely lass in the t-shirt ad who graces our sports blog on a regular basis. Yes, the one who's constantly surprised, with her mouth agape and the hilarious slogan pasted across her chest. Here's the thing about her: She's just not that into you. Yes, I understand that you've tricked yourself into thinking that you and her have an unspoken connection across a nation of routers and cables, but in reality, the girl is busy collecting pseudo-ironic t-shirts and working on a dissertation on tetanus in her Anatomy 101 class. She has no time for Internet romance.
In fact, I don't know why we bother commenting about any of the advertisements or Gawker Artists pictures on our resplendent sports blog. Does it make sense to remark about a disturbing image of a drowning rat when not everyone is seeing the same picture? These things rotate, you know. You may be looking at a banner ad for some cutting-edge environmental website while I'm busy trying to figure out how to get that poor girl off the goddamned rez. Oh, she's supposed to stay on the rez? Go figure.
There are exceptions, of course. That occasionally persistent ad where a certain miniature golfer tees off atop our website deserved our attention and our scorn. Then there was that one time where the anthropomorphic fast food freaked the shit out of me. It could not go unmentioned, because everyone was frightened for the upcoming french fry apocalypse. Basically, we should only comment on ads when everyone is victim to their omnipresence.
In other commenting news, I'd like to present "Comments of the Fortnight". Here are the three best remarks from the past two weeks:
Congratulations! You win nothing!