My staff works hard. They bust their asses. We write good articles. So why the hell can we not seem to get an ounce of attention from the algorithm?

I’ve done everything. I hired unpaid college interns to handle our SEO analytics. I made us use templates. What are we doing wrong? Is the New York Times fucking someone at Google to get good rankings? Is that what it takes to get ahead in this world?

Who is it that I have to fuck? I’ll fuck Sundar Pichai if I have to. I’ll do it. And if I’m not his cup of tea? I’ve got a whole roster of sexually promiscuous writers with poor decision making and a history of questionable hookups. Who do you want? Steph? Derrick? Take one. Take both. I don’t care.

Just get us on those search results.

You want to know the number one thing people say when I tell them I’m an editor?

“Where do you edit, K?”

I tell them that I work at an elite media news site called the Traffic Jam. And then you know what they say?

“Oh, I’ve never heard of it.”

I’ve had it. I want a little respect for me and my people, alrighty? And if that means putting on a little soft jazz and seducing the CEO of Google, so be it. I’ve got dozens of unlit candles just waiting to add ambiance to a seductive evening.

Side note, I must be a difficult person to shop for, because everyone just gives me candles. Steph gave me one that smells like Gwyneth Paltrow’s—you know what, never mind.

Sure, the CEO of Google probably doesn’t actually control any of the SEO wizardry. I’m still willing to go to freaky town with some mid-level algo-geek. I’ll give them the prom night they never had.

This offer is open to anyone at Google with any power to get us in the SERPS. Send me a resume and a recent negative STD test and I’ll get back to you with a time and date.