SF, CA, - ( April 9 ) - Yesterday, at the ANA Hotel, in San Francisco, Web Market West, a 2-day conference on, you know, cashing in on the creepy internet hype, ended on the optimistic note of pointing out that a massive solar storm on the sun would destroy the earth today anyway, so why bother? Or why give a fuck that your website's losing, like, US$10K/day?

The theme of the 2-day conference sponsored by White Elephant Magazine was, "Fading to Black: Getting Your Fucking Ass The Fuck Off The Web Gracefully, So You Don't Look Like, You Know, A Fucking Ass."

Despite this theme, many people had tried but failed to program their internal mood bots to program their external appearance bots to go around talking about how, like, yeah, Yahoo's $11.95 paper profit last quarter means the web's finally reached critical mass, and any day now....

Fortunately or unfortunately, the, er, coronal mass ejection, which is a result of the massive solar storms and solar flares currently raging on the sun, appears to cause everybody's internal bot-to-bot messaging systems to start royally fucking up -- much like cable fucks up when there's sunspots, but nobody notices cause white noise on your screen is a major improvement over HBO, CNN, or the USA network, to name just a few.

So, apparently, that's what must have been happening at Web Market West cause, instead of focussing on their stated theme of "fading your website to black," they sorta got off on this tangent of trying to figure out where the missing Air Force A-10 attack jet was, that disappeared over Colorado.

One venture cunnilinguist, with the venture cunnilingual firm of Windbag, Hummjobs, claimed that the plane was intentionally disappeared cause the pilot had come up with a new set of high level internet domain names that would either save or destroy the web, and so people on both sides were out to have him killed. "The new domain names were: .lame, .creepycommercialbullshit, .yawn, .slime, .disingenuous, .nudecelebs, and .waltercronkitespitinmyfood," the venture cunnilinguist said.

Another venture cunnilinguist was overheard mumbling to himself, "Hmmm, Oklahoma City Bombing Trial, JonBenet Ramsey murder case, missing Air Force A-10 Attack Jet, Colorado...."

Yet another cunnilinguist brought out a survey which proved, beyond any doubt, that as the probability of the total destruction of the Earth approaches 1, the likelihood that people will buy a pizza over the internet, that day, approaches zero.

But even a stream of sanctimonious optimisms couldn't rinse out the ole mass suicide feeling that swept through the room from, you know, looking at the gloomy reality of still trying to figure out the infrastructure of the net in terms of transactions, logistics, advertising and technology, an all.

"Maybe," said a venture cunnilinguist, wistfully, "If the coronal ejaculation, or whatever, doesn't destroy the earth (yawn), it'll disrupt push media broadcasts to the point where creepy push media companies like Macarena and Ocarina, and Calypso and Day-o and BackBeat and BackBite and UnderHand will be forced to fold, and venture cunnilinguists like you and me will finally have the excuse we've all been looking for, to reach for the jelloed phenobarbital w/vodka chaser in the sky, or whatever."

The conference ended when Kit Valise, of the hot, hot, superhot, Macarena Inc. reminded everyone in attendance to please "not forget that nothing greases the cogs of the business cycle like a few well-placed blowjobs."

But rather than ending cleanly, on that note, the conference, instead, suddenly veered off course and crashed in rugged terrain and was buried in fresh snowfall.

Fortunately, the missing Air Force A-10 pilot was there to save their ass, and then remind them that they'd all come together here for the single unified purpose of trying to achieve the ultimate marketing and publishing goal: "To reach and surround target audiences with information and images that make them vibrate with new buying intentions and brand affinities."

"And that's also why I stole the plane," he said.