This was written for InYourSpeakers Media on April 1st, 2011 as the second installment of an April Fool’s joke that IYS had been purchased by MySpace.

Like every Friday at InYourSpeakers, our CEO and founder, Derek Duoba, was drinking heavily this morning. In an awkward and inexplicably pantless rage, he Skyped our staff around 10:30am to announce the potential sale of InYourSpeakers to MySpace Inc.

Our reactions were predictably jovial. As music writers, photographers and bloggists, we had long awaited such a fruitful payday and in our own moments of private fantasy, we pictured our blindingly fortuitous futures, robust with all the luxuries of the modern top-shelf journalizer: golden keyboards, headphones sculpted from mammoth tusks and digital cameras that can see through time.

We shared a collective kudos for our hard work. Through webcams we bumped fists and high-fived the shit out of each other as Derek performed for us a virtuosic rendition of the Dougie. It seemed our days of woe were behind us: we were Myspace people now. No longer would we be remediated to the pithy investigation of flaccid, self-indulgent electronica or spineless, hipster freak-folk. No more constructing phony names for genres that don’t exist; no more waves or gazes, no posts or cores and absolutely nothing chill. From now on, we were merchants of Myspace, profile-pushers.

“The future of IYS,” Derek belched as the celebration quieted, “is going to blow your dicks off.”

As our faithful leader delivered that momentous edict, we stood in ingratiated ovation, our webcams now framing our crotches, as one, a modern and modest news staff. We had trudged the musky bowels of internet journalism and scraped the sticky resin from the bottom of the music industry bong and came out on the other side, a collective Andy Dufresne rejoicing under stormy weather, covered in shit, extending our tired hands to that rumbling and roaring sky. We made it.

But “making it” is a complex beast (like a rhinoceros). As Derek left the chat to “pick up some loose women,” we sat in our digital squares pondering our new and unexpected future. Though the money was good and the responsibilities menial, we couldn’t help but mourn the loss of our humble, imperfect little magazine. One by one, we expressed our doubts. Our photographer Kaitlin confided that Myspace co-founder Tom Anderson had an outstanding restraining order against her for deeds too grizzly to print; our editor Korvas, who’s serving life, voiced his concerns about the site’s slow streaming in the prison library; and I admitted that I had once been a full-fledged layout-junkie (sometimes up to three times in a day).

As we peeled away the layers of uncertainty, we concluded that this sale was not for us. We were idealists with a long list of ideals and the corporate bordello was an ass we would not and could not tap. We voted the sale down, 23 to 1 (I didn’t entirely understand the voting system). Relieved, we GTG’ed and signed off one by one.

When Derek returned with his two buxom waitresses, most of us had left the chat. Those who remained told him our decision and he was predictably upset. In a nearly indecipherable tirade, he cursed us and explained that he had spent most of our Myspace money already (investing in a new line of beepers) and then began a hearty round of vomiting onto his Gators. At which point we all left.

Which brings us to the present. Though in debt and dyspeptic, Derek has agreed to shut the deal down. Thus, after a strange and unlikely ten hours, InYourSpeakers returns to its homeostatic glory.