Summer vacation is winding down and my booze cabinet is getting low. The Seychelles needs more places you can buy alcohol – or, hell, just a Costco or a BevMo or some such shit. I’ve having to dig into my airplane stash.
The beauty of being a global media company is that we are able to make deals from wherever we are, all over the world, any time of day.
I’ve been following the Olympics via my Slingbox (NBC – enough with the 800 meter and hurdle semi-finals – how many can there be?!!!). [Side note: Germany please destroy Brazil in the men’s soccer finals. Brazilian fans are jerks – thank you.]
It would be really great to see more of the events – but all I’ve been seeing lately is Ryan “Freakin'” Lochte. Granted, calling someone “freakin'” in the same blog that you’re offering that person a job probably isn’t the best negotiating tactic – but, let’s be serious, that dude is going to have no other offers other than from porn companies.
So here goes: Ryan Lochte, your (heavily damaged) ship has come in! Manka Bros., the world’s largest media company, would like to offer you a job (and I’m sure we won’t have to hold a gun to your head to get you to accept… JOKE!).
I’m not sure yet what you would do for us. We are a world-class entertainment company that produces the world’s best movies, television shows and games. What can an aging swimmer do for us?
I’m thinking for starters you could be our “Apologist In Chief.” Sometimes we produce movies and shows where the end product isn’t exactly what we imagined when we first greenlit the project.
When / if that happens, we could produce a video with you [Ryan Lochte] in which you would say: “Hi, I’m Ryan Lochte and I apologize for ‘Flaccid Trip’… it’s really terrible and I take full responsibility.”
Stuff like that.
Or… we could make you the head of ourtelevision group. The guy that’s there now, Jay McBee, really sucks. (That’s right, Jay, you are on alert, my friend!)
Think about it, Ryan. Think about it. It will be a much better gig than a local commercial in Fresno for Just Tires.
First, we were allowed to sleep in to 6:15 a.m. and were awakened by the classic Michael Eisner version of “The Dawn Of The Mogul” (as Herb Allen’s Iggy Azalea experiment backfired even with the Snapchat dude).
There were no calisthenics and the bagels were much fresher than normal (not from the 2-day old Wonder Bread shop around the corner that they normally buy from).
[One observation about seeing all these business titans in casual clothes: There are those who wear the jeans and t-shirts and look like they work out. And there are those who wear the jeans and t-shirts and look like they are dying of something.]
Herb Allen appeared fresh – which is amazing considering how many Harvey Wallbangers he had the night before (I have been told not to write about our drinking at the bar – I think because the Canadian government didn’t appreciate the Justin Trudeau shrimp catching episode – so that’s all I will say about last night).
Herb Allen: Good morning, Seekers, Outliers and Dreamers…
Barry Diller: Get on with it, Herb.
Herb Allen: This morning, as we approach the end of our conference, we’re going to try something new. Something I’ve been passionate about for over 50 years. Pin trading.
If the incredulous looks on all faces could speak, they would say in unison – “What the fuck?!”
Herb Allen: I know, sounds like amazing, right? I’ve been trading pins since I discovered it at the Rome Olympics in 1960. I have missed one Olympic games since. I don’t watch the sports – I trade pins! At Disneyland, too, Bob!
Bob Iger gave a faint smile and looked to ground – feeling a bit sorry for Herb.
He went on and on about his love of pin trading which I won’t relate – but the gist was this: He had pins made up of all our companies’ corporate logos and gave us each a bag of them and, as a way to get to know each other better, we would go around and trade pins and put them on a Allen & Co. customized pin board.
Les Moonves and Shari Redstone exchanged high-fives for some reason (duh).
And the trading began.
Everyone started exchange their logo pins for other logo pins. It was exactly as boring as it sounds. I got a Disney, a Time Warner (which was sharp on the edges like a knife – very dangerous), a Facebook and a Canada pin (from Justin Trudeau) in the shape of Canada. I would tell all about all the others but I’m falling asleep as I dictate this.
Reid Hoffman and Jeff Weiner just stood there (a bit sad?), not trading, as Microsoft’s Satya Nadella traded the Microsoft pin which appeared to show the Microsoft logo eating the LinkedIn logo – which was a nice touch – I thought.
After a couple of moments, it became obvious to Herb Allen that this was not going as he planned. He looked on – near tears – as he could tell there was absolutely no interest by any of the other guests. It was as though no one else cared about his one true passion in life.
Herb Allen: When you’re all finished – or I don’t care – just want to stop – and are thinking about heading out to your planes to go home, don’t forget to pick up the box lunch which has been prepared for you. Thanks for coming.
Herb walked off, shoulders hunched, not looking back. He kept talking though his voice faded as he continued away…
Herb Allen: You’re free to go kayaking or play golf at the…
Is it possible this would be the last year of Herb Allen’s Sun Valley Conference?
Are we all just getting too old for summer camp?
Is it time for the GoPro dude to take over and only invite CEO who are millennials and plurals who can still ride bikes and climb mountains (oh, and also come up with NEW ideas)?
And while the conference this year ended with a whimper and not a bang like in years previous, it wasn’t so bad.
This week, I learned about self-driving cars and artificial intelligence, Canada and how truly fucked up the Argentinian economy is – I learned that my daughter is no longer allowed in Sun Valley (and she could not care less) – and I learned that Warren Buffett can hold a spoon on his nose longer than any one else I’ve ever seen.
But I one thing I had already learned years ago – Bin Tran makes best goddamned dirty martini on the planet! And I’m about to go get me five more – and that’s why I gotta say IT WAS A GOOD DAY.
This morning was, by far, the most dramatic and tense mornings I’ve ever had at Herb Allen’s Sun Valley Conference – and there have been many dramatic and tense mornings over the years.
We were jolted awake at 5:00am by a screaming, shrieking version of “The Dawn Of The Mogul” over the loudspeaker.
I am told Herb Allen wanted to shake it up a bit for the younger crowd (mostly for the Snapchat guy – Evan Spiegel – who he took liking to) and make it more “relatable” to them – so he had Iggy Azalea – a female Australian white rapper – record the anthem. My God, it was awful.
There was a note pushed under everyone’s hotel room door instructing us put on the military fatigues provided by Allen & Co. (emblazoned with the logo) and meet down at the Duck Pond in fifteen minutes.
Today, there would be no calisthenics.
Today, there would be nothing but war.
Supposedly, Herb Allen wanted to end this battle between Old&New Media; Hollywood& Silicon Valley; once and for all.
And his solution – was paintball.
When we all gathered blurry eyed looking ridiculous in Allen & Co.-branded military fatigues, Herb Allen was in complete Master Sergeant mode – chomping on a cigar and using kids’ sidewalk chalk to draw a thick red line down the middle of a pathway.
Herb Allen: Old Media on this side! New Media on this side!
Almost everyone started to move to the New Media side as no one wants to admit being on the “old” side.
Herb Allen: Stop! (he spit) If you work in Hollywood or New York go to this side (he pointed) over here – with the duck!
There was a duck sitting on the Old Media side.
Herb Allen: If you work in Silicon Valley or are under 40 – go over there!
The sides were split. All of us had no idea where he was going with this – though, I must say, the New Media group looked pretty pumped up – nodding their heads like bullies about to take down a bunch of weaklings.
Herb Allen: The game is paintball. The objective – VICTORY!
Old Media was given bright green paintball guns and New Media was given bright red paintball guns.
Herb Allen: You will be given ten minutes to strategize, pick a leader, and then I will sound the battle horn! You may not leave the property and please stay away from the pool where there are many families with young kids. Go!
Both groups broke off and went different directions. I (Khan Manka, Jr. – just so you don’t forget) went reluctantly Old Media (didn’t anyone see that we’re going Over-The-Top?) and we converged near a supply shed by the executive parking lot.
By the looks on our faces, you’d think we had already lost.
Bob Iger: O that we now had here but one ten thousand of those young men and women in Hollywood that do no work today!
Les Moonves (a former actor – remember? – in full Henry V St. Crispin’s Day mode): What’s he that wishes so? My friend, Bob Iger? No, my fair Bob, if we are marked to die, we are enough to do our Hollywood’s loss; and if to live, the fewer of us, the greater share of honor (and power and money!). God’s will! I pray thee, wish not one person more.
John Malone: What the fuck are you talking about?
Les Moonves: Proclaim it, Bob, that he which hath no stomach to this fight, let him depart – I’m looking at you, John Malone – his passport shall be made, and crowns for convoy put into his purse; we would not die in that man’s company that fears his fellowship to die with us.
Several moguls look at each other – prepared to leave but decide to stay after a glare from Les Moonves.
Les Moonves: This day is called Herb Allen’s Sun Valley Day. He that outlives this day and comes safe home, will stand a tip-toe when this day is named, and rouse him at the name of Herb Allen.
A fire in the eyes of the moguls was clearly being lit.
Les Moonves: He that shall live this day, and see old age (well, I suppose most of us are already there), will yearly on the vigil have a dinner party with his neighbors and say “Tomorrow is Herb Allen’s Sun Valley Day.” Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars, and say “These wounds I had on Herb Allen’s Day.” Then shall our names, familiar in our mouths as household words – Les Moonves, Bob Iger, Jeff Bewkes, Rupert Murdoch – other Murdochs – Shari Redstone, Brian Roberts – be in their flowing cups freshly remembered.
The fire is now mixed with tears in the moguls’ eyes.
Les Moonves: We few, we happy few, we band of moguls; for he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my mogul friend, be he ne’er so vile, this day shall gentle his condition.
Les Moonves stands, prompting everyone else to stand.
Les Moonves: And executives in Hollywood now a-bed – or at the gym – shall think themselves accursed they were not here, and hold their manhoods (and womanhoods) cheap whiles any speaks that fought with us upon Herb Allen’s Sun Valley Day!
A massive cheer erupts from the band of moguls as the BATTLE HORN SOUNDS!
As we charged into battle we were immediately and completely surrounded by New Media.
Rupert Murdoch: Goddamn you, Moonves, and your fucking speech!
Old Media had been thoroughly outmaneuvered by New Media and the slaughter was horrific. Red paint splattered everywhere, bodies falling hard to the ground. New Media showed no mercy as the Old Guard fell.
My daughter, Connie, presented to a packed ballroom of slightly unhinged (mostly drunk) industry titans at the Sun Valley Lodge this afternoon. I’m not proud of her because that little monster is trying to destroy something my family has built up over the past 100 years.
My assistant, Vicky Adler-Modry has transcribed the presentation and attempted to include a bit of narration (and sanity) to the chaotic affair which will most likely go down as a total failure.
Herb Allen, looking every one of his 76-years in a fishing hat with lures dangling and a Allen & Co. fleece vest approaches the stage in the Great Hall Of The Moguls (The Limelight Ballroom) and calms down the raucous crowd.
Herb Allen: OK OK – quiet please. We’ve got a lot to cover today and I want to get to our adorable special guest speaker. First of all, I want to thank Justin Trudeau for eating ALL of the shrimp. Who knew a guy could eat so much shrimp? Just a freak of nature – unbelievable. That was a lot of shrimp, my friend. I haven’t seen anything swallowed like that since Microsoft swallowed LinkedIn! Am I right? OK OK – my apologies. OK. Let me bring out our little cutie keynote speaker this morning – Connie Manka. She is probably the youngest member – at fourteen – of any corporate Board in America. Just tremendous. Her father, Khan, we know – just a real jerk – right?
Khan Manka, Jr. (from crowd): Fuck you, Peaches.
Herb Allen: OK OK – let’s move on before the wheels fall off completely. My bad. Here she is, cute as a button, don’t be afraid, dearie, Connie Manka!
(Applause from the crowd as Connie Manka – dressed age appropriate – walks disinterested up to the microphone.)
Connie Manka: First of all, the Plurals Generation – myself included – does not give one fuck about anyone in this room.
(Slight commotion and a few gasps from the old white men in the crowd.)
Connie Manka: Second of all, the Plurals Generation – myself included – does not give one fuck about anyone in this room who is offended that I say “does not give one fuck.” Sorry, bluebloods, grandpas and old farts, Plurals swear a lot!
Rupert Murdoch (from crowd): Cut that little smart-ass off, Herb.
Connie Manka: Shut up, Mr. Murdoch! You’re on my list.
(The GASPS in the room are louder than when we found out “The Crying Game” girl was a dude.)
Connie Manka: We also don’t respect out elders. Especially you in this room who, with the content you have produced, have given us zero reason to respect anyone or anything! Hang on one sec.
(She picks up her cellphone and types deftly with her thumbs.)
Connie Manka: That is so funny, Maya! No, I’m not home. Blah. I’m here…
(Connie takes a picture of the unruly room of moguls and swipes it back to her friend.)
Connie Manka: … probably about four or so. (to the room) We are Plurals. Millennials are old. We can do more than one thing at once – duh, Plurals – and do it all well. Hey, Hollywood, we’re not going to watch your stupid over-the-top service – and we’re certainly not going to pay for it. Manka Bros., with great fanfare, announced our own over-the-top service – MankaGoNow – but you know, dad, no one is going to watch or pay.
Khan Manka, Jr.: You are NOT my daughter!
Connie Manka: That reminds me of something else – and I haven’t even started with the charts that shows why all of you in this room – even the kids at the cool table Facebook and Snapchat – are irrelevant… Hang on.
(Connie takes a moment to watch a video on her phone. The room is getting out of control. Connie finishes watching and apparently shares with some friends.)
Connie Manka: If you want me to finish, I’ll finish. I don’t care. So many of you in this room have young children – from your second or third wife. You have so many families yet you have no energy to raise them because you’re old. I mean, I am the 14-year-old daughter of a very old man.
Khan Manka, Jr.: I’m 56!
Connie Manka: Dad!
Khan Manka, Jr.: OK – 66! But I feel 56.
Connie Manka: 56 is old! But I will give you this, dad… (she quickly returns a text)
Herb Allen: Khan, what the hell is this?!
Connie Manka: I will give you this, dad, at least you didn’t remarry and start another family after mom disappeared eight years ago. Most of you guys don’t care much about your first or second families. You only care about your “youthful” image and power – well, guess what, geniuses, the Plurals are coming to shatter your image and take away your power. So I suggest you pick up your golf clubs and do what rich white people do. Play golf. Die.
(Rupert Murdoch, Les Moonves and many others are standing and shouting at the 14-year-old as if they were in “Casablanca” singing “La Marseillaise” to the Germans. Not to say that Connie Manka is a Nazi – just – you get the idea.)
Connie Manka: I’m done with this. I have so many more interesting things to do with my life than stand here with you dinosaurs. Here’s one chart that shows you the future. Dad, I’ll be on the plane.
(Connie Manka leaves the stage. The GoPro dude Nick Woodman and Jack Dorsey of Twitter run up to protect her as she makes her exit as dinner rolls thrown by the crowd bounce around her.)
(Khan Manka, Jr. takes the stage quickly.)
Khan Manka, Jr.: Just so you know, I don’t agree with one thing she said. We have a fraternity here that’s stronger than Skull & Bones and nothing can crack our resolve!
According to my daughter, Connie, Hollywood doesn’t have a future and Silicon Valley is now the center of the CREATIVE universe. Considering she is on the Boardof a major Hollywood studio, this is a horrible, filthy thing to say. Because of that, she didn’t get to go to the chocolate fountain with the other moguls last night.
Her presentation later today on the “Plurals Generation” is one of the most anticipated of the conference.
First, I must recap a few highlights from last night’s drunkening at the bar. In terms of crazy Sun Valley highlights, I would this one right up there with Burning Mogul (which was truly one of the most bizarre nights of my life).
Herb Allen’s nickname in college was “Peaches” – apparently because he could cans and cans of Libby’s canned peaches in one sitting.
Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau was able to catch 57 popcorn shrimp in his mouth (from all angles and distances). Amazing. What a site to see several drunk media and tech titans cheer as each shrimp was caught by the Prime Minister. He finally dropped when Phillippe Dauman tried to throw him one from the Frogger machine and it was such a pathetic throw there was no chance. Dauman was booed by his fellow moguls in a really ugly way.
LinkedIn’s Reid Hoffman does a spot-on Sia impersonation – his rendition of “Chandelier” was stunning. King Abdullah of Jordan wanted to hire him as the entertainment for an upcoming family wedding.
Sergey Brin is NOT good at impressions. After a few too many Micelob Ultras, he launched into his Ryan Reynolds as “Deadpool” which he wouldn’t stop even after everyone lost interest.
That’s just a sampling of the shenanigans at the ol’ Drankin’ Hole on any given night at the Herb Allen retreat.
——————————————–
But today is a new day.
Herb Allen’s Sun Valley Conference – 2016 – Day 2 – Burn, Hollywood, Burn
The Dawn Of The Mogul (the ridiculous “mogul anthem” written by Michael Eisner years ago) wake up call was particularly early and painful this morning – 5 a.m.
Herb Allen (or “Peaches” as we learned last night) was very adamant about staying on schedule today and it’s a very ambitious agenda (including my daughter Connie’s “Plurals Generation” presentation later today which should rile a few feathers).
We gathered near the Duck Pond for calisthenics led by the GoPro dude Nick Woodman. No one except Bob Iger and Sheryl Sandberg were able to keep up with him or even try. Dude had way too much energy – like he consumed a six-pack of Red Bull before sunrise.
After that, we picked up our (cold) breakfast burritos (out of a bin) and very weak orange juice (out of one of those summer camp machines) and trudged inside for a day of mind-numbing presentations about Brexit and global warming and the future of media, blah blah blah.
Then it’s a taco cart lunch back at the Duck Pond featuring (I’ve heard) magicians who will go from table-to-table to doing close-up magic.
Then we go right into the ping pong tournament (Mark Zuckerberg always wins)…
Followed by an ax throwing contest (Brian Roberts of Comcast usually wins that) and, finally, log rolling (surprisingly Barry Diller is very good at this) before we can get our first cocktail of the day.
My plan is to go to my daughter’s presentation and sneak away from the other bullshit.
So – the day is set – my assistant, Vicky Adler-Modry will post my daughter’s presentation as a separate entry later today after a transcript has been prepared (plus this post is getting rather long).
There’s somethin’ happenin’ here. What it is ain’t exactly clear…
Good afternoon from Sun Valley!
All of us who attend this bullshit fest year-after-year have been to Hell and back (in a non-burning show business way) many times – but, I have a feeling, nothing in our past has prepared us for what is about to come.
My daughter, Connie – who is 14 and also a prominent member on the Manka Bros. Board of Directors – has come to Sun Valley with me this year where she will be giving a keynote address on the Plural generation (or Generation Z or whatever else bullshit you want to call those brats).
As far as I can tell, and from my personal experience, this is a generation of aliens (not from foreign countries – but distant planets). I have no idea what the fuck they’re doing.
Anyway, I saw a part of her presentation on the way up here in the Manka jet in which she quotes Taylor Swift who said: “This is a new year. A new beginning. And things will change.”
“… And things will change.”
Goddamnit.
But seriously, haven’t things already changed enough for those little dweebs? If you were to tell me last year that videos of dorks playing games on YouTube would be watched by millions more idiots than saw our summer movie “Flaccid Trip,” I would have called you a moron.
I’m sure my friend Sumner Redstone would tell Ms. Swift in response: “Change this, mother fucker!”
But that’s not the attitude or tone Herb Allen has requested of us “in the old media” at this year’s conference.
Connie is too young to hang around the bar (my beloved Drankin’ Hole– officially the Duchin Lounge) with a bunch old white men so I probably won’t be seeing much of her this week. I told her to send me an email or contact my assistant if she plans on leaving the property for whatever reason.
After fighting Bob Iger and the Disney jet for a parking spot at the airport – I could see him screaming at us from behind a window as we pulled into our normal spot (I wouldn’t be surprised to hear our tires have been slashed when we return) – and then surviving a harrowing ride in a Google self-driving car – I finally made it to the Sun Valley Lodge.
I walked past the veal-like pen that they keep reporters in for this event – a few questions were screamed out at me but I had only one thing in mind “The Drankin’ Hole.” I hugged my daughter, handed her a list of the moguls to stay away from at all costs, and headed for the bar.
Finally, some good news. BIN TRAN HAS RETURNED!
“Bin Tran, you son of bitch!,” I shouted as I strolled in the bar.
“That’s right, my mother was a bitch. Ah, Mr. Khan Manka! So happy to see you!”
“Well, you know what I’m after. Give me that goddamned best dirty martini on the planet.”
“Yes, sir.”
“How’s your brother, Vin, is he back, too.”
“No, he’s the black sheep now. Decided to become a dental hygienist, betray the whole family. Trans have been professional bartenders since before the French colonization… of Vietnam… that’s a long time ago. We don’t speak his name anymore.”
Bin placed that beautiful drink in front of me, I took a huge gulp and could finally relax.
“Things don’t change much around here.”
“Not true, we now have a Frogger game machine.”
“Frogger?”
I look over in the corner and sitting at old-fashioned arcade Frogger machine was Phillippe Dauman with a couple of empty glasses to the side.
“Phillip.”
“It’s PhilEEPE – don’t bother me, Khan, I’m busy!”
“You’re from Brooklyn! It’s Phillip.”
Bin Tran just shook his head. “Poor Mr. Phillip, just been playing Frogger and sucking down Gimlets all afternoon like there’s no tomorrow.”
“For him there is no tomorrow.”
Frogger is not a bad metaphor for Phillippe at this moment in his career.
After a couple moments of peaceful silence (with the exception of the occasional screaming and banging at the Frogger machine by Phillippe Dauman) the regular Sun Valley crowd started to filter in.
Sure, there are a few fresh tech faces, and a few Silicon Valley old faces, but it’s still the old media guard that runs this joint (myself, Bob Iger, Les Moonves, Jeff Bewkes, Rupert Murdoch, etc. etc. etc.) no matter what everyone else in the world says.
Normally I don’t make these little announcements about a film going here or premiering there – we have a team for that. But I just saw a first cut of our upcoming end of year Academy Award-type movie “Gorta Mor: Whilst Ireland Weeps” (heads up Theatrical Marketing – that horrible title is changing).
In a word: It’s spectacularly sad; spectacularly uplifting; it’s just spectacular.
Actually there are no words to describe it.
Many of you may be thinking – hey, isn’t Manka Bros. the studio that said “fuck you” to the Oscars (multiple times) and the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts & Sciences?
“Gorta Mor: Whilst Ireland Weeps” should be fascinating for those freaks who attend Comic-Con who obviously know nothing about what it’s like to starve to death or even know what it’s like to go more than 15 minutes without eating some sort of salty snack.
Manka Bros. is attempting to secure Hall H as we feel the buzz surrounding this movie should create a “must see” vibe at the convention (and at theaters around the world).
I hope to see you there – from a distance – the VIP suite is for VIPs only.
I’m fucking sick every time there is a monthly update by Dumb Jack Fuck, SVP of the Manka Bros. Television Group, when he tells me we are losing cable subscribers at an alarming rate.
With friends like the cable MSOs, who needs enemies?
So, sorry, Comcast.
Sorry Charter/TWC – or whatever bullshit name you have now.
You won’t have Manka Bros. to negotiate with anymore. You can give our measly 65 cent per subscriber fee for Manka Classic Movies to Ovation or some other dinosaur TV channel because MANKA BROS. IS GOING OVER-THE-TOP!
Introducing MankaGoNow – the ultimate over-the-top experience for those who would rather spend their $200/month buying little tools and furniture in Minecraft.
Thanks to amazing new technology, we no longer have to get our television channels to you via a satellite orbiting the Earth. We can now deliver the same quality programming to the consumer via a cable that is buried in the ground or stretched across the ocean. That’s progress, my friends.
The time for change is now. I see the trends – LOOK AT THIS FREAKIN’ CHART!
Only old media companies with the balls to reinvent themselves (i.e., MANKA BROS.) will survive. The rest of you will continue suck down shitty martinis at The Smoke House and reflect on the great old days when no one questioned your business models and Donny & Marie ruled primetime TV.
By going direct-to-consumer, customers now get the same amazing programming that we have on our cable channels but now everything will be available at anytime on-demand ALL FOR AN AMAZING PRICE OF $34.99/MONTH!
That’s a sick deal, you cord-cutting idiotswho aretrying to bury old media alive in a shallow grave.
The eggheads in Manka finance say all we need are 20 million subscribers and we’re in the money (which is only a fifth of what we get now from Comcast).
If I can drink a fifth of vodka a day, I can definitely get a fifth of our current subscribers to suck-ass Comcast to plunk over $35 a month for the best content in the world.
Would you buy a Picasso for $34.99 a month?
Would you see “Hamilton” on Broadway for $34.99?
Hell, yes, you would!
“Tennessee Williams’ Haunted Alligators,” “Forensics,” “My Wife Left Me For Bucky Dent,” “OMDB,” – and the hits go on and on – totally on demand – watch when you want, how you want, where you want – all for $34.99 a month.
Compare MankaGoNow to other crappy services out there and, you will see, there is no comparison:
And it gets better! Because we haven’t quite figured out the payment system, we are offering this service to you for a couple of months free of charge!
I talked to so many people over the Holidays in Gstaad – all telling me they “no longer have television. We finally cut the cord!” And they all seem so f-ing happy and proud of themselves.
Why is everyone so happy to see the television business fall apart!!?
Do you nutjobs realize what this means for me and my company?
We have thousands of employees (granted, most suck at their jobs or we wouldn’t be in this position) who have kids and parents and dogs – and they all need to be fed.
You happy little cord cutters are destroying many lives and should be ashamed of yourself.
And, frankly, you’re doing yourselves (and your children, parents and dogs) a disservice.
Now go watch the new season of Forensics on MBS and stop causing problems.
There is something exhilarating about walking into a room and seeing Barry Diller wearing a virtual reality headset, gesturing wildly and emitting sounds like a child at Disneyland.
Actually there is nothing exhilarating about it. The word I meant to use was “wrong” – “creepy” would also work.
Supposedly, the 15-year-old founder of Oculus Rift set Mr. Diller up with a interactive western experience per his request.
I walked up to Barry as he made wild gestures in the air:
“What you watchin, Bar?”
“It’s an interactive movie – a western. Piss off.”
“Can I see?”
“No, fuck off.”
I was able to get a screenshot of his VR experience.
Don’t get me wrong, I love Virtual Reality and realize it’s going to be a huge business for a very small percentage of the world (0.01% at the high end).
During a VR panel featuring Oculus Rift founder Skippy Youngone (or something) we learned that Oculus was planning some disturbing new uses for the VR headset including the ability to feel real pain when shot or stabbed during a video game (it only will cost an additional $600 for that feature) – though actual bleeding is still “years away,” Skippy said somewhat sadly.
The most astonishing new business was a super clandestine project developed in the basement of the Oculus lab (the Sub-Zero 4T lab) focusing on real life end-of-life-solutions in which terminally ill people can choose the way they will die, i.e., getting eaten by piranhas, jumping into a volcano, ninja battle, dying in your sleep [my personal favorite].
Just put on the Oculus headset (for extra cost you can add the pain feeling armband and touch finger sensors) and when you’re ready to die someone will assist you with your pre-selected choice and you will die virtually… and actually.
Those of us in the room closer to the end of life than the beginning were thoroughly enchanted / horrified by this idea and wanted to learn more.
But then, Actual Reality took over the room as we started to see that the world outside of Sun Valley is falling apart.
China (which we all rely on to save our businesses from stagnant growth because of an inability to grow domestically) has returned to being a third-world country after the past month’s epic stock market collapse which has left villagers (who invested so many chickens and goats into the booming market ) longing for the old days of famine and misery.
Herb Allen attempted to keep the conference on track by going forward with a few lame panels (some bullshit about solar, something stupid about colonizing Mars and Defense Secretary Ashton Kushner assuring everyone that everything is awesome except ISIS) but you could tell the mood of the conference has shifted.
All around The Great Hall of the Moguls (The Limelight Ballroom), Captains of Industry were just staring at their phones not knowing what the F was happening (though they all claim to know).
It was decided by a core group of us that the plan for the rest of the conference is to get drunk, eat steak and worry for a couple more days in Sun Valley and then get back on our planes – whether it be to the Hamptons, Hawaii or Europe – and then continue to worry the rest of the summer.
Jeff Katzenberg – ever the failed optimist – is heading to Comic-Conas though that means anything anymore.
Not that the sky is falling… but, yes, the sky is falling.
And Manka Bros. just finished our five-year-plan in which 80% of our profits from 2020 are projected to come from China.
I think we’ll just change “China” to “Bulgaria” in the planbecause that has a better chance of working out.
As Simpson’s Comic Book Guy would say: “Worst Herb Allen Sun Valley Conference ever!”
Khan Manka, Jr. – Chairman & CEO – Manka Bros. Studios – The World’s Largest Media Company
