Medium.com Won’t Let Me Join Their Fucking Partner Program

A Tirade by the Chief Editor of “Grames Infomer”

Listen up, you algorithm-worshipping, content-sniffing, soul-sucking overlords at Medium.com! You think you can just swat me away like a pesky mosquito? Well, guess what? I’m not going down without a fight. Buckle up, because this rant train is leaving the station, and it’s fueled by equal parts rage and caffeine.

The Rejection Email (Or How I Learned to Hate My Inbox)

Picture this: I’m hunched over my keyboard, eyes bloodshot from staring at the screen for hours. My inbox pings, and there it is — the subject line that shattered my dreams: “Your Application Status: Denied.” Denied? Denied?! You might as well have slapped me with a wet fish. I was ready to waltz into the Partner Program like a literary rockstar, and you, Medium, slammed the door in my face. Rude much?

Offensive Content? Oh, Please!

So, my content is offensive, huh? Well, let me tell you something, Medium overlords. I’ve written about AI-powered toaster ovens, existential debates with my smart fridge, and the secret love affair between Elon Musk and a self-driving Tesla. Offensive? Nah, that’s just avant-garde brilliance. But no, you prefer the vanilla latte of articles — safe, predictable, and about as exciting as watching paint dry. Well, congrats, Medium, you’ve officially become the beige cardigan of the internet.

Low Effort? Bite Me.

Yes, I’ve cut corners. Sue me. Like that time I penned an entire opus titled “The Zen of Loading Bars.” It was a minimalist masterpiece, okay? And don’t get me started on my groundbreaking exposé: “Why Video Game Characters Skip Leg Day.” Pulitzer material, my friends. But no, Medium, you want me to churn out 10,000-word treatises on the mating habits of dust mites. Well, guess what? I’d rather eat my antique typewriter.

The Grames Infomer Connection

Oh, and let’s not forget my day job. I’m the Chief Editor of Grames Infomer, the bleeding-edge e-zine where pixels collide with passion. We cover everything from quantum gaming rigs to sentient loot boxes. But no, Medium, you’re too busy sipping chai lattes and debating the semiotics of semicolons. Meanwhile, I’m out here deciphering the hidden messages in Tetris block formations. Yeah, that’s right, I see you, L-shaped piece. You’re not fooling anyone.

The Left Sandal Debacle (Or How I Became a Hobbit)

Remember that antique typewriter I mentioned? Yeah, I blew my life savings on it. Why? Because it makes me feel like an actual news reporter; instead of a con-man peddling AI-written shovelware. But now, thanks to your rejection, I’m contemplating eating my left sandal. It’s a metaphor, Medium. A symbol of my shattered dreams. And let me tell you, it tastes like regret and desperation. But hey, at least it’s gluten-free.

Conclusion (Or the Middle Finger Emoji I Can’t Use Here)

So, Medium, keep your fancy algorithms and your snooty editors. I’ll be over here, clacking away on my typewriter, crafting prose that transcends dimensions. And when I finally ascend to literary greatness, I’ll dedicate my Pulitzer Prize to the lost sock in my laundry. You know the one — it’s been missing since ’98. Take that, Medium. 🖕