We live in an age that promotes narcissism, and are by far the most self-absorbed generation in the world’s history. Before the 2000′s, photo shoots were reserved for the few individuals people actually cared to see, and the only time your wrist bent in the awkward position necessary to take the now obligatory self-portrait, was when you were jerking off.

When the internet contributes to every facet of your life (at least the ones that matter), is it any surprise that people feel the need to display themselves with their best tit shot forward?

Apparently it’s not just the Western world who is obsessed with how anonymous creeps view them. Facebook in India just released an app by Vaseline, that allows you to make your face lighter in your profile photos. Alternatively, you can read that as “make your face whiter…,” which just proves that America wins, again.

Many studies have been done that tell us what we already know: We do things that were once considered crazy, but are now just a normal part of being a 20 to mid-30′s something with internet access.

Oh, and apparently all of this self-promotion affects our ability to form “healthy”, long-term relationships. What I don’t think researchers understand, however, is that it’s most definitely possible to maintain a relationship of obsessive, egotistical bliss. Unsurprisingly, being surrounded by people who feel the same way about themselves as you do (about yourself, because who the fuck cares about them) makes it that much easier.

It’s not just about image on a photo-based level, either. It’s about running the same sequence of 140 characters in your head over and over again; ensuring that you come off as witty, smart, and vibrant. It’s about Googling your own name, and doing damage control. It’s about the fact that Googling is now a legitimate verb. It’s about making sure that, even though you only log onto LinkedIn once a year, it’s still good enough that if someone does haphazardly stumble upon it, they will appreciate you as a person.

But that’s the thing, how many of these people do you see and honestly say, “You know, I’d like to converse with this person, in the real world”? Not often. And if you do, the other side effect of Internet Syndrome comes out swinging: complete skepticism.

Author’s note: If Animal isn’t enough, and you’d like to completely immerse yourself in my hilarity (and who could blame you), find me on Twitter. Also, because I’m so great, you can befriend the fake Kari Ferrell pages on Facebook (but because I’m too good for it, I’m not actually on it). Oh, and also, I have a Tumblr.

How dare ANIMAL’s own Kari Ferrell go nude for someone else and not even mention it. Right before she left town to make good with the authorities in Utah so she can come back and prey on bearded Brooklyn boys for good, Kari got very naked for nightlife and artsy-porn site, Driven By Boredom, while waiting for the J train. NSFW gallery here.

Fresh off her stint at Gawker, Kari did some live reporting for DJ Mayonnaise Hands to kick off the city’s art fairs—there’s so many a map is needed—which not only reinforces my point, but also makes me think I should have made her signed an exclusivity agreement.

Kari Ferrell is so irrelevant. Why do you let her ruin your blog? She has nothing to say. I hate her. Please stop!… This is just a fraction of the banter I hear on the regular. She made an appearance on Gawker today and take a look at the numbers. Now, any questions?

Who says print journalism is dead? It’s not at the New York Post, which sent intrepid reporter Mandy Stadtmiller to spend a night with America’s first legalized male prostitute, “Markus.” Oh boy.

Yes, the Post flew Stadtmiller to Vegas with $500 cash for a session with the lazy-eyed, Asian symbol-tattooed ex-Marine, who just so happened to be homeless before he landed the “surrogate lover” gig at the Shady Lady brothel. Stadtmiller claims that she didn’t have sex with the “well-endowed” stud, but she totally got nekkid with him!

“So,” Markus says after leaning over and kissing my knee, “we’re going to get undressed and then take a shower. Then we can both inspect each other to make sure there are no discrepancies.”

Minutes later, as we’re standing naked in the shower, he’s examining me like a second-rate gynecologist and nodding.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, cooing that I’m “practically” an 8 or a 9. “Everything looks great down there.”

Oh. My. God.

“You have a beautiful body,” he tells me. He kisses my back. “You even taste good,” he says. Then he brings out his little “trick box,” as he calls it, but such is his luck today, he can’t find the lubricant he says is crackerjack for making women climax.

Again, Stadtmiller insists that she did not do any sexing with the “prosti-dude,” but the trip did allow her to advertise the fact that her fun-box is as pretty as a kindergarten finger-painting! Or something. The whole piece reads like a Mandy Stadtmiller personal ad if you ask me, so fellas, if you’re interested, here’s her email addy: mstadtmiller@nypost.com

Personally, I think ANIMAL should have sent Kari Ferrell “deep cover” on this one. Perhaps I’m a bit biased, but I have a feeling the resulting story would’ve been much more interesting.

Shockingly, not everyone is happy about ANIMAL’s decision to bring Kari Ferrell into the fold, and a concerned reader wrote in to let us know how much she’s going to destroy everything and bankrupt the company. Worry not dear reader, all the company’s money is stowed away in a shoe box and protected by a beardless security guard, we’re safe…for now.

Also, the majority of you probably don’t want to read anything written by me anyway, so it really doesn’t matter. I may just end up talking about the theme from Full House and the Melchizedek Priesthood for days.

Can’t wait to hear you bitch,

Kari

Kari Farrell was released from her Salt Lake City jail cell early this morning, after serving six or so months for grifting people. An official confirmed that she’d been released. Soon, Farrell may be back in NYC filling her hallway with the hot dogs of many a bearded man once again. You’ve been warned!

Photo by Will Sherman/ANIMALnewyork

In her latest correspondence from the Salt Lake City Correctional Facility, Kari Ferrell covers a myriad of topics including details on her charming inmates, future employment opportunities, and her beef with ANIMAL for enlisting another minority—apparently she assumes Cajun Boy is a pygmy or something. She also submitted a surreal sketch that will either delight or frighten you.