Self-publishing is masturbation

I'm not opposed to masturbation, in fact I'm a huge fan.
Its the only hobby I know of that can be fiddled with in bed, can take less than a minute, anyone can learn it and inviting a friend to join makes it that much funnier. I'd like to hear a stamp-collector make that claim.
But my love of the masturbatory arts don't apply to the narcissistic ego-stroking that is self-publishing.

This new hot new trend has bloomed with the rise of the Internet, and as all things online it is a quick fix. The easy way out. You can spend months writing a book, polishing it as best you can before sending it in to those nitpicking bastards of the publishing industry, hoping to fit through the eye of the needle, or you can call a self-publishing agency for the instant gratification of publishing yet another unreadable classic.
Why is this masturbation? Why is this a bad thing?
Its not, not necessarily.
But it joins firmly the rank and file of the legion of take-out shit.
You can't have effort anymore, all things must flow freely from first impulse to firmly executed, preferably in as few seconds as possible. There's no need to check for mistakes when posting digitally. If they're pointed out to you, they can be easily mended with a quick edit on the computer, or you can simply ignore whoever had the audacity to question your raving brilliance.
Anything written digitally, especially on the Internet, can be changed in a heartbeat. The time it would take to proofread the body of text is disproportionately larger than the time it takes to simply fix the fuck-ups one at a time, as the grammar-nazis point them out.
But not so much so in print.
A book with a typo, especially a huge typo, can cost millions in reprinting. News papers in print need to keep their language as close to flawless as possible in order to be taken seriously.
The same goes for any writer, in point on fact. A blurb from a writer without my natural charms and beautiful dong would need as close to a flawless grammar as possible. Or else it will detract from the message. My message.
There is no such requirement online.
No need for preparation, checking of sources, controlling your grammar, or even dealing with eventual consequences. Its about instant gratification, blurting out your ideas and thoughts on any concept no matter how ignorant or stupid you are. And most people are, a precious few, yours truly included, are lovably so.

Self-publishing is the next step on this torrent of bullshit, another batch of chocolate rain on a world already drowning in needless information from people who are little more than walking advertisements for birth control.

Self-publishing is cheating, cheating yourself.
As a writer there is one thing above all else that makes me better, stronger and incredibly hard; constructive criticism.
More than once I've written a brilliant piece of brain-cum only to have it torn apart by my nearest and dearest, or by some schmuck online, and in nine cases out of ten, they're right.
Blinded by my own brilliance its easy to think I've grown immune to fucking up.
I haven't. Nobody ever fucking can, or will.

This analogues well with the masturbatory theme of this rant.
When heading out to town in search of the fairer sex, you need to polish yourself. Get out your nice jacket, perfume. Shower, groom your hair, and so forth. Looking like Joe Dirt will get you jack shit.
You need to decide if you're looking for missus right or missus right now, and you need a game plan. Or just devilishly good looks.
The analogy is sound. Even after you do all the work and all your preparations, you can still get blown-off rather than its superior namesake simply blown.
The allegory holds. You can indeed spend hours and hours polishing your book to shine pretty, drag it of to a publisher with all the plans and ideas you need to sell your book, and yet still get shot down. Or you can make it big, cruise on home to vagina-ville for some afternoon delight and a helping of instant-fame soup. (just add alcohol, and strr for thirty seconds.)
Yes, you can land the big one, charm the dame and get your dick all kinds of humped, but only if you're willing to put in the work. To polish and groom and take the chance you'll get rejected.
And even then, you can learn.
A wise man once said you learn more from failure than success.
What I'd like to know is how he picked up that little nugget, not saying its not true, but one does wonder how many failures it takes to pave the road of a wise man.
Truth be told, we're all failures. The trick to success is to not linger by those mistakes. Let go as you stumble, run while you fall, and hit the ground like a rocket to heaven
You're not defined by the failures of today, but by the enthusiasm with which you throw yourself into the failures of tomorrow.

So you can self-publish, sitting in your room with your pants around your ankles and your hand firmly around your cock as you jack-off into a sock, or you can groom and fix yourself right and proper, and fearlessly charge rejection. There is always the chance you'll fall flat on your ass, but that's okay. Fear should never decide fate.
A night of passion is worth days of struggle.
I've built my life failure on failure, and all its done is teach me to appreciate the tingling inkling of success that occasionally embraces your nethers like a drunken red-head.
And that beats the hell out of the sock any day of the month.