Oh geez, Seed Magazine EIC and Peter Principle posterboy Adam Bly is talking again, and we, like untold dozens of others, are listening—mostly to see if he actually says anything relevant, or just repeats his little catchphrase “science is culture” over and over again like a less-dapper Rain Man with echolalia.

Bly’s latest editor’s letter was featured on Gawker yesterday, mainly because it’s a masterclass of sheer asswipery (Gawker, for their part, used the words “pomposity” and “pretentious”). It’s the kind of onanistic drivel that only comes from a person with absolutely no friends or respect who’s desperately trying to convince the world that he is in fact liked and respected. If Bly didn’t make a career of screwing freelancers, alienating staffers, and being an all-around mendacious twat, he’d be the ideal object for your pity. Unfortunately this strange piece of bullshit can no longer be accessed on Seed’s homepage [Ed. Note - it’s back up] as Bly, in true chickenshit fashion, pulled it as soon as Gawker called him out. It’s telling when an editor in chief is ashamed of his own introduction to his own magazine, don’t you think?

Luckily the first graph remains:

My role as editor of this magazine offers me few pleasures greater than sharing a meal with a fascinating scientist. It starts with the ideas on the table, certainly, but for me it’s also the distinct cadence, the fluttering of the hands, the brush of the forehead, the coy grin that lets you know you’re being let in on one of nature’s secrets. Inspired by a friend here in New York who regularly hosts great thinkers in his home, I’ve even installed (with considerable effort) an oversize blackboard in my dining room for those occasions when you just need to see it in chalk.

The fluttering of the hands, the brush of the forehead, the coy grin…if this is what constitutes heady repartee in Bly’s mind, it’s no wonder Seed has all the substance of a Tiger Beat double issue. But either way, with verbal cues like that, we’d advise any visitors (yeah right) to this guy’s black-boarded seraglio to keep an eye out for hidden Web cams and to think before gulping down a second glass of that too-enthusiastically proffered Yellow Tail. I mean, his associates don’t toss around endearments like “oily worm,” “Ken-doll crotch,” and “Pee-Wee Herman’s eunuch doppelganger” in honor of his competence and sparkling personality.

Gawker - Adam Bly’s ‘Seed’: Pretentious or Preternaturally Potent?