The Week In Review
One of the advantages of having a web site that’s been up and running for over a year is the fact that you start getting a steady stream of random emails from people who want something from you. Some of them want you to place their links on your site, some of them want money, and others want those photos you took of them getting romantic with a washing machine. I love these people. They allow me to get my freak on. Observe:
From: Rod A. McMillan
Subject: Message from Rod McMillan
Date: November 16, 2012 2:05:13 AM MST
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Subject: You really fucked up this time
Date: November 16, 2012 10:41:11 PM MST
To: Rod A. McMillan
Good God, I never thought I’d hear from you again. You got the money, right? Then why are you contacting me?
Look, the deal was that you’d get rid of the body, I’d pay you, and we would never cross paths again. EVER. Do you know what kind of risk I’m taking even acknowledging that I know you? Jesus, Rod, does the thought of large, brainless men sodomizing you into the wee hours of the morning appeal to you? Because it doesn’t appeal to me. And make no mistake about it, if your big fucking mouth lands me in the slammer, you’d better believe that I’ll tell the cops all about that thing you did in Atlantic City to those two hookers. Yeah, that’s right. I know all about it, Rod. With a Waring blender, no less. You are a sick bastard, you know that Rod?
Oh, wait… Rod A. McMillan. My mistake, I was thinking of Rod H. McMillan. Disregard all of the above, especially the part about getting rid of a body. And the two dead hookers. You know what, pretty much just forget about everything I’ve written so far. Here, let’s start again…
Dear Rod A. McMillan,
Thank you kindly for your email dated November 16th. I am very interested in your services as I would like to drive innocent people to my website so that I may expose them to pictures of my genitals. That’s a thing that I do. I’ll put a link up on the internet reading, “Betty Crocker’s Double Fudge Walnut Dream Cake!” or something misleading like that and when they click on the link… BAM! Boner-shot.
I need to be careful, though. One time I dressed up my dick like Kenny Loggins and made a video of “Lil’ Kenny” singing Footloose while “dancing around”, and I got fucking sued because I put the video on a site I made called “The Official Kenny Loggins Home Page For Teens!” They, uhhh, didn’t like that.
So now I have to stick to straight boner-shots, which may be boring, but it sure beats having to drop your pants in court so Kenny Loggins can identify your cock. Embarrassing!
Ok, where were we again? Right. You want to facilitate the delivery of pornographic material on my site in exchange for money. Jesus, you’re in a tawdry line of work aren’t you, Rod A? Are you sure that you don’t want to go into something a bit more wholesome, like mop-boy in an adult theater? Ah well, to each his own I guess. Get back to me with an estimate on how much it would cost per click to corner the market on the phrases “Hot fashion for teens”, “You are special and loved”, and “sack-wrangling dog-fisters”.
Oh, and please give me the estimate in dollars. None of this shilling or pound bullshit. I’m your typical myopic American, and so I don’t know a ha’penny from a hat-stand.
Dogs on Drugs
There, that ought to keep unsolicited emails at bay for a day or two.
On to the week you missed because you were wondering why your blender smelled so funny:
- On Tuesday, we learned that my limit for gun-toting gorillas is one per country. Expect this to come in handy the next time you’re on Jeopardy.
- On Wedesday, I made a lame pun related to the prog-rock band Yes. To make up for it, I will harass them on Twitter for the next month or two.
- On Thursday, happy elephant!
- On Friday, dogs fucking. Rod A. McMillan would be proud.
That’s it for now. Join me tomorrow when a bunch of enraged Limeys explain to me that pre-decimal coinage ha’pennies were discontinued in 1969, and I in turn tell them to sod off.
For some reason I was picturing Kenny Rogers, which seemed a little weird. Dressing your dick up as Kenny Loggins, however, makes sense.
Of course it does, otherwise why would I have taken that community college course on how to do it?
You DEFINITELY need to be writing for tv.
Either that or the exact opposite…..
I write for the TV in my mind. Sure the pay sucks, but no commercials, and no one complains if I slip some XXX material in there.
I would lose my shit if you got a reply of “… how did you know about them hookers?”
It wouldn’t be funny if Rod had killed some hookers, but if he had, it would be funny if he then got this email, wouldn’t it? He’d be like, “What the fucking fuck? How does he know I used a blender?”
Ah, it’s been awhile since I got the chance to read your articles again! I about died reading about you dressing your dick like Kenny Loggins 😀
Kenny did’t feel that way about it, the fucker.
Oh, so those weren’t really walnuts in the double fudge dream cake? I wondered why it tasted so salty…
You and everybody at Mother Superior’s Home for Wayward Girls…