And Now A Word From Our Sponsors
If you’ve been following my site for a while, get help. Really. Also, you might remember that someone approached me wanting to sully my precious web site with advertising. And what’s worse, secret advertising, designed to make me seem like the kind of guy that would all of a sudden turn into a giant tool and start hawking the wares of others in the middle of a perfectly good post about unicorns having herpes. The very thought sickens me.
And when I feel sick, I know that I can trust the good people over at Barrington Diagnostics. Their 60 Second Rectal Thermometer will give me accurate readings every time, letting me make informed health decisions. And with the new flexible tip, I don’t have to worry about puncturing my colon again! Barrington Diagnostics: They make sticking things in my ass fun!
…One thousand two hundred and twenty, one thousand two hundred and forty… Sorry, where was I again? Oh yeah, advertising. It disgusts me, mainly because no one wants to pay me enough to do it. I’d gladly turn over this site to a mega-conglomerate so that they could espouse the advantages of using Globo-Chem brand butt plugs, but unfortunately they do not believe that my humble site would generate enough sales to justify my asking price of “a metric fuckton of money”. What a bunch of assholes.
And so I have decided to show these fucktards the error of their ways by engaging in Involuntary Advertising, which is an exciting new concept that I just thought up between breakfast beers. Do you have a product or service that you would like to advertise on my web site, only my web site disgusts you and you want nothing to do with it? Well, then you’re in luck! Because I’m going to advertise for you whether you like it or fucking not. That’s right, asshole, I’ve got your product or service right here!
When I wake up in the morning, the first thing I want after I vigorously masturbate through the front door mail slot, is a nice, big bowl of Kellogg’s Corn Pops. Did you know that it’s part of a complete breakfast? Because it totally fucking is. And I don’t care what those assholes over at Sugar Smacks say, but Corn Pops are NOT made of packing peanuts and speed. They are goddamn delicious and go well with bourbon. Kellogg’s Corn Pops. BOOM!
I’ll let you know how the lawsuits are going.
Nothing says good morning like spanking the monkey, a glass of bourbon, and a bowl of corn pops.
I think they would be even better if they actually were made out of speed though. Because NOTHING says good morning like speed.
In fact, speed says good morning over and over again, but rarely good night, because every day will be morning, for about three days.
Speed also says, “Vacuum your carpet” over and over until it’s so clean that you empty the bag out on the carpet so you can do it some more. I knew someone that actually did this.
They are missing a huge marketing opportunity with the thermometer. Shape it like a buttplug and taking your temperature could be more fun than ever. Buy several and invite your friends over to see who’s really the ‘hottest’.
The Deluxe version could add bluetooth and an iphone* app, so you can see your temperature in real time. Imagine sidling up to a babe in a bar and being able to show her how hot she’s really making you.
* for the real apple nerds, their ibuttplug, ahem rectal diagnostic tool, could be shaped like Steve Jobs’ head.
I like the way you think. And for the MS wonks, the rectal diagnostic tool would come in several versions:
MS RecTool Home
MS RecTool Pro
MS RecTool Enterprise
MS RecTool Ultimate
…and each of them would have hundreds upon hundreds of buttons and come with a manual four feet thick. It would also come with a shoehorn and some lube in case it crashed.
Through the mail slot? Why? I know this isn’t what the post is about, but I’m so puzzled.
In a nutshell, it’s because I crack up at the mental picture of an ad agency pitching this copy to Kellogg’s executives and the look on their faces when they get to that line.
Well in that case it’s perfect. Although I will have to say, this morning I put a repair request through the mail slot of my building manager’s apartment…bad mental picture.
Make the ad more and more offensive until they pay you to stop. And I want 10% for the idea. That way everyone wins.
Ok, but if they sue the shit out of me instead, are you paying 10% of that?
You know, back in the day, my sister and I would walk through the entry vestibule of whatever super-warehouse-mart we happened to be shopping in and notice a ton of magazine subscription ads- a whole bulletin boarded wall devoted to getting you to sign up for that lifetime subscription to “Ducks and Tucks” or “Hillbilly HandSnatchin'”. And we would surreptitiously collect a few of the most offensive and then sign each other -or one of our friends- up for some good readin’.
Now I’m not saying I sent the rectal thermometer people your way- but I am saying that it would have been an excellent way getting back at you and Luda after the Klout-Blackhawks thing… If I were that smart and wiley… especially since all the Klout subjects I tried to add to your profiles were deemed unsuitable.
You mean you didn’t? Damn, now I feel bad for signing you up for all that Bolivian midget-porn.
Hahaha, masturbating through the mail slot.
I have a letter box myself at the edge of my yard, and in the morning, it is a little too far away…
But if you put a wig on it, and maybe a sweater with some strategic stuffing, I bet it’d be worth the walk.
See, Vesta? This is a universal thing amongst guys. Guys needing a lot of counseling, that is.
The length of the business end of the thermometer made me tighten up so much I tore my pants.
And I know you only passed it on and yes, it was very well done, but that latest video? Totally skeeved me out so that I had to sterlize my ears and my eyes; that cork-out-of-a-bottle pop, ack! I need to find a clip of To Kill A Mockingbird fast.
Everyone seems to have a problem with their mental picture of Gregory Peck being messed with, but no one says anything about Audrey Hepburn.
Yeah, but Audrey got his watch, so she won.
“What a bunch of assholes.” … I see what you did there…
Now if you excuse me, I need to go and seek help for following your site.
Agreed. If I were you, I’d hold out for powerful tranquilizers of some sort.