Every Day Ends In Why
“Saturday,” wrote Mister Kipling, “had some young urchins at the back door trying to sell me their pornography hard-to-pronounce pharmaceutical substances. So I invited them in and they’re now shackled in my win cellar.”
My recent tirade against blogfolk who choose to force people to register in order to post comments has backfired a tad, as should have been expected. A couple of hardly “marketing” folk have taken to posting comments in older missives by my good self promoting their warez. Naturally, these particular goods and services are not the type you’d list in your local newspaper’s small ads section, which is why they choose to use the internet and grab some free advertising space on blogs which have a readership of almost some people. Cunning, and no mistake.
So, the quandry is – do I now force the free-roaming gentry who frequent this place to register themselves in some form of Logan’s Run fashion, or do I stay free and easy and invite the promotion of dubious services in order to build up material for a later review of said services in an ironic and sarcastic fashion?
I don’t need to answer that question.
Moving on, I have once again reviewed Madam Google’s Choice Words and found more niches ready to be filled. While previously I have spared you every search people have used to find this site, today I’m feeling generous, so here is the full list :
The first thing you’ll notice is that there are a shitload of people out there in search of high quality mackerel and mackeral recipes (I have both), in fact if you look for grilled mackeral recipes on Google, I come up fourth. Get in! I may endeavor to corner this market.
The mentions of Ms Houston and Ms Hilton are both catered for and are originally offshoots of Krakatoan Sam but now I’m taking control of that market for myself. Huttah! Etc.
I have now catered for those with burning questions regarding log flumes, Laura Dern and Richard Schiff’s baldness are obvious subjects for the future, as are viking longboat studies, scaling things down and working in a sewer. “Why turning 35 sucks” however, I have no knowledge of in the slightest, maybe I’ll ask the wife.
One further standout in that list is the mention of N*rwich secret society. BLASPHEMY! There will be a holy war against the accursed home of Bernard Matthews, Colmans Mustard and Delia Smith in the near future as the Proclivity gains pace. Which it is doing already. We’ve gone from a handful, to several hands full of eager Proclivitarians already, some of whom are already advancing through the Echelons at pace. Why are you not one of them?
What is the Hotmail 2006 secret? Time will tell.
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