Holy Salty Cow-nipples! I'm profane!

Yes, obviously, some would argue.  I do not currently take place in the temple.  To you people who are using literal definitions of "sacred" and "profane" which have been out of vogue for a few centuries, bully.  But wouldn't you feel bad if this particular post was being written while I was hosting a black-light and soap-bubbles rave in the Aedes Iovis Optimi Maximi Capitolini?  Because that would be as sacred as Baby Jesus playing polo while mounted on the Apis Bull.

I'm not doing that, but it would be awesome and now I know the theme of my next Birthday Party.  It's defacing international landmarks and blacklight.  Mark your calendars.

What I mean by my profanity (this time) is that the adWords team has rejected my application.  See here if you're unaware of what I speak.  It would seem that the content of my blog violates their terms of service for profanity reasons.

I know I don't exactly censor myself too hard here, but I don't think there's a single word or photo on this blog to date that a fifth grader couldn't find for himself in three seconds.  Hell, they'd probably be worse and then show me pictures of some horrible, sweaty cat-man loving a wheel of cheese.  I'm sure that exists on the internet and that children would be able to find it before I finish this sentence.

Like this, but a million times worse.  Thanks, Cracked.com

Oh well.  I suppose I'll have to go back to gyrating my glistening self to the sad beats of stripper songs to make a little extra money.  My wife has habits that I need to maintain.  Expensive habits.  Baking habits.  And now, thanks to Google, I'll be slathering myself in oil again to put on the show no one wants to see but everyone has to watch.