Markatoa Sells Out!

Warning: the above statement is not a true thing that happened.  Unless, of course, it becomes true in the future.  I know that no one who reads this blog does so for my deep commitments to the Arts.  Except maybe that one dude.  You know, the 80 year old Art History professor who frantically tried to use the internet to prove to his Intro to Art class that he was "hip" and "with it" and that he "had his finger to the pulse of society" and then couldn't get his googlebookss to search anything but this page.  The poor bastard.  He, and his classes, have my deepest sympathies.  On the plus side, last I heard he had taken to projecting my awesome ramblings onto the walls of his classroom as a sort of commentary on post-modernism.  Study it hard, kids.  It's all going to be on the final.

That right there?  Also most likely untrue.  I can't really speak to it though, because now that I mentioned it I think it would be awesome so it might as well be my braintruth.  I should totally hire April O'Neil to investigate this.

Next on the docket?  The mystery of my pants.  

However, I do get a lot of things from Adwords telling me that I should sign up for having ads appear on my shiny, completely unrefined and stock-themed blogotubebot.  Because that's what the modern kids love these days - completely unpersonalized, stock crappy webpages.  (Needless to say, the kids these days have problems.)

Now, given the number of people who look at the crud that spills out of my mindfingers (those are like normal fingers, but controlled by my subconscious.  Or at least my stream of consciousness.  Also, you can blame them for typing all this stuff.  It weren't me.  It was the One-armed mindfinger.)  I have absolutely no dream about this replacing all the sweet, grubby, filthy luchre that my boss flings at me to dance and prance and every once in a while to do the job for which he initially hired me.  Which is way less sexy than my dances.  Ask my wife.  She loves it when I dance.  That and my amazing ability to make dinner and wash dishes afterwards (ladies) is why she married me.

I am, however, freakishly, frankly fascinated by the concept (not to mention alliteration.  It's one of my favorite things about language that's not onomatopeoeia; which ironically doesn't sound a damn thing like what it describes).  Mostly because all the things that they tell me include the fact that the ads will be targeted based on my blog's content and that all I need to do is keep writing to start raking in phat sacks of internet cash.  I can't help but wonder what that would look like.  Ads about Prince Phillip or SexRhinos (tm) or Ninja Turtle Porn and the CyberBritish?  I feel like it's almost my civic duty to have those ads appear if for no other reason than to see what kind of entirely asinine companies would pop up on the page.

And then possibly to patronize them.  Ladytoa will be quite sad if one of them provides Halloween Rhino Costumes, but at least I'll see one of my dreams fulfilled.

Point being in the near future, there may be ads.  And I may fuel my next binge on the revenue generated by all you sick bastards clicking on links for gods only know what.  If they end up not being as funny as I hope they'll be I'll take them down.  Because I'm a fickle bitch.