Sell Out, Repent, Repeat

Today I took a break from my usual hobby of clicking “X” on Facebook ads and selecting the “Offensive” reason to do a wild 180 and sign up for Google’s AdSense Program.

Now I’m internally convulsing (and externally masturbating) with guilt.

For one thing, I shudder at what must be one of the most perfect examples of rampant hypocrisy that the world has ever known; I literally went from Facebook to Google with nary a nip-slip search in between. Well, almost nary, I’m only human. This seems like sort of a shitty thing to do coming hot on the heels of my smug superiority at sticking it to the man of Facebook’s ad engines (which may very possibly be generated through AdSense, too and therefore, in a way, I’m fucking myself with my own dick [which is 100% of the time how I would want any dick fucking of me to be, by the way. I’d be crazy to turn down this girth]) to immediately signing up for ads to be posted on things I do (there’s one over on the right, I think. Sorry). And I also think of how irritated I get at the 2-seconds involved in closing an ad on a youporntube video and that ultimately be a result of my signing up, too. In fact, it was an invitation from youtube that got me started on Corporate ShillFest ’11.

There’s also the fact that the whole idea of assuming that you can generate income because people are so interested in your content also seems somewhat sociopathic. Perhaps not on the scale of keeping headshots in your trunk, but certainly in the realm of having business cards in the glove box.

But here’s how I guess I’m rationalizing it:

I’m not really sure I’ve got the youtube part of it hooked up correctly and so it’s entirely possible that we’ll never have an issue there. The AdSense part looks like youtube is linked, but so far youtube isn’t letting me click anything to select videos to monetize. It’s very important that I be able to do that, however, because I plan on very strictly policing which videos have ads. Essentially, only things I’ve written are getting ads. This is pretty obvious because you HAVE to agree to that when you sign up since it’s illegal as goat sex (if you’re not a goat), but even if you didn’t have to agree it would be something I’d do. As much as I hate having to close an ad on a video, I loathe when I have to close an ad on a video from a channel that I know damn well isn’t owned by The Baby Bullet Slayer. Most of my miniscule amount of video views have come from enthusiastic, yet highly lackluster, covers and I would be horrified to think I was making money from a crappy tribute to someone else’s incredible song, poem or writing/artistic awesomeness in general.

Another way I’m telling myself it’s all gonna be okay is from all the times I have watched interviews (almost always on youtube videos with illegal ads, now that I think about it) of musicians putting out the mantra, “Never Play for Free!” I suppose I sort of agree with this in the sense that you should have pride in your work, believe it has value, etc. but in terms of a start-up plan, it’s not particularly practical. How many now well-known bands would be where they are today if they showed up at their first show as snivelling, skinny teenagers and said, “Alrighty, landlord, we’ll take our 2-grand each now and you can pay the travel and accommodation tab when we invoice you.”? That shit ain’t gonna work. If the band managed to escape physical punishment, you can bet they damn sure wouldn’t get a chance to play there again. Sometimes you need that “we’re free, you’ve got nothing to lose” clause as the springboard to the paying shows. (Although my creative genius smashes this theory because my first show gave me $20 afterwards. I couldn’t shake the feeling of being a thief for weeks. However, I also have never been paid since).

But after a while, doing it for free begins to suck. All the time and energy you put into trying to create something that isn’t entirely despicable sound/words/pictures feels like it should at least warrant a small gesture of appreciation of all the times you gave up partying, picking up chicks, winning arm wrestling matches and all the other things you pretend that you’d be doing if you weren’t busy thinking up a rhyme for “orgiastic” (I went with “feeling orgiastic in your casket”). And I guess that’s where I’m at now. Technology, and specifically the internet, gives such nearly limitless opportunities to make a go of it outside of the traditional realm of regular jobs that it seems like almost an obligation to see if you can bring the goods in some way or another using nothing more than what’s in your imagination, an internet connection and a few strategically leaked nudie pics.

After all, Shay Carl is doing it, and I’ve only seen two of his n00ds.

Anyway, all this may be moot since my current net presence as it pertains to all content is minute, let alone the far less-seen original content that I have floating around out there. AdSense will send me a cheque when I reach $10 of revenue generation and I figure that will be an awesome way to celebrate my 50^th birthday.

So, to wrap up here if you happen to watch/read anything by me that has an ad somewhere around it, I’m sorry. And if you’re like 99.9999% of internetters, this post is totally irrelevant.

-       Neil

Don't call me White (or Rover)

For as long as I’m interested in remembering back to, there have been certain elements of certain people where you can look at them and say, “Yup, that fits.” From the pre-weathered cowboy hat of the redneck or drunk girl, to the toque and vest attire of the guy who knows way more bands than you do, we just can’t get around it: the more we fight against the idea of having a uniform, the more we slip into a collection of people who have ‘em. Sometimes it becomes even more complex when the uniform takes on the more philosophical idea of Not Having a Uniform at all.

These same commonalities regarding how we identify ourselves are true of our choice of pets (and vehicles I suppose, but let’s leave that for now) as well. Gangsta? Pitbull. Bitchy, anorexic girl? Chihuahua. Convicted sex offender? Basset hound.

But it doesn’t end there.

Every sub-culture/identifiable group has their niche pet. Police have German Shepherds, shepherds have german police sheepdogs, singers in white-supremacist hardcore bands have their tawny owls and lemurs, and finally (though this is not a comprehensive list, for the purposes of this sermon) there are those with lizards and snakes.

Now, before you say anything, I realize that there exists those who would be called perfectly reasonable and rational people who keep lizards and snakes (I’m somewhat sceptical of this, but I’m willing to concede on this one), however those people are less entertaining to discuss and the mediocrity of most of my diatribes is such that I have to swing at the best pitch possible, if I may use a hockey analogy. However, in my experience, there are two types of people who own lizards/snakes: goths and anime nuts. Both groups are ridiculous in their own ways, but their personal choices of dress and porn television viewing are none of my business.

As far as pets go however, they are wrong. The wrongest of the wrong. [Ed. Note: Tasteless statement ahead] Wronger than Hitler. …Nearly.

Essentially: They are bullshit pets and no one should own either and I don’t mean that in the long hair and peyote party, “No one can ‘own’ another living creature, man” sense. I mean ‘own’ in the “I just paid $800 for a yellow lab. I Own this bitch!” Lizards and snakes are horrible, stupid pets. Here’s why:

“Pet him and squeeze him and call him George.”

Uh, no you ain’t.

Let’s imagine a scenario: You’ve just returned to your apartment. It’s late at night. It’s cold. It’s rainy. There’s no food in the fridge except for the (symbolically convenient) congealed milk. You had a shitty day at work. You thought you might go over to your girlfriend’s dwelling for some support, a home-cooked meal, and some oral reassurance that everything will be okay and you are the greatest person ever.

Instead she tells you you’re boring, your writing is self-indulgent and unfunny and since you are broken up as of now, it would probably be a good idea to go ahead and book a syphilis test.

So now you find yourself at home, soaked from the rain (I forgot to mention that your car was stolen and will later be involved in a hit-and-run of three orphans with cases of leukemia that are showing many signs of going into remission) and all you need is a little pick-me-up and a sense of someone showing some solidarity. So you turn to your best friend in the whole world; the only one you know you can trust and will love you unconditionally just because you’re you. Do you give a forlorn snap of your fingers and embrace Hugo, the golden retriever, as he sympathetically licks your cheek?

Nope.

Because you have a fucking gecko.

That’s right. For all those lonely, heartbroken nights that seem to go on forever and for all those sniffling days when you’re stuck in bed with the flu, good luck snuggling up to your iguana for some much-needed support and TLC as you’re kept warm with big, fluffy fur.

Lizards are bullshit pets. But at least they’ll keep you safe, right?

“What’s that, lizard? Someone’s in the well? Who? Oh right, you don’t give a shit.”

Lizards do not save lives. When Purina or the SPCA or Vivid Entertainment or whoever it is gives out medals for bravery to animals, there are no reptiles. Ever. And if you take it upon yourself to research the issue and discover a turtle from 1971 that did something heroic, you can still fuck yourself because that turtle is in a very, very tiny minority and as we all know, minorities don’t count.

What you will find is heart-string-playing stories of dogs rescuing small children (without leukemia hopefully, or why bother?) from icy rivers. You’ll find tales (tails… oh snap!) of cats alerting their owners when a fire breaks out in the middle of the night. Even birds have been awarded medals for doing stuff that saved someone. Birds!! Birds are the most apathetic creatures in the world (after koalas).

Now, some will say, “Oh well, the cat isn’t actually trying to rescue the family, it’s just scared for its own well-being and the result is that the family wakes up.” And I’ll give a little on that. But is the dog looking out for itself when it jumps into the river to save the kid? Of course it isn’t. It’s channelling an instinct to protect those other animals it feels responsible for. No lizard dived into a stream to rescue a kid. In fact, I’ve seen some lizards actively go out of their way to avoid offering assistance to another suffering soul.

Tangent: When was the last time you saw a lizard drop a couple bucks into a homeless guy's jar? Exactly. And for that matter, when was the last time you saw a homeless guy with a loyal (if somewhat depressed-looking) lizard sleeping beside him on a piece of cardboard? Never. And you know why? Because through his schizophrenic, drug-spun, alcohol-mussed mind, he knows the score (and the best dumpsters). He knows that no one gives a shit about lizards because lizards are unsympathetic and radiate contempt for the society around them. Tangent finished.

And when the burglar comes creeping around the homestead, is your bearded dragon going to sound the alarm and scare him (or her, some bitches be krazee) away? Hell no. It will sit there silently watching the raping of your objects, collectibles, dildos, and life memories as they are snatched from your possession and carried off into the night.

Lizards are bullshit pets. But at least their pretty, right?

“Let’s play, ‘Where’s my Wildly Expensive Waldo?’”

Hi, welcome to “I’m a Sanctimonious Asshole”! We’ve saved you (and 99% of the world) a seat! So let’s get started!

Our first step is to go buy a lizard, snake, or Kurzweillian snake/lizard/robot hybrid. Got it? Excellent, you’re a quick learner!

Oh, I see you opted for the lizard smuggled directly from Somalia! That’s great! Just look at the slightly more vibrant colouration under its mouth… well worth the 8 grand! But remember, when it’s fully-grown, it’s going to be a whopping 4-inches-long, so let’s make sure we buy the 900-gallon tank to house it in!

Okay, we’re nearly there. All we need to do now is fill the tank with half of the goddamn rainforest. What we’re really going for is coverage. Make sure you chose only the biggest branches with the densest and largest foliage. Our goal here is to fill the enclosure with so much stuff that when you finally release your little Hope Diamond of a reptile into the tank that you never, ever, ever see the little piece of shit again.

Congratulations, everyone! You’re now officially a Sanctimonious Asshole. Now take that typewriter to the café and start pounding out that new play!

Lizards are bullshit pets. But camping is awesome!

“Getting Back to Nature”

Ah, camping… Full of fresh air, relaxation, and complete abandonment of any notions of personal hygiene. What could be better than an evening of Jack Johnson-ing around a campfire under a limitless expanse of twinkling stars before retiring to the peace and comfort of a cozy sleeping bag?

Crickets.

Sumbitchin’, ma’fuckin’, English-do-you-speak-itin’ crickets.

As you begin to doze off into your deciduous slumber, what do you hear? An occasional distant “cheep”, harmonizing with the baritone lowing of bullfrogs? Hell no. As your eyelids droop and your dreams fill with visions of the morrow’s full day of hiking, kayaking, and “Why don’t we do this more often?”-ing, you’ll hear the dulcet tones of: KKKKKKRRRRRBBBBAAAAAAAAAAAAAACHHHHHH!!!

Crickets, like indignant women of colour, are ear-bleeding war machines of sound that will bite your cochlea in half and send the fragments off to be Riker’s Island Power Bottoms. One cricket? Still shitty, but mildly tolerable for short periods of time. A seething forest of crickets? Horrific on an immeasurable scale.

But let’s up the ante. Let’s take an average campsite’s worth of crickets and compress them into a single room of a home. Your home. Why? Because that’s what lizards eat. And when you have a lizard, you need a shitload of crickets. And those crickets don’t have a whole forest to soak up the volume. They’re operating in a highly restricted area. It’s likely an aquarium within ear-shot of your bedroom.

Lizards are bullshit pets, but go ahead. Sleep tight, bitch.

In Conclusion

So, what does it all mean? What does this highly entertaining, informative, and impregnably persuasive sermon add up to? After all, if one chooses to own a lizard or snake, should that not be everyone’s privilege to enjoy happiness companionship in any form they find it in? Well, so say pedophiles. But I stand by my claims: Lizards and snakes are expensive, non-interactive, unfeeling, ungrateful, callous creatures that require you to live in a state of constant sleep-desperation. And they live a long freaking time (damn, should’ve thought of that one earlier).

However, you’re right. Despite their expense, lack of gratitude, requirements for upkeep and live an unnaturally long time, if you want to have a lizard or snake, that’s cool. Just keep it the hell away from me.

But I gotta go now. My parrot is screaming its head off.