Ahh, the questions I get asked from time to time. Everything from “what is your favorite kind of cookie?” to “Why don’t you get a life and stop trying to be funny?”

The answer to both questions is “oatmeal butterscotch chip”. Discuss.

By the way, I appreciate people sending me cookies, but I have two problems with that. The first part is where I wonder how you got my address and I worry about someone watching me at night while I practice my riverdance moves. If I was halfway through the sweeping fankick combination and noticed someone leering through my window, I could die from internal injuries. The second part is that I’m not eating anything that came to me in the mail from someone I never met. I’m sure you understand. So start sending me naked pictures or something instead.

My enchanted life just got enchanted-er, believe it or not. I’m going to be published in a magazine in South Carolina. I’d tell you the name of it, but I don’t’ remember it. Here’s their site, though. The published version has a different name. Writing for money on a semi-regular basis, woo hoo. So for all of you buttholes who keep telling me I suck (yet mysteriously read every entry with amazing consistency), you are wrong. Maybe YOU suck.

Ha.

Coffee has porn names. I had a conversation with my boss about that over a cup of “Dark Passion” the other day, and I got an e-mail from one of my friends today about the same thing. She doesn’t want her name on this website, so I’ll call her “Slutface”. Slutface said she was drinking a coffee called “Secret Dreams”, which described its flavor as “A burst of nutty sweetness”. For the hell of it, I went into the kitchen to see how our own Dark Passion was described.

“A sweet, buttery taste, and the luscious aroma of roasted nuts.”

My car was super hot yesterday when I left work, and I had to sit in it for almost half an hour. When I got home and disrobed for a shower, I confirmed that there is nothing luscious about the aroma of roasted nuts. Then again, “The tangy, decaying smell of sweaty balls” probably wouldn’t sell much coffee, would it?

Then I looked in the cabinet for the coffee that we save for board meetings and stuff. The high dollar coffee has even worse names. Sumatran Spoogebake, (obviously the name of a porn star) had the description “awakens your senses like a donkeypunch during a gangbang, with hints of sweet manchowder”. Swear to god.

So stay away from the Sumatran Spoogebake.

Slutface spurred me on to other advertising things I hate. Like those jackasses who think that the cooler a typeface is, the better their business will be. There is a wing place up the street whose sign is so stylized that you actually can’t read it. You see it all the time on bumper stickers, too.

I think Jesus would start by finding a higher contrast background color and then changing that horrible font. Then I guess he’d die for the sins of the world or something.

If I see one more creative use of the word “hair”, I will commit a series of violent crimes and top it off with my very public and bloody suicide. Every damn beauty school dropout in the southeastern United States has put all of her creativity into some agonizing roadside sign. “United Hair Lines”, “The Hair Apparent”, “Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow” Get it?! Tee hee, that’s cute. RMOLOFO or whatever. Shut up.

The pinnacle of bad advertising has to be Junk e-mail, though. The spam filters have gotten to a point where nothing will get into your mailbox unless the subject line contains the word “gmyfwcackah”. Now they have these pseudo-content generators that create such gems as “joanna oatmeal preston misha miranda aeh spain glenn tiffany mishka japan jeanette gordon charlie1 butch quebec director fool boogie soccer1 carl dude politics valhalla catfish jojo culminate,ratslayers mutilated face.” Yes, that is unedited. Boogie soccer is my new favorite sport, and I’m legally changing my name to Ratslayer so I can start my face mutilating business. The best thing about this particular e-mail was that it didn’t advertise ANYTHING. The entire content was intended to beat spam filters, and they never got around to actually putting a message or a link in it.

The offers are tempting, though. I don’t know what a P3nis is, but I’m sure I need to enlarge it. A Thirty-six hour rock-hard erection, you say? Sign me up, my man. I need a boner that will permanently damage my reproductive system. You know, I hate the fact that it goes away after I’m finished using it. What happens when you have to pee? Just spray the ceiling and thank god for the staying power of your new chubby. Who the hell buys their drugs from an offshore pharmacy? Yes, I’d like an order of xicoprozadineium shipped to my house for $300. Here’s my credit card number, mister unseen foreign drug peddler. Wait- You say I can “F#ck her like I was 19 again”? The person who wrote that one didn’t sleep with me when I was 19, or they would realize that I have no desire to go back to that level of performance. It would really impress her to thrust awkwardly in what you hope is the right place and then apologize for only lasting 12 seconds while she cries because she broke a celibacy promise to her dead grandmother.

Good god, I’m on a tear today. Maybe I should lay off the coffee. The dirty, naughty coffee…

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