One Way or Another This Darkness Gotta Give

Well, my life is such crud these days, I can’t even muster up my poison pen. I haven’t started watching Dr. Phil or anything quite that horrible just yet, so no need to call the experts, please.  It’s nothing really, nothing more than what an adult is expected to tolerate in this day and age without going postal.  No pretty much we all are not expected to go postal, that would be clearly unacceptable. Especially considering I work at a library.

As I have written before, librarians are far more likely to just quietly get wasted after work, which you’ve got to admit is a lot better than the postal route although probably still a healthy distance from ideal.  Ideal would be a world where things worked a little better for people, instead of whoever the hell this world was built to work for.  Robots or someone.

It’s kind of funny that America can’t seem to figure out a way to make life better for folks — it just gets worse, seems to me.  My parents, they had it okay compared to today, not that I think their sort of indentured servitude was the bomb, but it was a lot closer than what passes for the working class standards that I look around and see now. 

Today, there’s too much stick and not enough carrot.  We have to work too hard and worry too much, and we still may end up getting dumped on skid row by our HMO.  But some leader is going to come along and put our discontent into words, and get us all riled up for change.   And then he will probably be shot, too — and that’s okay. 

Actually, well, it’s not okay. But the human race is still going to limp along forward even with these giant-ass greedy ticks sucking us dry, and we are going to still make progress overall, despite that life is full of totally unnecessary pain and problems for the masses, because, well, because that’s what I tell myself. That increment of progress and the fact I work at the library — these things keep me free of any thoughts that have anything to do with anything that carries stamps, other than my own bills, which I dutifully pay on time almost every month.

This (admittedly-challenged) rationale, along with the smidgeon of free expression still allowed in this world, keeps me going.  And as long as bad apple lives and shines, she’s going to mush herself into that crack in the armor (or possibly, the armoire) of the Man and start stinking, whether she can find her goddamn pen in this bloody freaking mess, or not!

A Numbers Story: Today’s Learn to Write From Spam Lesson

Some say spam is worse than worthless, but you can learn how to write real good from spam, I swear.  Today we examine one spammer’s statistics.  So let’s go ahead and take a look at the Spam of the Day, a perky little invite from someone named Blanche who writes:

 Good day,

Want to find a f*ckbuddy who lives near you?
92% of our members already got laid with the help of our dating system.

What else? it doesn’t cost a dime!

Bad Apple responds:

Dear Blanche,
Thanks for contacting me regarding finding a f*ckbuddy in my town — that’s quite tempting!  Your pitch gets points in the “short and sweet” category, but you could use some work on working those statistics, girl!

First off I gotta ask how you come by your numbers here, Ms. Chiquita Bonita?  What, you been exit polling the dates to determine your laid-to-unlaid ratio?  That’ll make you real popular, I bet. Or maybe you send a survey for folks to fill out after the date.  If so, try to get a few more details, okay?

Here’s an example of the type of more qualitative-style question you could be asking:

On a scale of one to ten, how laid would you say you got? One being “not real laid,” ten being “extremely laid.” So what is it, buddy?

Blanche, another point just between you me and the Viagra post: I have a trickling suspicion that what we are seeing here is a bit of “over reporting” on the male side of the equation, if you know what I mean.  A little wishful thinking by the fella’s – that’s what I’m guessing.  Here’s one way to check:  If the eight percent of folk who failed to find f*ckbuddy’s are ALL women, then probably that 92 percent figure is about as reliable as a story overheard in the middle-school boys’ locker room. 

(This assumes of course that your f*ckbuddy-finding service is mostly hetero.  If it isn’t, then, well, never mind.)

Oh, another lesson we could all learn from Blanche: Always proofread you spams, and also, try to sign your spam, even if it’s just a pseudonym.  Unsigned spam is so impersonal.

Blanche, nice try on this one!  I don’t buy your numbers, not for one minute.  But don’t change and never, never give up!  Thanks for thinking of me, and next time, remember to work those statistics, girl! 

Spambuddies forever, 

Bad Apple

Like a City of Trash on a Hill of Trash

Did you know there’s a floating island of trash north of Hawaii that’s larger than Texas?  That’s right, and somewhere on it, there’s a village missing its idiot, George Bush.

In fact, there’s so much trash congregating in the Pacific that experts predict underwater trash mountains will soon lead to new trash islands, and not just the floating kind.  In related news, Disneyland is considering adding a Trash Mountain ride to their California Adventure Park. (Imagine the thrill of coming within centimeters of being pricked with a used hypodermic needle!)

In even more other news, the scientists have discovered all sorts of species are catching a ride on the ocean trash train and setting out for new shores.  I’m sure this is a real piss off for those immigration reformers who feel everyone should just stay put wherever they happen to be born.

Yes, we don’t get enough trash news in the West, only celebrity trash news.  We have to look to Pravda to find out about our great freaking island of trash!  I mean if that isn’t one of the major manmade wonders of the world, my middle name isn’t Censorship Sal.

Actually, unlike Greenpeace, I think the island of trash is humanity’s best hope.  We simply wait until it becomes a continent of trash, and then we form a new nation on top of the tampon applicators and easy-pic toothpicks of yesterday. It will be like a city of trash on a hill of trash, but we won’t let any new trash in — and only the best trash will be allowed to stay.  Sorry, George.

Sorry for the Misplaced Poop Piece

Oh bloody hell buckets, did I actually post my cat poop item over here at Bad Apple? Trust me, that was not some kind of clever pimplicity stunt to promote my Self Help for Cats site, I promise you. Rather it was a toggle problem with the user on my Blogdesk software, or in other words an Error Occurred Between Seat and Keyboard (EOBSK), or however my snarky IT friends like to put it.  (At which point, I want to announce Bad Apple’s official site motto, stolen from the pirate furniture-movers code: “It’s not my fault.”)

Should you be dying to read the piece “Think Outside the Box, Don’t Poop Outside the Box,” far be it from me to stand in your way.  But you’ll have to go over the Self Help for Cats.

Wow, I’m incredibly good at this!

People I Have Nothing in Common With, Part One

At the risk of hurting the feelings of gamers everywhere, I have to say I feel a need to compare DNA with the author of the following sentence, from one of those devil-gadget worshipping sites, to ensure we are indeed of the same species:

Our meeting with Sierra yesterday highlighted perfectly why you’ll need to be very careful in cutting through the hype surrounding the next-gen PC gaming graphics.

Oh yeah, I’m going to need to be real careful of the potential treachery and pain involved in that, thanks friend.  Like that’s a real concern for the world. Here’s another brilliant thing to worry about from the same writer: 

First we sat down for a showing of World in Conflict, a real time strategy game that asks “What if the Cold War ran hot?”

Yeah, what if?  What if that happened?  Well, probably you would be blasted off your gamer ass, that’s what. 

Even though in my youth I wasted hours on such games, I will never understand how folks can spend all their time sitting around gaming.  Not when they can spend hours sitting around blogging, which is so very much better. 

Spiders on Drugs are a Problem

Right now, spiders everywhere are discovering and getting addicted to drugs, and it’s a problem, people.  But the good news is, you can help.  You can educate yourself.  You can watch this video about Spiders on Drugs.  I want to warn you, though, it does contains some graphic and violent images against spiders. 

Jesus: “I’m Coming Back as the iPhone”

iHave a confession to make. iCould care less about the iPhone.  Actually, caring any less about the iPhone would require me to care about not caring, so actually, as it turns out I couldn’t care less after all.

iKnow I’m a loser for it because iKnow the iPhone is really great. iKnow it’s going to bring about world peace and nirvana for the masses and a round of top-shelf screaming orgasms for all, but iStill can’t bring myself to care about the iPhone.  I’m just a selfish ass trying to pay my rent. If iReally cared, I’d pay twice the asking price for my iPhone and if it didn’t work, I’d get on my knees and thank God and King Jobs for my broken iPhone, which is so many worlds better than no iPhone at all.

Then I’d go back to scavenging the toxic waste dump for dinner.  Life is good, business is freaking fantastic, and iPhones are really the second coming of Christ. 

What, you didn’t know about the missing page in The Bible where Jesus says: “I’m coming back as the iPhone”?  What backward Luddite version of The Bible you been reading, sister?

How the Irish Invented the Potato Smoothie

Ireland may be the last island on the planet to discover smoothie drinks but as we all know, it was well worth the wait!  Now you can read the entire saga of tremendous events that lead to the creation of the first potato smoothie, an immediate international sensation that’s fast becoming a cold-drink classic.

The potato smoothie has been called “Rasta mango meets the pub spud,” and this new book, How the Irish Invented the Potato Smoothie, takes you right into all the key moments in the evolution of the potato smoothie.  You’ll learn how ravers in Northern Ireland met with Irish Rastafarians for one incredibly-consequential afternoon at Jamba McGillicutty’s Juice in downtown Dublin, when that first potato was put in a blender and suddenly, Everything changed.

“The potato smoothie rage is fascinating as a social movement and a cultural phenomenon.  The book offers a sweeping understanding of the unseen forces at work that went into that first potato smoothie, as well as a few basic recipes to get you started making your own.  I can’t recommend this book enough!”  —Professor Ari Laxt, Idaho Tech University

And now, coming soon: How the Irish Invented the Potato Smoothie, The Movie, starring Arnold Schwartzenegger as Jamba McGuillicutty and Angelina Jolie in the role of Little Spud Rasta.

***

How the Irish Invented the Potato Smoothie was recently named the 2007 Winner of the Potato Book of the Year by the Urban Potato Council and their ongoing P.I.M.P. (Please, Ingest More Potatoes) initiative, which would like to take this opportunity to say:

Please, Ingest More Potatoes. 

Cross-Site Pimping Solves Death-Threat Placement Woes

I was really upset about getting my first death threat blog comment last week.   I mean, it was a perfectly good death threat and completely legitimate — I promise you I didn’t send it to myself.  What irked me was where my would-be assassin chose to place the threat — hidden away on some obscure page on my cat blog.  Who was ever going to see it there? 

So there I was, the recipient of a perfectly fine death threat, all the proof I needed that finally I was somebody, and I had to let it pend for days and days, wondering what to do about this little matter of context. 

During this same period, as it happens, it came to my attention that I hadn’t been properly cross-pimping my blogs.  For all I knew, there could cats looking for help at Bad Apple, and at the same time, some real rotters trying to figure out life over at Self Help for Cats, when what each of these fools folks needed was me to properly cross-pimp, and set everything straight.

So, brilliant readers, I’m sure you see where this is going…  I’m placing my first death threat below, along with a little response to it I came up with all by myself.  And if you happen to be a cat, or know one, you probably should get over to Self Help for Cats, but please return here to Bad Apple to leave any death threats — if you don’t mind.

So here it is, my very first death threat:

STEVEN ERICK | nukesubmariner@hotmail.com | PresidentoftheUnitedStates | IP: 205.188.117.73

YOU ARE GOING TO DIE IMMEDIATELY IF NOT SOONER BY THIS GOVERNMENT FOR DEVIL WORSHIP AND STEALING CATS TO SELL IN INDIA…YOU ARE IN VERY BIG TROUBLE ***********************

And here is Bad Apple’s response:

Dear Steve,

Thanks for taking the time to send me my first death threat.  I didn’t expect it so soon in my career, but I promise not to let this early show of success go to my head.

Steve, first of all, was that an attempt at humor when you said ”immediately if not sooner”?  If so — good one!  Second of all, Steve, where did you get the idea I worship the Devil?  I never mentioned that. 

Steve, the part about stealing cats to sell in India — I didn’t find that funny one bit.  And in fact, I plan to look into it, Steve, and if I find out you’ve been stealing cats to sell in India then you are going to be in seriously deep yogurt, mister.

Finally, Steve, one last request: Please try to consider where you place the death threat on the site when you leave a death threat.  Context is everything, man.  I’m just trying to be helpful, so don’t bite my head off and please STOP SHOUTING!

Sincerely,

Bad Apple

Cannibal Chicken Stories for Cannibal Chickens’ Souls

Here’s a few samples from the new book, Chicken Soup for the Cannibal Chicken’s Soul, previously announced here on Bad Apple.

It started with a disgarded McNugget, the cruel one threw it and laughed when I ate it.  I didn’t understand then.  I was eating my own kind.  And boy, did it taste good…. –by Never Looked Back

Here’s part of a piece we call “Pecky’s Story”

I was a mean kid. I’d peck and peck at my mates, until one day they found a KFC drumstick and locked me in a coop with it alone until I ate it.  They thought it would teach me something — it did: to crave KFC like nothing else…

From the chapter on Groups:

I was in a gang of chickens, we’d hang out in back of Pollo Loco.  We were sick freaks, we’d intimidate the staff into giving up some of that barbequed chicken. They’d throw it out the door and we’d tear into it like a pack of hyenas. Yeah, those were the days…. –by Tito

Of course, the chickens in the chicken commercials are the ultimate chicken cannibals, so of course there’s a chapter by one of them.  Carl the Commercial Chicken writes:

I know it’s a little wierd, me being a chicken and making a bundle off of dead chickens.  But it’s not that wierd, really, because, well, it’s only chicken! So who cares? You eat chicken, I eat chicken.  I sell chicken.  I am a chicken.  So what?  It’s all good….

Today it’s harder than ever to be a chicken cannibal, so please be nice to chicken cannibals and please buy this book, a portion of which will go to chicken cannibal rehabilitation.

 ***

And Now, Coming Soon! A New Title from Bad Apple Books:

The Penis-Growth Marketers Guide to Penis-Growth Marketing

Learn the ins and outs of the expanding Penis-Growth field and you, too, can get ahead — whether you are just starting out in Penis-Growth or an old pro boning up on the hottest trends. Don’t miss this instant classic about an exciting thrill zone of rising opportunity that promises not to climax for years to come.