I'd Like To Teach The World To Sing In Perfect Harmony
I'd like to thank everyone for participating in my little experiment yesterday. All your hard work and diligence in visiting the Onion, a website I'm sure most of you were going to visit anyway, to prove my doubts true and thus crush my spirit were inspiring. Or would have been if I weren't also experiencing the spirit-crushing thing at the exact same time.

But that's what I get for daring to hope. The rest of the stuff I said yesterday about mullets and comedians still stand, though. There's such thing as objective truth.

What I did learn yesterday, something I'd long suspected but could never prove, is this: the Onion is watching me.

It knows where I live and tailors its advertising schema to tantalize me personally. It also steals my ideas (and then, just to twist the knife, develops them into things funnier than I could write) even before I know I had them, but I don't see how there's anything I can do about that. I'm not even sure how they do it. Something to do with WiFi or Microsoft or some such. But if you're going to use Internet Explorer, having your nascent thoughts stolen from inside your head is the risk you take.

Just so the Onion knows, if they're going to go through all the trouble to poach from my brain and develop Pops-specific advertising, they should consider more nudity. Female nudity preferably, though I'll admit naked man-parts would get my attention as well. As much as I hate to say it, giant cock is hard to ignore when you're trying to read. I know, I used to live in a dorm. Then all they'd have to do is splay DRINK COKE across the length of it and they'd have something.

Sure, I'd write letters of complaint, make angry phone calls, e-mail my congressman, but it wouldn't matter. The advertisers will have already won. The message will have been delivered, no matter how shocking the medium or associated imagery. I will have no choice to obey. Before you know it, I'll be buying Coke by the pallet and pouring all down the front of my pants.

Wow. That was quite a tangent. What was I saying before I started all this potty talk? Oh yeah, I was thanking people.

Besides Bucketeers new and old who participated in the quest to make me cry yesterday, I would like to thank those of you who answered the call and linked the Bucket to your own blogs in the last week or so. Again, somehow I was able to broadcast my thoughts. The mental anguish of un-linking was transmitted and received, resulting in a little flurry of new links from the latest generation of Bucketeers-In-Training. KZ's (Not So) Little Feat, the Mayor of Fist City, Swayer the Player and Synaptic Sync are all either new links or old links I just now noticed and reciprocated because Technorati sucks and is slow.

And now that I've driven you all away with my vulgarity and frivolous use of the word "cock," I'll say thanks for stopping by. You will be missed.

And I guess I should also mention Kati because if I don't mention her directly, she gets all pissy, calls me "boring" and then disappears for weeks at a time. Sure, maybe she just gets busy, but I can't take the chance.

OK, is that everyone? Is everybody freakin' happy now?

How do you chart something like this on a Narcissus Scale? It was mostly not about me, but then it was all internal blog business that would be sure to both alienate and bore someone who wandered in from outside. So in that sense, it's entirely self-referential. But then I did preview for new readers the level of ass-kissing they are likely to experience should they make the effort to keep reading. So that part wasn't all self-interest. Just mostly. OK, all of it.

Except for that Coke penis thing. Like I said before, there is such thing as objective truth.

So:

This post on the Narcissus Scale: 5.1


Pops
- posted by Pops @ 9:37 AM