Original humor & comedy articles daily weblog

I Sold My Soul for a Buck Oh Nine

The more dedicated readers of this site — that is, those three of you who’ve managed to read this far into a post, ever — may have noticed that I recently implemented Google AdSense for the blog. You intrepid souls may also be wondering: why? Does he really think he can make money from this nonsense? Has he finally exhausted all other obvious ways to annoy us? Is he finally jumping on the ad bandwagon, only six years after everyone else?

Ah, pesky reader — so many questions you have. The answers, of course, are ‘because‘, ‘not particularly‘, ‘probably‘, and ‘shut up, I’ve been busy, you insufferable blowhard‘. But not necessarily in that order.

Honestly, I hooked up with AdSense for the same reason I do most things in life these days. It’s why I write here, every day that I can. Why I jot down the first ideas I have in the morning, why I read the weekend police blotter, and why I call my wife ‘Slickypants‘ when she least expects it — because I want to be a better writer.

(And what better way than practicing drivel, capturing new drivel, reading about sordid drivel, and… well, I don’t really have a good reason for ‘Slickypants‘. I just think it’s kind of hot, when you think about it.

Also, lots of good writers have stories about sleeping in the guest bed, right? Right?!)

Anyway, here’s the deal — I’ve determined that I want one of these things. What is it? It’s essentially a portable keyboard / word processor, which runs PalmOS, works for twenty-plus hours on battery power, starts up in a split second, and talks via WiFi to other computers. It’s also causing a little bit of tenting in my pants right now, just typing about it. Also? It’s four hundred bucks, plus change.

So much for the tenting. Say goodbye to the peepee teepee, folks. Four hundred bucks is a bundle of bread.

Now, chances are I could find a way to buy my new toy. I could raid the piggy bank, or collect cans, or turn tricks behind the dumpster at the local Dunkin Donuts. Again. But I’ve decided not to. This time, I’m putting my little foot down and drawing a line in the sand. If I want something for blogging, then confound it, blogging’s going to pay for it. Blogging’s been hanging out at my place for too long, sinking its ass into my couch and eating all the Chee-tos. Time for blogging to put in a little frigging work around here.

Hence the ads. I don’t know that they’re going to amount to anything — although, encouragingly enough, I’ve accumulated a full $1.09 since implementing the things on Saturday night. That’s a buck oh nine, people. That’s an average of more than a dollar per since-Saturday-night!

(No, no, dear — don’t try to follow the math. I’m a trained professional over here. Just trust me.)

So, at this rate, I’ll be able to buy my sweet new precious in… well, let’s see — carry the one, multiply by a person’s average lifespan, add six weeks for shipping — yes, in approximately practically never, that’s when. But hey, at least now I’m trying. If any of you other smartypants types of internet moguls know how to generate cash on the internet without a pyramid scheme or a perky set ot tatas, I’d love to hear it. Because I am not going to jail for a fancy keyboard, and I’ve already started to sag — so my options are limited at this point. Help a droopy brother out, would ya?

Tell you what — I’ll even give you an (outrageously dubious) incentive to help me out: if I ever scrape enough fundage together to buy my new toy, I’m pledging now to use it to blog every single day for an entire year. Three hundred and sixty-five big ones, people, and not a day missed. All it takes is a revenue stream that works faster than fricking teutonics, and all of this drivel — and much, much more — could be yours for the perusing. Kinda gets you all tenty in the pants yourselves, dunnit? Ladies?

In the meantime, we’ll dance to our current tune. I’ll jot down a few hundred words when I’m home, at the computer, and not immersed in work or play or nonsense of some kind. And I’ll just wish that I could connect with you while I’m sitting in a meeting at work, or stopped at a long red light, or twiddling my thumbs idly on the john. Because those are the moments when inspiration strikes, people — and often by the time the meeting ends, or the light turns, or my legs fall asleep and I lurch forward with my pants around my ankles, the moment has passed. Those are posts lost to the wind, and I want to make sure such a travesty will never, ever happen again. Won’t you help me?