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Vomit Ghetto 


Wednesday, July 14, 2004

I've managed to foil the banner ad atop my blog (the part prefaced by the words "the quick spot for your blog - Blogspot - start your own!"). There were times when Google had no idea what ads to pair up with my most recent entries.

More recently, I managed to steer myself into a highbrow marketing ad campaign; my banner ads boasted Hemingwhey and Shakespire.

But tonight - good heavens! - I am shamed! My banner ads have crossed into ignomity: vomit ads!

Exhibit A
Vomiting Info & Treatment
Rader Programs vomiting info & treatment. Programs nationwide.

Exhibit B
Nausea, vomiting
Stomach discomfort, bloating: Novartis studies seeking patients.

And to further heap humiliation on this poor wreck head, Google suggests related searches for "Burger King" and "ghost photos."

The solution is as plain as a penguin stripped of its loincloths. I will henceforth write only of benign subject matter. Disembodied cat voices and silent alarm clocks and melting ice cream cones. Hopefully this remedy, though only addressing the symptoms and not the underlying cause, might supply me with more tasteful banner ads, as befits my status as a high caste mover-and-shaker.

So let me begin.

Once upon a time, there was a disembodied cat voice floating in the mists evaporating from a melted chocolate ice cream cone, an ice cream cone that, having been discarded atop an alarm clock, demolished the delicate mechanisms within the alarm clock, thereby rendering it mute. The disembodied cat voice took it upon itself to replace the sound of the hapless alarm clock and would call out the hours and minutes, even the seconds by which time marched.

However, the cat neglected its self-appointed duties by calling the time at whim. Instead of a consecutive mantra of passing seconds, the disembodied cat voice might call out seven o'clock sharp, followed, ten minutes later, by a one ten. Sometimes the disembodied cat voice might manage to successfully nail it; a thirteen seconds sharply on the heels of a twelve seconds. Even on these occasions, the disembodied cat voice might misplace the hour and minute for hours at a time, making it rather a poor choice as a timepiece and contributing to many missed trams.

Alarmed [sincerest apologies for the preceding word] at its lack of timeliness, the disembodied cat voice grew fainter and fainter still. A shyness similar to that of the mountain gorilla took hold of the poor disembodied cat voice until it stumbled upon the concept of, rather than calling out the time, imitating a mosquito (or ţânţar). Now fortified with the ability to prevent missed tram connections, the disembodied cat voice saved the world.

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