Gonzo Marketing:Winning Through Worst Practices The Bombast Transcripts: Rants and Screeds of RageBoy
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Thursday, January 29, 2004
orkut to the chase
Suddenly I started getting all these calls and emails about something called orkut. What the fuck now, I wondered. A self-mutilating borderline killer whale? An alternative to "shred" or "spindle"? Or just the next whacked out internet experiment in connecting people with such disparate interests, agendas, genders, kognitive fender benders and what have you, that the resulting mental conflagration will approximate those wilden days of yore about two years ago when nights were bold, damsels were less distressing and blogging was still fun. For some of us. The rest know who you are. Or, was it perhaps just another misbegotten fuckbrain scheme to promote the already nauseating whoring after some pathetic measure of "professionalism" by people who were far more appealing before any such notion occurred to them? I am tempted here to quite Lao Tzu, but it would be sacrilegious.

Instead, more in keeping with the Self-Secret Inner Truth of that apocryphal sage, let me briefly recount a conversation Selene and I had last night over a dinner of stuffed shells and salad, which we ate on the floor, mountainous stacks of unpaid bills and way too many books having left us nowhere else to sit. For those of you who may be just now tuning in, Selene is my 13 year old daughter and favorite person to hang out with.

I wondered aloud as to the original derivation of the expression "out the yin-yang." Who do you suppose got that one started, I asked her. We were drinking Glacier Freeze Gatorade with our simple meal, which Selene said she thought quite Nuevo California something, and she blew a pretty good shot of it out her nose at this point. "I mean," I said, "was it all those yin-yang symbols that started showing up all over the place a while back?" As in: "Christ, we got yin-yangs out the yin-yang!" We then debated whether "a while back" was shortly after WWII or when she was in third grade, which was like five years ago. "A lot of those things were showing up back then," she said. It seems all the kids were drawing them on their notebooks and shoes and such.

"So you did have yin-yangs out the yin-yang," I offered.

"Yeah, that was pretty much it," Selene said, being careful not to drink any more Gatorade while this discussion lasted. Which was not that long. After I cleared away the plates, she read aloud one sentence each from about 35 books within easy reach, concluding with a much longer passage from Lynn Andrews' Love and Power. For those of you to whom the name may be unfamiliar, Ms. Andrews is one of America's foremost blonde Aryan shapersons. Marianne Williamson, infamous author of A Return to Love -- based on the delusional channeling of Jesus Christ in the prêt-à-porter psychosis that is A Course in Miracles -- says: "Lynn Andrews helps every woman find a sense of her own importance." Which I found interesting, having known few women not already prepossessed of a superabundant certainty of their own importance. I mean, I guess I never realized the full extent of the problem.

All of which was to be some sort of lead-up to talking about orkut. I guess the largely unconscious (see what writing does to you?) conjunction is the God-Made-Man (to be confused neither with the Self-Made-Man nor the Man-Maid-Self) in both A Course in Miracles and Jesus Christ Vampire Hunter -- a movie I would never have known existed had I not joined the Zombie Survival Tips community on orkut, where I saw it listed in the favorite films section of one Maury De Geofroy's profile.

This is what the internet was made for: knowledge management!

Yes, and I encourage you to go sign yourself up right away. You can do it either here or in the road. Your choice, naturally. My own profile, on which I worked late into last night, is... where? Oh fuck. There seems to be no unique URL for my page. That sucks. Or perhaps I failed to RTFM. Anyway, go to the main page, I suppose, and search for males within five miles of zip code 80305. That's too complicated, I know. But try.

This reminds me of a website called Six Degrees. It disappeared several years ago after I broke it by inviting half the population of Planet Earth to make me their wife, lover, boss, father, brother, sister, repo man, or other intimate. The CEO actually phoned me and said, "Who are you and why are you doing this to us?" He seemed distraught. The answer was, of course, because I could.

And now, sportsfans, you can too. You know what to do.

I wonder if this is an omen. When I logged onto orkut this evening, I got the following...

Today's fortune:
Simplicity of character is the natural result of profound thought.
So, if nothing else, this post should alert you to the fact that profound thought has not been much in evidence around here lately. In fact, I spent nearly the entire day officially joining the underclass. I am trying to be cheerful about it, but I really am in dire desperate horribly fucked up straits, and nothing short of a miracle can save me now. That miracle is you, Valued Reader, clicking the little paypal button to the right and giving me a few bucks. Or a few hundred. (Yes, it has happened.) The latter lucky few will be listed in the Acknowledgements accompanying my next book. And who could resist an offer like that? (yeah, yeah, but don't tell me. let it be a surprise.)

9:04 PM | link |

Wednesday, January 28, 2004
Your Atrophied Brain
try to see it my way...

What is easiest for me is down on all fours with my bare ass up in the air. Imagine me flipping you off between my legs as I expertly play the oboe with my peripatetic nether sphincter. Now imagine being able to shift around and face the opposite direction. Feel free. But watch out you don't break your glasses!

12:39 AM | link |

Tuesday, January 27, 2004
St. Kafka pray for us

cruel & unusual cool & refreshing
Meanwhile, to escape the madness that is my current life, this is where I want to go live when they kick me out of my place here in Boulder. (No, no, not the lethal injection chamber! Though that might have certain advantages, I'll admit. I mean the incredible M.C. Escheresque residence on the right.) Of course, I'll have to forcibly evict the present occupants, but I'm rather looking forward to that. It simply wouldn't do to have the sorts of people who currently live there skulking about while I was doing My Important Work (that being an emphasis-added quote from the Narcissistic Personality Disorder writeup in the Axis II Cluster B section of the DSM-IV. I figure that giving these hosers the boot will help recoup some of my bruised and battered uh... self-esteem.

Fuckin-A lovely library, though, don't you think? Click on the grafik for details.

1:59 AM | link |

"RageBoy: Giving being fucking nuts a good name since 1985."
~D. Weinberger
28 October 2004

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Until a minute ago, I had no photos. I still have no photos to speak of. I don't even have a camera. But all these people were linking to "my photos." It was embarassing. It's still embarassing. But I'm used to that.

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