Selling In

I can't buy in anymore.  The plan is flawed.  It's flawed.

Google owns this site that I post the Studly Pastures to.  And for the last three years they promised me funding by posting ads on my Studly Pastures.  And after three years, and 60 blog posts of hilarious banter, I have earned sixty cents...and counting.

Obviously if I were in this for the money, I would have to be pretty stupid.  Right?  Rhetorical question.  Don't answer it.

So Google informs me today that there is another nifty application I can add to my blog to make money.  Basically, it works like this:

Say for example, I like to be really witty, especially on social media sites, because that's where I get my rocks off.  So I have a really funny Facebook status one day.  Something like, "Hey guys, just wanted to let you know that I'm only kitten around!", and that would be followed by a picture of me and some kitten getting at it.  Hilarious!

And then all of a sudden some 'friend' of mine on Facebook is like, "That was a lame pun, you should feel bad about yourself."  Now I'm sitting here in my room, completely empty of light, and I get the notification.  My 'friend' has just dissed me on Facebook.

Oh, I don't Facebookin' think so!

Now my objective is clear: I have to ruin this person's life.  And not just at the physical level, this person has to feel the pain on a META-physical level.  I'm going to have to go old-school on this person.  They will have to suffer the wrath of several meta-physical wraths.  Boo-yah.

So I disappear for a couple of months, like totally off the grid, I'm in some mountains and stuff.  Let's be honest, I'll probably grow a beard, and learn how to whittle.  People at first are like, "Hey, where is he?" and that evolves into a modest search but nothing that can find me.  I'm like the wind.

While I'm up in the mountains, whittling away, I finally reach an epiphany: BOOM! I remember from various Facebook posts that my 'friend' is allergic to peanut butter.  BOOM!

I frantically get to work on an elaborate scheme to inadvertently get my friend killed by peanut butter.  Hours later, I come up with this fool-proof plan that involves gorillas, classical music, and other things not directly related to peanut butter, but still containing the necessary ingredients that he's allergic to.

Finally, the time is ready, and I make my move.  The gorillas descend from the mountains wearing backpacks containing strawberry jelly, like completely filled with strawberry jelly.  It's oozing through the zipper.  Now they're mad that the jelly is leaking onto their backs and someone now has Hell to pay. That someone is the chimpanzees I have sent from the other side of the mountain to meet the gorillas.

While I was training gorillas to carry jelly in backpacks, I was training chimpanzees to carry peanut butter in fanny packs.  And so they now charged toward each other in unadulterated fury that left most of them dead.

The field of battle is riddled with gorillas, chimpanzees, peanut butter, and jelly.  And then, all of a sudden, my Facebook target walks out onto the field, slips in a pile of peanut butter and dies.

Now, if I had said specifically what brand of peanut butter that was and linked to where you could purchase it, Google would have sent me money.

Rest assured, kids.  The Studly Pastures is off the market and will remain off the market until they come and get me and put me in a padded cell.

The Kansas City Shuffle

Well kids, it's November, the red-headed step-child of the calendar year.

Nobody cares about November.  One minute it's Halloween and the next everybody's eyes glaze over and all they care about is Christmas.

Local drug stores replace their candy with decorative balls and garland.  By the way, if you just laughed at the whole 'decorative balls' thing, you are my target audience and I thank you for reading.

But why are we so quick to overlook Thanksgiving?  Or as I like to call it, "Fat Person Christmas."

Granted, Thanksgiving is a holiday that originated under false pretenses that ended in eventual slaughter but all "holidays" are like that.  There's still an Arbor Day while the History Channel airs programs about the logging industry.  And who needs trees, right?

Nobody actually cares about Thanksgiving because of the pilgrims and Indians and all that crap.  In twenty years the Mayflower will be just a brand of seasoning salt instead of a ship.  People care about turkey, stuffing, green bean casserole, and deviled eggs.  I mean that's going to be my menu this year.

And this is no attempt to chastise America for becoming so commercial that we have forsaken what truly matters and that we shouldn't overlook Thanksgiving because we should really be giving thanks.  I'm just as jaded as the rest of you.  I'm a big proponent of my girlfriend waking up really early the day after Thanksgiving and going to buy a sweet flat-screen HDTV.  I buy into the system.  The system works.  The system is good.

But hey, I have a soul too.  I get it.  I understand the overall demeanor of the holiday season.  That's why when the Boy Scouts put a plastic bag on my door handle I will give them all the non-perishable goods that will fit in that tiny satchel.  It helps the needy and it pays my blood oath.  And this year I'm making a pledge to not fill it with all the nastiest soups I can find.  You're welcome, homeless people.

By the way, don't give them soup.  It's like rewarding an employee with a gift card to where they work.  They have it all the time.

Sheesh, this has really taken a turn for the worse.  Maybe we should get to the sports then?

Screw Andrew Luck.  A year ago I was ranting and raving about how he should take his can't miss talents to Miami and now I'm just a bitter old crone wishing he was playing for us.  I don't hate Tannehill, he's a good little Fuzzby, but when Furby waxed the Miami Dolphins poetically this past Sunday I couldn't help but feel that this is exactly what happens in the Twilight Zone.

At least I'm not a Lakers fan.  Watching the collective sports media shit their pants over how poorly the Lakers, a consensus Super Team, have started the season makes me smile.  It's Deja Vu all over again.  People, the Miami Heat went through the same growing pains.  Basketball is not a plug and go sport.  You need time to gel.  When the Holy Trinity of the Miami Heat started 0-2, everybody lost their minds.  Now they are the defending champions.  Relax, Los Angeles, you're still super awesome and stuff.

Alright then, it's time to get personal.  I generally have a big problem with most of the sports writers of America but if David Price doesn't win the AL Cy Young next week you can consider our differences irreconcilable.  Stop looking at just numbers and look at the overall package.  And if you just laughed at  "overall package", we're destined to be together.

Price pitched for one of the worst offensive teams in the league and managed to maintain one of the lowest ERA's in the league and highest win count.  In most of his losses and no decisions it was usually a one-run game.  Let's also mention how dominant he was for a team that was pressing through the stretch.  Back when I was calculating scenarios about how the Rays could make the post-season, I always gave David Price a win--and I was right.  He takes the Cy Young or the whole thing is irrelevant.

Alright kids, I'm out.  I'll be back before Turkey Day but just in case I slip into a coma, have a happy and joyous Fat Person Christmas!