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.