BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

THE PUF REPORT: Part 1 of 5

Some of you may have actually “friended up” with E K on Facebook. To you I say, “What in the hell were you thinking?!” I mean, after all, I warned you. I have cited examples, explained, warned, waved flags… But, did you listen? No. So, as far as I’m concerned you have no one to blame but yourselves. If you willingly walked into the web of the evil redhead, well… All I can say is, told ya’ so…

Anywho… Those of you who were silly enough to end up pinned to the wall like a butterfly in her personal collection have likely already seen this next bit of text. For those of you who were smart enough to not end up in her killing jar, firstly, good on ya! Secondly, here’s the text in question:

Now, as you can see, this was her status on May 27. The following morning we were set to leave for PUF (Pagan Unity Festival) in Burns, TN. This is an event where I have been presenting workshops and signing books every year since 2001. In fact, I have even been told that if I die prematurely, they will dig me up and bring me to Tennessee so that I will always be at PUF. It seems that much like the brewers of Guinness and the bit of real estate where the brewery is located, PUF also has a 999 year lease on me. Fortunately, I don’t mind. 🙂

But, back to our story… Also as noted in that status update there is a little winky face behind the bit about Johnathan getting pouty. Johnathan, by the way, is a very good friend of ours. We’ve known him almost forever… As in, ever since he was a snot nosed, skater punk kid. He’s grown up with a kid of his own now, so that should give you an idea on “forever”. He’s also a fantastic artist who is responsible for the covers of my books. Yeah… I am one of the fortunate few authors out there who is friends with his cover artist. Makes life a bit easier when it comes to collaborating on the vision for the artwork. However, the long and short of the deal is this – Johnathan always accompanies us to PUF. He has for several years now. In fact, he is even considered a part of the PUF Staff now.

And, so our story begins…

Friend or not, E K will not pass up a chance to torture a male member of the species, whether physically or psychologically. Usually it’s both, but since we were short on space in the van she didn’t pack any of her prized instruments of the inquisition. Of course, this didn’t preclude her from invoking her psychological ops.

And, it all began with a winky face.

Now, for you to properly understand the depth of this torture, there are some things of which you need to be aware. To start with, Nicky’s BBQ is in Clinton, KY, not terribly far from the small town of Fulton. It has been around somewhere near the edge of forever. They fix real, honest to goodness, BBQ pork shoulder. Now, when I say BBQ, I mean BBQ. Not some grilled meat with some sickly sweet sauce globbed all over it. I mean slow smoked pork shoulder that has cooked forever and a day over a low, wood fire. Then is pulled apart (hence the term pulled pork), maybe chopped a bit, and served with coleslaw, tater salad, beans, and a couple of slices of bread. If sauce is a necessity, one begins with a liberal dash of Tobasco or Louisiana Hot, followed by a few squirts of a good ‘ol vinegar and pepper based nectar. Of course, this is all served on a paper plate and eaten with a plastic fork.

To anyone from Kentucky, and other parts South, this is heaven on a plate.

As you know, I am originally from Kentucky. ‘Nuff said.

Now, while there are many, many BBQ places dotting the countryside, Nicky’s is one from my youth. As I said, it has been around since the edge of forever. I can remember it way back into my childhood. Of course, being one who likes to share, I introduced my family – and Johnathan – to this oasis of pulled pork on Highway 51.

But, back to E Kay’s evilness…

The reality of the matter is this: the route to Burns, Tennessee does not actually include Clinton, Kentucky. In fact, to go to Nicky’s takes us better than an hour out of our way. This usually isn’t a problem, however, due to the fact that I still have family in Fulton, and we make it a point to take the detour and visit for a bit. And, since we are usually heading down 51 right about lunchtime, Nicky’s is the preferred stop.

Not only that, Johnathan has pretty much come to anticipate it. Much like Pavlov’s dogs, as soon as the trip to PUF is mentioned, he begins to salivate and the first thing he says is, “Are we stopping at Nicky’s?”

E K, being Satan incarnate in a pair of stilettos, usually just smirks and says, “Maybe. What’s in it for me?”

When the actual day of departure draws closer, Johnathan begins babbling incoherently about “pulled pork” and “vinegar BBQ sauce”. His ramblings are overtly punctuated by the word, “Nicky’s” followed by a maniacal cackle. Truth be told, he sounds kind of like Beavis and Butthead on a mission to get BBQ.

E K, of course, continues to torture him with “Maybe’s” and “I dunno’s” right up until we cross the bridge into Kenucky, right there at Cairo, Illinois. You see, that’s pretty much a dead giveaway that we are aiming ourselves for Fulton with reckless abandon. Once we pass by the paper mill at Wickliffe, well then, it’s pretty much a foregone conclusion that Nicky’s is on the menu.

This year, however, my kin had funeral to attend on the day we were passing through. Since timing was everything, we weren’t exactly sure if we would continue on through Fulton, or continuing on. E K, again being evil and all, couldn’t resist getting Johnathan under her heel and twisting it just a bit. At each T intersection she would announce that perhaps we should circumvent the backroads and hit the highway. She would even feign turns in the complete opposite direction of Fulton, all while watching poor Johnathan in the rear view mirror.

The poor bastard started with yelping, “Nicky’s?!” repeatedly, and before long was shaking uncontrollably and mumbling about pulled pork. With each intentional but aborted wrong turn, his anxiety grew and E Kay’s grin widened. By the time we were finally cruising down 51, Johnathan was on the floorboards in the back, curled into a ball and mumbling, “N-n-n-niiiiccckkkky’s… N-n-n-niiiiccckkkky’s…”

At the last minute, the evil redhead whipped the van into the small parking lot of the whitewashed block building, then kicked a blithering Johnathan out onto the pavement. Feeling sorry for him I helped him in the door and to the lunch counter where we placed our orders. Fearing the inherent cruelness of the redhead, Johnathan not only ordered the BBQ plate like usual, but also a pound of pulled pork to go – with extra sauce on the side.

Adding insult to injury, E K kept reaching over and swiping his plate before  his fork could touch it. She would cackle and grin, he would get all teary eyed and plead with her. When all was said and done and she allowed him to eat in relative peace, the poor guy shoveled it in so fast he ended up looking like a toddler who’d had spaghetti for the first time. Pork bits were stuck to his face with a swath of vinegar based BBQ sauce. Potato salad was in his hair, and coleslaw was all over his shirt. He was backed into a corner, clutching a plastic fork and watching E K like trapped prey watches the predator that is about to make it into dinner.

We finally coaxed him out, hosed him off, and managed to calm him down. It took some doing, but I finally got him to leave Nicky’s with the pound of pulled pork hugged tightly in his arms. In an attempt to reverse some of the damage, I offered to take a picture of him next to the Nicky’s sign.

I’m sure Johnathan has a copy of this framed and hanging on his wall. He might even have a smaller one in his wallet to take out and look at throughout the day as he anticipates next year’s excursion.

E K, on the other hand, is already plotting to tell him they moved and left no forwarding address.

More to come…

Murv

Next installment in THE PUF REPORT: Part 2 of 5 – Where’s Kat?

“Tits!…Why… There must be 57 tits up there.”

Back in the days of vinyl record albums containing recorded concerts of such funny folk as Richard Pryor, George Carlin, and Robin Williams, there was also Steve Martin. Mister Martin is arguably one of the funniest people of the late 70’s / early 80’s, and is still insanely hilarious to this day, albeit with a different bent to his humor. In case you haven’t done the math just yet, the line about “tits” was from one of his comedy routines – quite obviously the “odd number” being the major component of the punch line.

And, of course, this brings me around to what I am really here to talk about – that being, web marketing. You see, targeted web marketing has become the big thing over the past few years. These days data aggregators look at your searches, the personal info that you’ve put out there, and everything else they can glean from your time spent on the Internet, and  then proceed to customize a barrage of ads specifically for you.

However, sometimes their aim is a bit off – as is the case with this odd number of tits on my screen. Not that there is actually an odd number of breasts, mind you. Just that it is odd that there is any number of them on my screen whatsoever. You see, some of the really major culprits where targeted web ads are concerned happens to be the sidebars of social networking sites. In the case of “Myspank” they tend to get really obnoxious. I can’t count the number of times I’ve been approving friend requests, only to have an embedded shockwave-flash video of some twenty something cutie giggling and smiling at me as she ostensibly carries on a chatroom-esque conversation with yours truly. Problem is, I can’t see what she’s supposedly saying to me… However, my also unseen replies must be pretty damned witty, because she giggles a lot and makes bedroom eyes at me. Too bad I’m old enough to be her father. If I was a hormonal twenty-something single guy, I might be flattered. If I was a hormonal teenage guy, well hell, I’d fall for it in a heartbeat. But, the fact of the matter is none of the cuties they’ve paired with my profile to date can hold a candle to E K, so it’s a moot point. (Just for the record, she didn’t make me say that… This time, anyway.)

However, lately, even though I’m listed as married, the web marketers of the Myspank platform seem to be under the impression that I am single. Either that, or they know something about my marriage that I don’t. Obviously, this is where the “tits” come in.

As you can see, thus far they have actually managed to keep the breasts to an even number. However, for fear that I might become bored with the same pair of “tits” in my face repeatedly – see, I told you they knew nothing about marriage – they have made sure they have a bevy of busty young things arching their backs through various chest thrusting, cleavage revealing, shirt stretching poses. And, all of this appears to be for the express purpose of getting me to join a service that would let me hook up with “Local Singles”.

Interesting…

I mean, what with it being targeted marketing and all, they should already know I’m married. So, if they are trying to tease me into being unfaithful, why in the hell would I care if the other party is single? Just something to consider…know what I mean?

Of course, that’s not even the half of it. Just have a look. Based on the photos they keep pushing at me, it would seem more like they were advertising doubles, not singles. Pairs, not Aces. But, I guess that’s all just a matter of semantics, eh? But, even if we follow their logic, the fact of the matter is, I don’t feel like I’m looking at “singles”… I feel like I’m looking at the public teaser images for a porn site. Either that or an advertisement for brassieres.

And, on the note of targeting the marketing… Since all manner of aggregating bots pick up all sorts of keywords and such from my blogs, text entries, and what have you on the web, it would seem they might have run across the fact that I’m not really a “boob guy” at some point. I’m thinking they’d be better off trying to tempt me with a shapely set of gams…

But hey, maybe they know what I like better than I do. Maybe “tits” will grow on me… But, let’s hope not.

Now, don’t get me wrong. All of the ladies they have paraded across my screen are perfectly lovely. And, in the endowment department they definitely aren’t lacking by any stretch of the imagination. I’m fairly certain they have a good bit of the alphabet covered.  In fact, a couple of them look to me like they would benefit from a lifetime supply of Doan’s Pills. (For the younger crowd out there, Doan’s Pills are a pain reliever that was originally marketed for backaches. They are still around these days, but they don’t seem to be advertised anywhere near as much as they were in the past.)

But, you know, the thing that gets me the most about these particular ads isn’t even their frequency – which is high. And, when I say high I mean, as in at least every other refresh, and often times even more. Nor is it the fact that undoubtedly not a single one of the ladies pictured have anything at all to do with this supposed “singles meeting service”. Nope. Even as disturbing in a sense as all that is, it’s not the real kicker.

I mean, let’s face the facts, in 5 minutes on “Myspank” I end up seeing more “tits” than if I spent all afternoon with a copy of “Big Busted Babes,” “Melons On Parade,” or some other breast-centric porn magazine, so in reality it gets to be just a bit numbing to the senses.

So, nope, none of the above… The thing that stands out – pun not intended – is the fact that if I don’t click on the ad, which by the way, I never have, they get pushy about it. And, by pushy I don’t mean they show me a model in a push-up bra. They’ve already been doing that, in some cases anyway. Nope, you see, what they do is go out of their way to draw extra attention to the “tits” in question. How? By writing on them, of course. These poor women suddenly become living Goodyear blimps… (I say blimps, and not just blimp, because there are two, and well, you get the idea…)

Anyway, the marketing geniuses seem to believe that I will somehow get a vicarious thrill by placing the mouse pointer over the two dimensional “tits” and watching it turn into a hand. I suppose if I was a little perverted… Well… Wait… Actually I am a little perverted… In a good way though… But, that’s beside the point… If I was into the whole “boob thing” and I was also just a little off kilter in the braincase… Or a little desperate, I suppose… I guess maybe I could get all excited about moving that virtual hand around a bit before clicking on a strategic location or two. My guess is, that’s exactly what they are going for. Maybe I should do a poll of the 18 to 24 year old males with pages on “Myspank”. I bet they could tell me…

You know, if they are going to all this trouble to get my attention, I almost have to wonder what they are showing the women users when they log on?  And, do they tailor to sexual orientation? I mean, come on… I have lesbian friends who would probably like to see what I’m being targeted with… And, I have gay friends who I suspect would rather see what’s being dished out to the women, if it is in fact what I think it might be.

See, now, in my mind that would be targeted marketing.

Finally, on the note of what the ladies are being shown. Truth is, I have no idea. But, if I had to speculate, I figure they are probably seeing some buff guy with a Kielbasa stuffed into his pants… Or maybe a parsnip if the model happens to be a vegan. Of course, I suppose it could just be a pair of socks or some such. But, I really don’t think I have any desire to go looking for a picture in order to figure it out. I’ll let you do that yourself.

In any event, I guess something like that would explain why E K suddenly started spending so much time on “Myspank” as of late…

More to come…

Murv