Presumably Unintentional Hilarities of Capitalism, Chapter Umpteen
I'm guessing these things are all over your internets, too: Obstreperous, occasionally huge or flashy banner ads enticing you to clickthrough and discover how you, too, can receive a fat paycheck from Uncle Barry. Up to $12,000! Big fat cash; no lobbying required! The American Fuckin' Dream, baby!!Anyway, some turd was unsavvy enough to affix his "blog" address to one of them, enabling us to visit without generating any ad revenue for the banner-vampyres. Not exactly entertaining in the classical sense, but as unintentional self-parody, it rivals even the sloppiest juggalo myspace affairs. So if you find yourself incredibly bored or at work, check this thing out and cry a river for poor fireman Jeff. Relax, and blindly trust him because he hates all those "get rich quick schemes you see on TV." Don't miss the clearly uncontrived "comments" at the end. And check out his photographic evidence of family-mandom!
[To all such Jeffs, on behalf of anyone familiar with the phrase "snake oil": Please step away from your computer and resume fighting fires. We'll all be better off for it later.]
Labels: Barry O, crapitalism, fake plastic kids
posted by meatcoat @ 2:17 PM
2 Comments:
"jeff, you dick: it took 2-3 weeks, not fucking one... but yes, i did get a check for ten trillion dollars."
i am reminded of the Great Matthew Lesko, who circa 2004-2005 was served weekly by St. Duncsalot at his D.C. Man-bar, and actually wore a different question-mark-encrusted suit daily. and drove a question mark car.
i haveta ask: did mr. lesko regularly dine and dash, or was it his bag to find a different food-preparation detail to complain about each time, thusly earning a completely legitimate free meal at every corner, just steps ahead of those evil restarauteurs?
and does he speak only in riddles?
see: poor fireman jeff just doesn't get it. a plastic fisherkid might be amusing, but it's no riddlermobile. we just want him to shut up.
i suppose this is the standard lament of those growing old, watching the world grow ever more crass and soulless... but with latenight broadcast teevee on the verge of extinction, shitty banner ads will be the only refuge of our bold latterday snake-oilmen. another poopy daub on the once fascinating crumpled toiletpaper mosaic that is our mass media.
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