Saturday, April 21, 2012

A Brave New World

(Or How I Learnt to Start Caring and Not Become the Next Peter Q)

My, isn't this recent re-design of the Bloggosphere by Google interesting stuff? With this new layout I feel like I could TAKE ON THE WORLD. It's the kind of abject, hopeless delusion I could do with a lot more of.

...hang, on. It's set my default font to Times New Roman.


(Unholy rage)

Okay, that's better. Let's assume that that choice of a Serif font face was a one-off aberration on the part of the Googlemeisters. I'm truly fascinated by all the graphs, figures and whoozits they have to monitor and record my blog traffic. Presented all to me in easy to digest figures which make it oh-so-quick-'n-easy to see how few people are reading the blog which I had effectively retired anyway. 

But it keeps coming back! I mean, not like a Romero zombie, because that happens at regulated sort of intervals. More like the way The Master comes back, at unexpected turns and in somewhat diminishing form over a long course of years. And, I would wager my balls, enjoys better traffic than the Kyron Mallet Some Guys Who are Young Were Mean to Me and Stuff Take 2 blog (Which, yes Ronny, you can here.)

Google even allow me to see WHAT brilliantly constructed and thought-provoking article of mine that attracts the most critical attention. I know what you're thinking - could it be my loving obituary to the dude who played Mr Humphreys? My glowing review of Journey's End? My homoerotic overtures to Warwick Capper? My translation of the Iliad into Sanskrit and the startling secrets revealed therein? Such a great swathe of topics and cultures I have disseminated that how could any of them...

..oh, wait. It's going to be the porn thing, isn't it?

I suppose it makes perfect sense that me at my most vulgar is the most popular. And, incredibly, it makes Google's top ten results when you search for 'how to get into porn'. I hope this advice is appreciated by the unscrubbed, horny masses who have descended upon it and elevated it to the top of the dross I've been periodically producing for the last five years.

I think I may, in fact, have mildly irritated porn starlet Kiki Vidis by getting so high on the Google results and being so manifestly unconstructive in my advice as well as disparaging to her chosen profession, and arguably my production of Samantha 38G's testimonial as any sort of authoritative say on the matter. 

This much I read from her comment on the page:If you are serious about getting into the Adult Industry in Australia, sign up with

And her highly direct attitude, which is evident when going to her personal homepage. The moment I indicate that I am over 18 (Or pretending to be in the ecstatic hope of some ill-gotten nipple) I am confronted with her spread buttocks and... accouterments in extreme close-up. Well, that's straight to the point if ever I've seen it! I like the cut of her... erm, well. Ahem.

That said, her adult casting page seems to place it's greatest emphasis on Amazonian women who, frankly, have little difficulty accomplishing anything in life. I did find a couple of men with twelve-packs in danger of drowning in ink on her page, though, after a bit of clicking so I must concede that if anyone IS sincere about getting into the industry you could almost certainly do worse than go through her page.

Although one thing that could not escape my notice - 'NO COMMISSIONS' could not be written enough times through the site. Fair enough. Good on Kiki, she must be like the St Francis of Assisi of the porn world, giving so much to others with no gain for herself.. well, hold your horses there before you start a Kickstarter page to get St Kiki canonised because she DOES charge a nearly $600 sign up fee.

Hmm, what could we deduce from a hefty sign up fee and no commissions? Could it be, perhaps, she's far more certain of being able to sign people up than actually get them any work whatsoever? And/or that said work might pay bugger all?

A shrewd reader might deduce that I am simply trying to raise a reaction from the lady herself, in much the same way I inadvertently did with Messrs Alan Stevens, Lawrence Miles, Bernie Fishnotes, and even that most famous of all super-fans, Kyron Mallet. And they would be completely right. If I work on my pulling power it's only a matter of time before I get Barrack Obama himself on this stinking blog!

Also, the title of this blog has become fairly irrelevant as I haven't even got to the point that I was going to write about. And now I'm nearly there I'm not sure how interesting it is. My train of thought seems to have come off the rails somewhere in the pitch dark tunnel it ran into when confronted with Ms Kiki, so I will say one more incoherent piece...

.. last night I completed a survey created to test the theory of most of the internet that the male population who enjoy the un-Godly cute series My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic pictured below...
Sweet mother of mercy...

..must be the most mentally fucked-up people on the planet. Results so far, however, are that those who do enjoy the show such as (ahem) myself are IN NO WAY DIFFERENT FROM THE GENERAL POPULATION. Whether that comforts you ("So they AREN'T all violent pedophiles") or simply makes you more scared ("You mean they could be here? Here on this street, around me and I WOULDN'T EVEN KNOW???") is up to you, but I believe at the least that my entry into the quiz will push it a little further into "Totally fucked up" territory. You're welcome.

The surprising thing, among lots of depressing questions about my amount of recent social interaction, number of friends I trust, etcetera, was a large amount of questions regarding spirituality and religious beliefs. One of them, along the lines of "Have you ever felt entirely at peace with the Universe?"

Strangely enough, with all my acknowledged oddities, I have. And with little apparent logic. I felt it today.

As I sat eating a cheap but nourishing kebab outside the shop on a ricketty table, sat upon a grimy street on the edge of a busy road, under cloudy skies with a flat can of diet coke, resting my aching Ross River riven knees and reading an unbelievably awful short steampunk story that should never have been published... everything seemed absolutely right. Two wrongs may not make a right, but somehow seven or eight do. 

I am going to say, with no basis whatsoever, today was a good day.

(PS I was talking about her vagina)

(PPS Oh, it didn't actually right in Times New Roman. Well. Fucked up that joke, didn't it?)