Sunday, February 26, 2012

Toot Sweet!

I'm loling.

I just saw an ad for TOMBSTONES on this fucking blog!!

Tombstones!

Because I blogged some famous epitaphs last night.

I noticed the same thing happened when I blogged about that cute site with the IKEAesque stuff.

Their ad popped up on my blog five minutes later.

So this stuff is definitely target-marketed.

Just like when you do a blog post and then on the next (finishing) screen you see a "tie-in" ad to what you just typed--often horrifying if you were joking about some tragic or off-color topic.

It's like having a horrible misunderstanding with a train porter who only speaks German when you only speak English.

You just want to get on and off the fucking train and here's this weird hassle.

That's Google's "suggested" ads.

8 comments:

  1. That's some giggle-inducing target marketing.

    I may have written this already (I'm turning into my grandmother--she used to tell the same anecdotes over and over again. The up side to that is I remember all her cool anecdotes by heart, like the time she met the Kaiser, or the time the tarantula crawled under the table with her when she was eavesdropping on her parents).

    I've been thinking that my tombstone ought to read "Here lies Amy: she was a puzzling case." Which is what the ER doctor called me.

    Though I'm more of a donate-my-body-to-science type of person.

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  2. "Puzzling case" is such a confidence-giving phrase when doctors speak it, isn't it?

    I think that Moliere play does a pretty good job of being the be-all, end-all statement on doctors--what they're good for and what they're not.

    I think it's cool your Gramma met the Kaiser.

    I imagine him always wearing that funny spiked helmet. Like even at the dinner table.

    I guess it would be useful if a giant bird suddenly fell from the sky and impaled itself there.

    Because, he'd, like have dinner.

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    1. "Doctors pour drugs of which they know little, to cure diseases of which they know less, into patients of whom they know nothing."
      That's pretty much my medical history in a nutshell.

      Re: the spiked helmet--I looked it up--that's the word of the day today--"pickelhaube."

      The day she met the Kaiser, Granny was no more than three. Everyone in town had turned out to see the Kaiser ride by. Little Granny had wandered away from her mother to get a closer look, and he had her brought to him as he sat on his horse. He asked if she liked his shiny medals (she remembered being quite dazzled at the sight). Her mother thought she would get into trouble for allowing her child to wander off (Granny was the youngest of eight--her mother probably had her hands full), but the Kaiser merely complimented her on her beautiful little girl and rode on.

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  3. I think when I die I wanna donate my body to a horror movie.

    Finally, someone can tell those kids to shut up when they yell "That's so fake!!"

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    1. That's the coolest idea I've heard in a long time. Probably extremely illegal, and I don't approve of actually doing that, but I approve of the idea if that makes sense.

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  4. What a great word! I hope I don't forget it tomorrow. Because I want to work it into some fiction somewhere. In fact, I'll repeat it often. Because it will only get funnier each time. It reminds me of Mel Brooks threatening to tell on the guy who called the Fuhrer...a...a...pickle! He could have played it off by saying he was just talking about his wonderful Pickelhaube. But then I guess Hitler never wore one of those. I'd have to Google image search but I think the military fashion had passed. Good thing he didn't eat her. I think the Kaiser is generally seen as more civilized than later German leaders. Wasn't he intimately related to English royalty---hell, they were all connected by blood. Even the Romanovs weren't that far removed from the British royal bloodlines, most were cousins or second cousins it seems to me. Greece. Netherlands. Everywhere. I suppose someone could do a funny YouTube video talking too fast showing you the interrelationships of all the European royal houses of the time. I prefer House of Gaga myself. I was joking about the horror body donation. I might, however, allow someone to grind me up and feed me to stray cats. But they would have to promise it would be the stray cats of Steelton. Gosh, I hope no SAW type minds read this. Because I don't want to wake up tomorrow facing a grinder and a little even puppet with Maori spirals on his face riding a bicycle.

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    1. The Kaiser was Queen Victoria's grandson. Tsar Nicholas II was his first cousin, but he wasn't Victoria's grandson, he was a distant cousin or something. But yeah, a tangled web, all those family trees.

      I don't really think the whole horror movie thing is a good idea, just a cool idea.

      There's a Tibetan practice called sky burial in which one is sliced open a bit and left out as food for predatory birds. Even the bones are later ground up into food for crows and hawks. I like the idea. Having a burial site and a gravestone is neat and all, but it's not as if we really need the space anymore.

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  5. Mr. Mojo Risin wanted a death like that. Which album was that he rhapsodized about being left in the forest for the animals to eat? I think it was on An American Prayer. I miss that album. Now I have the Ghost Song playing in my head...the monologue...

    I've heard a lot of rock stars have weird fantasies involving violence done to their bodies after death.

    I'm just joking.

    Although, when you think back what Irish wakes were like...they genuinely did lift the corpse out of the coffin and dance around the room with him or her.

    But that involved imbibing enough alcohol to render the mourners insenstive to pain, decorum and send them into a joyful tizzy of a death dance.

    But then that weirdly reminds me of the accounts of people dancing in plague-time, during the Black Death, which I don't think involved alcohol always.

    So maybe extreme panic can breed spontaneous weird motor skill stuff. I've seen people panic dance before. It's probably in our wiring. The tension gets so great the physical expression (however irrational) is needed. So the "joy" is probably misconstrued. Or I'm half-remembering something where the plague dancers might have been engaged in some sort of apotropaic ritual.

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