Sulfuric Lies To Fatglue Yourself
By Bryan May

The deadline was set, and I agreed to meet and exceed expectations.  What good is it to meet expectations, I asked.  Expectations were presented incredulously low, so I felt fortunate to have plenty of room in my excess-to-be.  Excess of me, that’s what I present upon initial exchange, but not always.  It happens on occasion that I am a recoiled fellow, cautious in my speech and cognizant of my every move.  But not always.  Frequently, I will chew gum with foil wrappers and wager that I can eat 30 pretzels in one minute with no water assistance.  And not small pretzels, either.  The ones that crunch-da-munch and are laced with sea salt not from the sea, but from the assembly line.  The assembly line is cranking out better salt than it is truth-tellers, I will say that.  I’ve been here and there when it comes to industries, and I’ve yet to encounter an industry riddled with more liars. 

One of the inherent problems is one always presents their system as infallible and the other party’s system as flawed.  There is no quantifiable success rate, because everything is constantly in flux.  Conversions are the liquid fever that keep us rambling and corrupt our minds.  “It’s the Internet, there are going to be inconsistencies,” one of my advertisers told me a few months back.  That response bothered me at first, but the more I thought about it, the more reasonable an argument it became.  This industry is still in its initial stages, in essence.  If you compare it to the other highly lucrative industries, that is.  “Rudimentary” and “internet” do not seem interchangeable, because the vast highway of information is still perceived as overwhelmingly expansive and a model of infinite proportion.  I agree, that it is a model of infinite proportion, but the proportions are being shrunk weekly when I have to take you to $1.10, then $1.15, then $1.20, then… people are getting WHAT rate?  LIARS!!

Now then, I offered affiliates a crisp $100 bill out of MY pocket delivered to THEIR doorstep if they were the first one to deliver 200 leads to our new “exclusive” cash offer.  No one put the steam on it!  Did you think I was lying to you?  Turns out it wasn’t exclusive.  That bothered me, but there wasn’t exactly lying involved, just miscommunication.  How often does that happen to you?  Five times a week?  Five times a day?  More?  It has gotten to a point where I communicate so much that it has become increasingly frustrating when important aspects, details and elements are not communicated to me.  And yes, aspects, details and elements are three separate entities.  An aspect is a point of view that you could have shared, and maintained a conscious perception of, but chose not to share it out of laziness or apathy.  A detail is something you overlooked because you didn’t really care to explore it to its full capacity.  More or less, you were ignorant.  Which is a blamable offense, but not really.  And an element?  Gold, son.  Gold.  If you get it right.  Get it wrong?  Sulfur.  In your smackin’ eye. 

We were on a trip to Yosemite and my mom and dad bought my brother and I some rocks.  For some reason, that didn’t quite translate correctly.  It wasn’t the exciting leading sentence that I desired.  That said…  we were gallivanting about the Ahwahnee Hotel and my mom came upon an item that adults think would have monumental interest to a couple little kids, when in actuality, it holds zero interest for any little kids.  Maybe it should, but it doesn’t.  The item being a sheet with rocks and their scientific names, along with general classification or “standard” name or whatever may be.  I could investigate further, or maybe send you a screenshot from the shelf of the Ahwahnee gift shop if my explanation is unclear, but who cares.  I’m too fatigued for that anyway.  Ever notice how close the word “fatigue” is to “fatglue?”  “Man, I was gonna handle that broad, but I was too fatglued from the night before when I stayed up through the AM getting this affiliate network biz in order.”  So my sweet mom presented us with the stiff board with pasted rocks [pasted!  Alas, a glue theme!  Let’s see where I can tie in relationships and emotional carnage and life and death and love into the glue motif!  Ok, let’s not].  My brother and I hopped in the car and began to scope our sheets of stones.  “Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me,” Paul whined after I called him “fatboy.”  That’s not my brother I’m talking about.  Paul was this kid I went to elementary with.  He called me, “Bryan Gay,” so I called him, “fatboy.”  He responded with the “sticks and stones” bit, and I retorted, “yeah sticks won’t break your bones, but I will!” and threw a red rubber ball in his face.  Ah, regrets.  What can you do?  Now he has a glass eye.  Just kidding.  It’s plastic.  Just kidding.  Or is that a lie?  No way, jokes don’t count as lies.  Are my Advertisers and Publishers and co-workers and friends joking to me then, is that it?  Nary a lie, many a joke?  I’ll go with it, for now, but Paul’s eye will be watching you closely.  No monkeying with my numbers late at night when the hoot-hoots can be heard.  I have people watching, and the people is me.  Are me.  Ar!  Me be watching.  Army.  I am.

That youngster, my brother, got seatbelted in, and as I sat there buckling myself and holding those big rocks [and thus, grew my affinity], he stuck his nose to the sulfur and inhaled deeply.  “Mommy.  I’m gonna throw up.”  And he did.  All about.  My golden retriever, Anoosh, was in the back, and between the dog hair and the vomit it was a noxious ride back from Yosemite to Los Angeles.  It made it a little better when my dad took one hand off the wheel to unscrew his whiskey cap and pour it on my brother to eliminate the odor a bit.  That’s another joke.  Anyway, give me a call tomorrow and throw a good one my way.  Please do not be insulted if I laugh heartily.  Besides, I’ve never even been to Yosemite, and I’m not tired either.  Never am.

 

 

Bryan Mayy
bmay@emarketmakers.com