Friday, April 29, 2011

Marketing in 2012

Internet Marketing Articles | Tinnitus Miracle Review- The Truth behind it

Tinnitus Miracle Review- The Truth behind it

By: Oggy Bleacher

This article is completely regarding Tinnitus Miracle Review and will also teach you what is Tinnitus Miracle along with can they operate in supplying the solution in you. So ahead of going forward it is actually very much needed to understand what is definitely tinnitus? Tinnitus can be a conception of some unwanted sound that will may get reached to the head although absence of any sort of exterior sounding source. The most most of the sound that are being understood usually are humming, ringing or hissing which enters the head making the affected individuals to possess a serious discomfort. According the reports uncovered by American Tinnitus Association promises that practically 50 million men and women in US are undergoing the problems of chronic ringing and as opposed to for pretty much 12 million men and women the indications appears to be getting more painful and therefore are interpreting their routine lifestyle.

As there isn't any proper and also reputable strategy to treating this specific noise perception in the ears, the doctor's generally look forward in enhancing the quality of life and also downsizing the concentration of the sound what they're going through now. Despite the fact that there won't be any treatment folks are wasting a large amount in treatments in undergoing some treatment not knowing whether or not this actually allows or not.

Thomas Coleman an eating plan specialist, medical analyst plus a previous suffer associated with Ringing in the ears Miracle. He have also been wasting along had all kind of medical techniques for many years to remove this issue nevertheless felt exclusively reduced pain and also too for smaller timeframe. So he decided to develop a natural treatment to help cure Tinnitus Miracle completely. His 16 a lot of hardwork and investigation he designed a 250 page e book that could absolutely bring in a conclusion to the Tinnitus Miracle.

I reject many modern economic mechanisms as false and grotesque but I do know how they work. The above semi-gibberish is an example of how things are done these day and why Ayn Rand is an asshole. The choice, as she usually presented it, is not between a rational utopia of Ipad addicted high achievers or naked druids shaking carved sticks in the air at birds. No. That would make the choice easy. What is actually going to happen is the majority of people wading through a flood wave of capitalist bullshit as the planet is plundered and most people just trying to survive by doing the least amount of work possible. Yes, some hippies will eschew technology with some "sub-animal" rationalization, and some capitalists will plunder the retirements of the parents of those hippies with some "super-animal" rationalization. The highs and lows will never change.

Ok, some background....

I have Tinnitus. I pronounced it "Tin-Eye-tis" until I heard William Shatner and other sufferers pronounce it "Tin-ni-tus"
I hear the worst plague of locusts ALL THE TIME IN MY HEAD. No, they haven't started talking to me, but I have started talking to them. "Get out of my head!"
But they won't go away.
I went to an eye ear and nose doctor in Los Angeles and he was a real doctor and this condition as I have it is untreatable. They can attempt to treat it but since I was paying cash and he knew there was no Insurance Bank to withdraw from he sent me off with some useless nasal spray and advice about keeping my ears clean. That's what any doctor would tell you if they couldn't bill Blue Cross a few grand in MRI fees.
So, the noise is getting so bad that I get up a few times a night because I am sure the shower is running at full blast upstairs and flooding the basement. Surely, that sound couldn't be imaginary or in my head. I have yet to be right about the flood.

Now, millions of people are afflicted with this and you probably will be too one day so don't laugh. Some get it from factory work, others get it from military related incidents. Others listen to music loud. Maybe stress causes it. Diet. Etc. It's like Fibromylagia or restless leg syndrome. Anything could cause it and there is no cure.

That's where the smart marketers come in. Snake oil salesmen used to sell whiskey as "cure all". Their only hope was to keep moving so the reviews of their whiskey wouldn't kill their reputations. But how can we do that today when everything is online and reviewed?

Enter "Tinnitus Miracle"
This is the new model of how to use Google, SEO (search engine optimization) and the gullibility of consumers to make some money.

The first step is to pick a big market. 50 million people have Tinnitus. That's a good market.

The next step is to buy as many urls/web domain names as possible.,,,,
buy them and prepare to fill them with content that uses words like "miracle cure of tinnitus" and "fix tinnitus" and "hearing noise in head" etc.
the content must be rich in keywords so google word crawling spiders scan your site and decide that the content pertains 100% to someone who types "Tinnitus cure" into the search engine. (Even though this page now contains these keywords it will probably not appear in the top 400,000 sites because the "relevance" of the site itself and the "occurrence" of the keywords. But one day it will be somewhere in the top million sites. If you search for "Tinnitus makes Oggy Bleacher's life miserable" it'll be number one.)

That's the most important thing: you have to be number 1 in google to make money. You definitely have to be in the top ten.
Ah, but what if you could do such a good job with urls and keywords that you are 1 through 10? What if, now what if, you did such a bang up job and had enough startup investment that you could be the first 50 search return sites for "tinnitus cure"?

Well, I went through 26 pages, at ten sites per page for a total of 260 "separate" sites and found maybe 1 site that was "independent" and gave "independent review" of a book that purports to cure tinnitus. The book is called "Tinnitus Miracle Cure" and it would be better if it were called "How to use Google to make a million dollars and then use the money to get your ears replaced."

I didn't buy the book, but the journey I went on trying to get a review of it showed me how many pitfalls there are out there. The book is probably advice on diet and stress and some sound therapy. Nothing bad, but neither is whiskey bad. Whiskey probably cures coughs for a few hours. Really!
And the most important thing is that since there is no medical consensus on Tinnitus there can be no fraud if you mislead the reader on a cure. It's not like you suggest treating a broken bone with Blueberry incense and a coffee enema. Doing that online would land you in deep trouble...because there is a medical consensus on how to treat a broken bone. Causes and treatment of Tinnitus is total vague, like Fibromyalgia and Christianity, so deception is impossible to prove as long as some viable product is demonstrated. Due-diligence is probably the term the lawyer would repeat. You have to prove you have done research and the product is sold as a result of that research. If you can prove it then you are in good shape. And if you offer a money back guarantee then you are in good shape too.

But to make money, you must dominate the marketplace. Word of mouth only works when the cure actually works. When you are told to reduce stress and watch your salt intake then that's not a cure that will spread like wildfire among Tinnitus sufferers. To dominate the marketplace you have to do something I was shamefully involved in back in the San Fernando Valley...affiliate marketing. This is where you promise to pay someone to promote your site for you. I say "promise" because we fucked over hundreds of affiliate marketers who directed traffic to our site selling frivolous mini motorcycles. Hahahaha.

Now, in the old days of 2004 affiliate marketers were trusted to make their own content, but that led to honesty and integrity so here we are 8 years later and affiliate marketing is another term for "shill" as in, the weak coughing guy in the crowd who limps forward and drinks the whiskey and stops coughing and then does a dance. "It works!"
That's like in the "SAY, SAY SAY" music video with Paul McCartney and Michael Jackson. M.J. is a shill as Sir Paul hawks snake oil. Old trick, new methods.
Today, we have paid reviewers saying the book's methods cured their tinnitus. These guys probably didn't even have a hearing problem let alone get cured by it. Hell, the author of the book itself may not exist.

For instance, the review at the top of this page was from a "Affiliate marketing cafe" site that gives out free content for people who manage their own PPC (pay per click) blogs and web sites. You can make money doing this (five cents a page view, ten cents on a click-through, 10% of any purchases) but not enough to purchase your soul back from google unfortunately. (I just read the free content that drives traffic to a "learn to play guitar" site and it was laugh-out-loud bad. Like the pseudo-informative content above, it is the Capitalist equivalent of Shamanism.*)
They invite you to take the content and paste it on your site. It had another author's name, something like "Robert Blankeship" totally bogus so I put my bogus name on it. But reading the content itself is embarrassing. It was written by an Indian or Sri Lankan? "he designed a 250 page e book that could absolutely bring in a conclusion to the Tinnitus Miracle" Terrible grammar. Not a native speaker. Or maybe a computer generated the review from other computer generated reviews. Or someone used google translate to change it from Urdu to English. Who knows? The whole point of the review is not to inform you about the product but rather to give you content so you can market many products without doing any actual product review. Because you have better things to do with your time than interact with the products you are shilling.

So, this is a warning to consumers that we have entered the next generation of snake oil. google only does what it is programmed to do and if I extend a special offer to "cure your shyness in 5 easy steps" with a money back guarantee and I host 100 sites with "" and "" and throw up content and ways to buy my e-book and I dominate the marketplace, then I will make money. And my point is that when making money becomes the end goal then it will naturally lead to miracle cures saturating the market. Everyone wants a miracle cure. I almost want to buy the book just so I can give it a real review and test it's theories but at $40 I can't afford it today. SO the internet will have to be satisfied with fake snake oil reviews. And I will wear ear phones and ignore the buzzing in both ears.

You've been warned.

*My suspicion is that one person wrote one article and then dozens of people around the world copied into their own language and then translated it with google translate until it because unrecognizable...and thus they completed their assignment of filling the internet with their nonsense and got paid two or three dollars. Congratulations. DO THESE ASSHOLES THINK CYBERSPACE IS PROVIDED BY WIZARDS?

Here's a taste of one of the articles on obituary searches:

"In every person's life, losing someone seems to be one of those occurrences that are so hard to bear. However, that is already given and there's no exemption to that. Aside from that known death of someone, it is also hard to consider someone who has been missing for such a long time to be dead already."

Oggy's translation: The death of a friend is a difficult but inevitable event provided you do not die first. Finding closure is made even more heartbreaking when a person has been missing long enough to be presumed dead. Sure, they might turn up alive but probably not. It is better to write them off and get on with your life. Otherwise, two people have died and not just one. Blah blah blah.

Ponderings of a Broken Man

That would be the title of my syndicated column if I were syndicated and could stand to speak to editors and have my words be "priced". As it is, I have no column and no readers and nothing but a cheap set of pants and a stomach ache from the Jack in the Box tacos I just crammed down my fuzz face. I dropped some on the floor and the dog sniffed and then walked away leaving the crumbs and "taco filling" untouched. What does that say? I've got the toilet penciled in for a meeting tomorrow around noon to one.

Ok, a few things I want to touch on tonight:
Back pain
Resentful children of the future

"The sound of destruction." is how one person in Alabama described a tornado out of God's own handbook for global destruction. I've heard more wind in the past few months than when Rush Limbaugh gets his piglets on an Al Gore press release. Is the end coming? Yes, it's always coming. Hurricanes are something I've lived through, a couple of them and a few ice storms. They were almost all freak events. I almost lost one car to the Galveston 'Cane of 1992. Looking back on my refusal to listen to the news I think I deserved to lose that car but got lucky since the hurricane hit Louisiana. A direct hit would've killed me for sure.

I was bicycling across the country in 1993 and it rained for 32 straight days. From Vermont to Minneapolis. Then it rained a bit more until I got to South Dakota. Then it started to hail. I had lost the ability to stand upright somewhere around Michigan. Anyway, I was crossing the Thunder Basin grassland in Wyoming as pictured here on a nice day.*

Sometime on the second or third day in the never ending grasslands a purple cloud like this one started to approach me and there was nowhere to go.

I mean nowhere to hide.
I pedaled and pedaled hoping to run into a farm house or old garage or Indian reservation but there was nothing...except...what's that in the distance? A grain silo! SAVED!

The storm was approaching with thunder and lightning and my tent would be torn to shreds so I bushwacked across the prairie dog playground and climbed over a barbed wire fence and pulled my bike under it and then went to this rusty old abandoned grain silo. Here's a pic of a silo like the one I foolishly took refuge in.

It would be shelter. I threw my bike in just moments before a wind like God's Angry Howl came from the west and rattled the joints of my pre-arthritic spine. The temperature went from 60 degrees to like 30 degrees in five minutes and I huddled sweaty in my sleeping bag chattering as mice and prairie dogs scurried for shelter. I was nearing hypothermia as my teeth chattered in my Moses beard and I decided in desperation to BUILD A FIRE IN THE SILO. I gathered my newspaper and some corn cobs and sticks that had been blown from Utah and had a fire glowing in seconds. I was warm. Ahhh.....ahhhh.....ahhhhhhssssssshhhhhiiiiittttttttt!

A powerful gust of wind with "the sound of destruction" blew the hinges off the grain silo and, yes, caught the raging bonfire I had just built and SPUN IT IN A TORNADO FROM HELL AROUND ME! I was trapped in a grain silo that was filled with flying fire as an apocalyptic storm raged outside.

I would rank that moment in the Wyoming grain silo as the closest to grave injury I have ever been. It's the reason why I watch some movies and am not very impressed by the danger the characters are put in.

I can still see my reasoning behind all my decisions...but it's safe to say the series of events that led to that moment as I watched the stable fire become airborne and then scald my eyes with glowing embers was very unique. You would probably have to wait at that silo for years if you wanted an identical storm to recreate that moment and it happened to me AS I WAS BICYCLING PAST IT AFTER 4 MONTHS OF PEDALING. If God was watching I'll bet He said, "I didn't see that coming."

I remember seeing the storm in the distance dominating the horizon and really stopping to study my options because it was obviously a storm that destroys things. Tornadoes from Tuscaloosa to Washington D.C.
It reminds me of the Dust Bowl when those who denied it was really serious got together in D.C. AND A DUST CLOUD FROM OKLAHOMA COVERED THE ENTIRE CITY. They stopped denying it. I wonder if these Tornadoes were a wake up call to anyone in D.C. The atmosphere is 4% more humid than normal right now...and 100% more oil saturated.

This leads me to another topic. Resentment. I am resentful. Right? No secret. No news flash. Now isn't the time to itemize my resentments but I will say they aren't anything special. I don't have abnormal resentments, like resenting John Macnamara for LEAVING CALVIN SCHIRALDI IN THE GAME AFTER HE HAD JUST GOTTEN SLAUGHTERED IN THE 9TH INNING. Nope. I...Wait, I am resentful of that. fuck.

My point is that I've been reading a lot of these climate change sites and the rallying cry is usually, "We are leaving a horrible world for our kids. We should be ashamed."
And I've used that argument more than once when I can't seem to find another emotional hangnail to chew on. But when I read other people using that argument I see how flimsy it is. And under further inspection I'm pretty sure it is totally untrue. Yes, throwing away scrap metal or leaving the lights on IS A TOTALLY WASTEFUL ACT AND IS GROTESQUE AND LEADS TO FEWER RESOURCES IN THE FUTURE. Of course. It's undeniable. But to suggest a kid born in ten years will grow up and in 2042 say, "Those motherfuckers back in 2012! They were the worst! SO WASTEFUL! I can't believe they left me this mess. AND THEY KILLED ALL THE ARCTIC WOLVES, THOSE ASSHOLES."

No. That's never going to be said because that kind of resentment isn't real. Not only is an emotionally shaming argument ineffective and spurious, but it's not even true. Future children will simply SOLVE THE PROBLEMS OF THEIR DAY. Yes, if you want to be picky you will be able to point to choices Americans made to develop destructive industries, but those developments will be at the disposal of the children who have no oil or clean rivers. They won't look at the rivers and the climate and sit around speaking ill of us because they will have never known anything different. I'm the only person I know who has bemoaned the loss of the American Bison. And I don't really care about them as much as I care about the experiment in talking about the American Bison at city council meetings. How was I going to write about the mayor's reaction to a plan to reintroduce Bison into the state parks near Santa Cruz UNLESS I PROPOSED A PLAN TO REINTRODUCE BISON? I was doing research.
Now, I'm one out of a trillion who would do something like that. When the polar bear and Arctic wolf, two animals hardly any human has actually seen alive, are finally extinct, it will change nothing to the people of the future because they will not have been concerned with the polar bear or arctic wolf's survival.

"Weren't they already extinct," will probably be the response as someone sips a grande mochachino half-caf in the roasting inferno known as Tropical Toronto.

Furthermore, we are biological events, not philosophical or divine ones which means that life wants to live...not resent the long dead. Like the polar bear and wolf, our eventual extinction will be met with the same indifference by some other life form.

"What? No more humans?" the thing will say. "What about that one in the vacuum chamber? Ahhh, that sucks. Hey, you eating the rest of that?"

As an activist, like Thomas Paine, I hunt for the right combination of words that will A) inspire me to resist the urge to HANG MYSELF and B) entertain others and C) make our world slightly less biological and a little more philosophical. So, that's where a pitiful argument like "Our kids will be so disappointed in us," comes from. It's flawed and untrue. I take my recycling of a few Stag Beer cans and soda pop PAST A DUMPSTER FULL OF RECYCLABLES to a recycling station not because I want to be praised by some dickwad in 40 years but because waste irks me personally. It is contemptuous to the earth and to the Brazilians whose rain forest was cut down to make room for the Pepsi Bottling Plant.

I was going to discuss my latest scoliosis-related back pain but I think you get the picture. Think about that. I deliberately engaged in activities that directly caused me pain then and still cause me immense pain and I don't resent my past self. If I can't resent my own terrible decision then there is no way a kid in 40 years will resent the collectively selfish decisions we're making when we pollute every North American River to get minerals that allow us to text message our pizza delivery guy. Really, it's egotistical to think we'll be considered at all. I read a forum comment the other day that was like, "DELL KNOWS ABOUT THIS FAULTY POWER CORD PROBLEM AND REFUSES TO DO ANYTHING. I'M NEVER BUYING DELL AGAIN!" No humility. We're entitled to these high resource items.
There's a good chance the future kids will look at the cause of all their environmental problems and say, "THIS IPAD SUCKS! IT'S SO SLOW!" and that's as much acknowledgment that we will get. We, the kid's grandfather or grandmother, will be identified through the very technology that caused a 1200 mile swath of tornadoes. Maybe that's my point: You get what you ask for. We want technology and that's what we will become. Your jokes, freckles, frowns and farts will be assimilated into Apple's paradigm until we exist only in digital form. Humanity 1.0. The way I honor my grandparents with anecdotes and trinkets (because they left behind almost no digital trace) will be replaced with virtual shrines. You are creating the memory of yourself right now. Creepy.

*There are no photos of my bike trip, only a moldy journal written in illegible chicken scratch. I borrowed the photos from elsewhere.

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Essay In Progress

The Assassination of Comandante Che Guevara by the Coward Pundit Ayn Rand

This is a study in contrasts between a Cuban revolutionary in 1958 and an American author reaching the height of her powers in 1957 when her novel Atlas Shrugged was published. I will demonstrate that Ayn Rand's influences among economists led to a deadly showdown between in Bolivia in 1967 between the activist El Che and CIA operatives on a Milton Friedman mission to destroy any resistance to their capitalist utopia.

I will also demonstrate that if you were starting a society from scratch and could only choose between Che Guevara and Ayn Rand to join you that there would be only one choice to make if you wanted your society to survive. My essay will demonstrate that Guevara and Rand were mutually exclusive and that because Rand had more influence her existence demanded the execution of Guevara.

The amazing coincidence that these two persons were reaching the apex of self-actualization within the same year is a topic that I will examine closely.

I will also denounce the cowards who continue to spread Rand's vicious, irrational philosophy and declare war on the culture of oppression that dominates America. A list of actions to take such as a moratorium on Rent and Mortgage and Taxes will be discussed in the interest of "forming a more perfect union."

I want to point out that my motivation in writing this essay is purely selfish. Be patient and stay tuned. Remember that only you can prevent bad philosophy.

Monday, April 25, 2011

Warning: Post Easter Rant Dead Ahead

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Sunday, April 24, 2011

Media bashing

"Media is like the weather; man-made weather."
Mickey in Natural Born Killers

"'s incredible potential to improve our lives."
Popular Science Ad

Liquefied Asbestos Ad

The lesson is that there is no miracle in a can and technology is a weapon used to control resources. The opposite of reliance on technology is reliance on each other. Which do you want to develop?

How to Grow Old Laying Ceramic Tile

Here's a video how to for those folks who want to have a floor look like an Italian Basillica. This has been going on for 5 months.

Saturday, April 23, 2011

Terror: Made in China

I have to break my 20 hour silence to explain why the phrase "Made in China", found on every vibrating dildo and gas grill across America, inspires such loathing.

There might be some difference between the Chinese who make shoes and those who trample on a Monk's legs, but I'm going to err on the side of justice and say they are as similar as a guy who sells prescription morphine in California and a guy who sells street grade crack in Baltimore.*

It's a tired and almost boring subject to talk about how the Chinese invaded Tibet to exploit the mountains of their precious plastic to be used in anal beads and metals to be used in cheap scissors. I mean, 60 years of abuse is long enough to say that this is an issue Americans really don't care about. As soon as we were able to fill those gumball machines with fragile plastic jewelery for half as much as before, Tibet's autonomy simply didn't matter.

Walmart didn't exist in 1950 so it can't be held responsible for demanding low cost, crappy stuffed animals and lead-laced action figures; that came later. No, the Chinese had their own reasons for invading Tibet. Maybe they like beating up defenseless monks...which brings me to the story of today.

(I didn't go to CNN** (see previous post) and went to BBC so I'll be regurgitating a new set of liberal agendas for your reading pleasure.)

Prepare yourself to look at Walmart in a whole new light: It seems a Buddhist monk opted for the express route to Nirvana by choosing the Self-immolation method of enlightenment. He lit himself afire to protest the Chinese occupation of Tibet. Yawn! Ho hum. But wait! This is startling, the Chinese police reportedly put the fire out and then beat the monk to death. Why they saved the guy only to kill him is a puzzle I leave open for discussion but that image should be on your mind next time you shop. There's a reason stuff is cheap at Walmart.

CNN wouldn't run that story but would report that Donald Trump lied about his voting record? That omission wouldn't be politically motivated would it? Is Ted Turner jealous of all the attention Trump is getting? I thought news was unbiased!! Har har har.

I went down to the local Walmart to inform shoppers of the larger ramifications of their purchases and was quickly the target of American style gunfire, nearly getting myself set on fire. So, I hope these words find more welcome ears.

Anyway, remember where your iPhone comes from...home of the Monk Beaters. Ha, that sounds like a Country Western band. "Now, direct from Nashville, please put your hands together for...The Monk Beaters!"

If it says, "Made in China" then don't buy it. Live without it so others may simply live.***

This Communist Squirrel asks, "Do you have the "nuts" to boycott Walmart?"

*The difference is that the Special Economic Zones like Shenzhen were set up in exporting areas where our iPhones are assembled from the teeth of Buddhist monks. It's still part of PRC and trading with those monsters is absolutely no different than buying cotton from a Georgia plantation in 1850. Have we become the people Harriet Tubman warned us about? What would Abe Lincoln do?

** CNN did not run this story anywhere on it's home page. I guess a Lady Gaga fan passing out at a concert is more important.

***My fact-checker took the day off so you'll have to trust me on all of this.

**** If you think my tiresome rants are getting out of hand check out this page on why buying from Walmart is leading to WWIII.

Friday, April 22, 2011

Roll up my sleeves

“It takes as much energy to wish as it does to plan.”
—Eleanor Roosevelt

“But I'm from the future...”
—Oggy Bleacher to Canadian Border Police

I gotta say that the comment sections of sites like Adbusters, Ted, the oil drum, etc. are SO MUCH MORE CIVIL than the ones found on cnn and youtube. It's like junk food; everyone knows it's bad for you but we can't get enough. CNN is atrocious. Fox is abominable. Not just politically, but in terms of content. I don't know anyone who actually wants to know that much information about sex crime victims and murderous celebrities and basically food gossip and videos of cats in trees. It's so glossy, like people magazine. The Japan nuclear meltdown quickly found itself on page 2 because two elite Brits are getting married. If I had a button to wipe CNN from the earth I would have to push it. Hell, I'd CTL-ALT-DEL the fuck out of CNN. I should just go to the BBC from now on. Does anyone know an American news outlet that doesn't focus with serial killers and royal weddings? (I just looked at BBC and they were saying that the London 2012 Olympic games might be "the first truly sustainable games ever". Yeah, we're still feeling the effects of those games held in 600 B.C.)

I believe in freedom of speech but CNN is absolute profiteering on tawdry, sensational, localized, useless stories. Repulsive. I'd rather read a full on conspiracy blog about how WWII never happened or how Stephen King murdered John Lennon. At least those people are totally obsessed with their subject to the point they are willing to go broke to get "the truth" out there. God, it's refreshing to find someone who has some idea what freedom of speech means. Ted Turner really deserves his riches because no normal person would think to capitalize on news like a rose grower during wedding season. He's Citizen Kane. CNN actually lures you in a circle of violence and the comments are rabidly evil and inflammatory. I won't even give an example because they are so deadly. I actually shiver when I read some of them because it's so obvious the reader has been caught in a circle of hateful stories and has to vent. We are rats in a cage, that's really the only conclusion I can reach. Rats running after cheese and even the people who think they aren't rats are also rats.

I think my point was that adbusters is sponsoring "digital detox week" and of course I read about it online. I guess the only argument for posting that online is you could say, "we'd put up 2 fliers at the local library but only people who visit that particular library would see it."

Or there's the joke: ever heard about the guy who went on a hunger strike to protest press releases?

Anyway, my feeling is that I don't have anywhere else to get my "Anal teen queen" fix. What's a guy to do?

Seriously, I'm going to take a break for earth day. I want to turn off all electricity, not drive my moped, etc. Yes, it is totally useless in light of 7 billion people all trying to upload their half-assed singing or type their sports team opinions, but what the hell. I'll do it anyway.
Do anything you want on Earth Day, but don't visit CNN. Please please please.

Thursday, April 21, 2011


I didn't kill the seeds by leaving them out in the rain and cold. The sunflowers are going to be dandies and the memorial Thoreau bean field will feed all the rabbits and woodchucks this side of the Mississippi.


Ok, my neck is still killing me but I'm not going to take it out on you. What I am going to do is much more labor intensive because it involves homework. NPR turned me onto a site called

It occurred to me that the majority of adults who speak to large groups of adults have almost no qualifications. They are pundits...paid opinionators...I'd like to set myself apart from this group because if I move crates of hockey jock straps then that's what I write about. I'm not a politician or a teacher. I'm a man trying to account for his life in the most complicated economic web imaginable and this is the record of that journey. But I can also apply some common sense that when we get a Chernobyl, an Exxon Valdez and the most extreme weather conditions ever all in one year...then it's time for extreme action.

Don't listen to me. Oggy is a mess. But the speakers I heard on TED might be pundits and they might be entertainers or teachers or a mix of all three. Hmmmm. That might be why TED stands for Technology, Entertainment, Design.

Anyway, the lesson, your homework, is as follows:
1) Watch a video, any video lecture, on TED. They are all under 18 minutes long. (Yeah, learning things takes less time than a Simpsons Episode)
2)Identify the problem being addressed and a solution included in the video.
3) Find a separate source that support and one that contradicts the premise of the original video.
4) Compare and contrast the sources.
5) Respond with your findings. Is the speaker a pundit? Is it garbage? Is this any different than Thoreau taking a stage coach from Concord to Cambridge to talk about ending slavery? Is it just better produced blogging.
6) Go ahead and read the comments. The reader remarks range from supportive to totally racist and probably reflect parts of every one of us. Are these comments thoughtful or rote reactions based on years of conditioning?
7) Answer this question: Can old dogs learn new tricks?

My Santa Cruz story started out years ago as a warning to people to not get involved. I saw it as evidence that if you extend yourself to change the world then you will not die the honorable death of a martyr (my secret wish) but would drown in the petty squabbles of the power mongers and the cynics and diseased and disabled of the world who will probably be worse off due to your efforts than before. You would not improve the world at all but would only sacrifice your time and energy to bring pain and misery on those you thought you were serving. I don't think the story itself will change but I'm thinking lately that what really happened was I went to put out a tiny camp fire and coincidentally that was the day a radioactive meteor piloted by crack addicted aliens decided to plummet from the sky onto the camp. In other words, it wasn't the effort or the cause that was the problem but the chain of events that took place to the cast of unforgettable characters was so historically improbable that it could never happen like that again. But because it was the first real experience I had in activism I had nothing to compare it to. No one will encounter the series of mental and physical collapses I witnessed in those Santa Cruz years so go ahead, change the world, it's probably a cinch.
The story is still worth telling but more like a worse case scenario than a guaranteed result.
So, hopefully, these TED talks will inspire you in ways that I can't. You might be out of school but your learning never ends. These speakers are the philosophers of today with digital visual aids and fancy suits. This is your symposium. The Academy of ancient Athens was limited to the people directly in front of Plato or Aristotle or Socrates. We're trading ideas in seconds over oceans. If this doesn't make a difference then nothing will.

Get to work. Start here:

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Earth Day

Let's observe a moment of silence for the young dolphins who will not see Earth Day 2011 because of what happened on Earth Day 2010.


They were victims of a mass addiction to fossil fuels and a reckless use of those fuels. Collateral Damage is the best term for those killed by the oil spill. They were the necessary casualties for doing business in such extreme conditions for so long at such a large scale. I think we're reaching the point where it's clear anything is possible but we're starting to see the true costs in the corpses on battlefields and on beaches. We feel the consequences as families are torn apart and habitats are destroyed and if you take your eyes off the gas pump gauge it goes from $4.00 to $17.30 in like ten seconds. So, the cars that save no one any time and end up costing us money to keep us on the treadmill are also the cause of death and destruction to other animals. I forget the movie where someone said about war, "It doesn't save lives. People die, just different people."

I sort of think it's only tolerable because of our short attention spans. Only immediate trauma to us actually penetrates the armor of indifference we wear. Maybe that's how it has always been but somehow I never got issued that armor. Was I playing whiffle ball when it was handed out? Because in 1991 when I saw the pictures of the oil spill in the Persian Gulf (remember how those pictures were widely circulated to demonstrate how monstrous Saddam Hussein was? BP suppressed all pictures of dead wildlife for the same reason.)
It broke my heart to see this, like watching a pet be killed by some demented baby. I once had some affinity for some people but serious thoughts of genocide crossed my mind when I saw this. My reasoning was that the animal that could carelessly and thoughtlessly destroy these dolphins wasn't just worthless, but was actually a negative influence on life. It had surrendered its right to live. If there is a God then let God have a talk with them. If there isn't a God then better to end the madness now.
All men are created equal but sometimes a generation's equality plummets to the point where it is irretrievably lost. And rather than discriminate between who was right or wrong in the specific incident I lumped all of mankind into one foul basket to be tossed out the window...for the good of the dolphins. The things we call "saving the earth" are often just a ceasefire in the active destruction of it. That's not the same thing though a kind of strained, untrusting relationship is probably the best we can hope for. But if a person was beaten as bad by her spouse as we beat the planet I'd say it's time for the relationship to end. So, I basically lost any identification I had with humanity and moved into the Santa Cruz forest where a completely different set of horrors occurred. I have been trying for twenty years to get my humanity back but it continues to slip further away. Yes, the powers of manipulation have been working overtime to produce conformed consumers (Homo walmarticus) for the mines of commerce but this is one of those black or white issues with me. Either you are an independent thinker (Homo sapien) or you aren't. I've met a handful of independent thinkers...not enough to bother saving the species. Americans are enemies of the earth in practical terms. All our comforts are at the cost of some grazing or swimming animal or poor person. Only by mass propaganda and force and cultural terrorism would Vietnamese people willingly sew Nike basketball sneakers. If you think you are doing them any favors by allowing them to have a job sewing sneakers then you must have some microchip implanted in your brain that downloads Fox News opinions directly to your reasoning center.

Ok, that's enough abuse. I wanted to take a moment of silence and I went on a tirade. This is only because I feel I'm too intertwined with this ghastly system of cultural assimilation. And my neck is killing me. My clothes may be from 1974 but everything I touch is tainted by 2011 dolphin souls. Pray that God is not a dolphin lover. Pray that He loathes nature. Otherwise, we are fucked.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011


I'm finding things to do so I don't have to kneel on the floor and install a million more cracked tiles. That job is getting tedious. And for those of you who care, you are supposed to sand down the seams of the backerboard. I neglected to do this (thinking the mortar would bring everything up to level) and now the tile feels like there are tree roots growing underneath it. Not to mention the cracked tiles are not all level with each other so the razor sharp edges are exposed. Someone please take my DIY license away.

(I'm a little distracted because I just got a phone call that went like this...a private number called....
"HHHHIIII. Tee Hee." (The voice is girlish kind of forced teenage sexpot. Like an underage phone sex line.)
"Can I help you?"
"You can help me by jacking off into the phone."
"I'm sorry?"
"Jack off, Oggy. Oggy, the jack off."
"Do we know each other?"
"You met me today."
"I don't leave the house. Ever."
"Why not?"
"Who are you?"
"You want a ride? Tee Hee."
"Yes. Are you going to Boston? Look..."
"I can see you. Are you playing your guitar or jacking off?"
"You're funny. If you can see me, what am I doing now?" (I give the finger to the phone.)
"Jerking off?"
"Bzzzzzz! Wrong."
"So what are you doing?"
"Hahhahaha. teee heeee. Do you murder people in the basement?"
"What concern is that of yours? What is your problem?"
"How old are you?"
"Old enough to know a drunk high school kid when I hear her. You know you have class tomorrow."
"Man, I weep for the future. I fucking weep like Thomas Paine on crack."
"hahahah. Thomas Who?"
"Nevermind. Just some asshole."
"I like you. You wanna fuck tomorrow?"
"I see. Now I see. You know what?"
"I can predict your past. I can tell your future too, something to do with community college and an abusive husband, but let me see if I get your past right. You saw my number in the St. Louis rideshare ads. Yes? You saw my name. You saw the gear I'm bringing to Boston. Am I right so far?"
"I like your voice. Do you have a big cock?"
"...and then you decide to call the number and have a laugh at my expense. Right? Well, I'm paying money for this prank call. A dime a minute. We're already at two quarters of my change. And I've got things to write at this very moment. I WAS TRYING TO TRUST PEOPLE ON CRAIGSLIST AND YOU BETRAYED ME!"
"Do you jack off all night? huhuhuhuhahahahah" (she starts panting but it's fake, like she thinks people fuck like they do in porn.) "I'm eating poop."
"This is too much. You get drunk and crank call my cell phone? Are you insane? Me? Oggy Bleacher? You cunt! You fucking freak. Your daddy doesn't give you enough attention?"
"Is this what you do for fun? Snort crystal meth and call random people?"
"Bwahahahahahah! My Name is Oggy and I want a blow job. Tee hehheheee!"
"hahahahahaha. tee hee. I eat poop."
I hang up and immediately sit down to write.)

I tried to avoid getting involved with the fence project because I am hearing impaired and power saws cut through my head like nails through butter. In fact, this injury developed building crappy fences for a horse ranch in CA. It's only gotten worse. The Nurse wanted some privacy for her new hot tub and I'm the freeloader in the basement so there was no way out. I did manage to get away long enough to miss digging five 3' holes in the dense Mississippi mud using a manual post hole digger. Fuck that! Tee heee!

I didn't get out of staining the shit. The Nurse saw bamboo back in our Venice days and had some shipped from California. Like $300 in bamboo but the cedar cost $400 to frame it, thus negating any sustainability credit from the bamboo. This girl throws money around. I wanted to get reclaimed scrap lumber and nail something together. Lash it together with coat my van.

This is the final product. A kind of Tiki cafe/Spa.

Fence: $700 materials. $600 labor. $100 beer. sub total $1400

Spa: $5000 subtotal $5000

Electrical work: materials $300. Labor $150 sub total $450

Grand total: $6850.

I gotta admit that it was nice to lay in with the waterfall feature and the back jets hitting my inflamed sciatica.
Always the fashion watch says 1974 and my belt buckle says 1969.

And this is for the chicken farmer if I am ever able to get back there. With drunk teenage girls calling me every night the chances are slim. That is supposed to say SOBER but I was drunk and stoned when I tooled it so now it says SOBEA, which is how they pronounce it in Nottingham.

Monday, April 18, 2011

Eyes ache in swollen skull

Don't everyone jump on the revolution train at once. Form an orderly line and be patient. There's room for you all.

Thomas Paine's work was harder than it looks. I imagine that when he had those "Common Sense" pamphlets printed out in some seperatist basement with lookouts watching for British spies that people couldn't wait to get their hands on them to 'hear the news'. sure. And maybe they were because gossip over the fence wasn't exactly the fastest way for opinions to spread. But then again, how many people were publicly voicing their opinions in 1776? How many newspapers were there? How many news agencies? How many media outlets? Tens of Thousands like today?

Today, it takes serious work to get heard. And then you will most likely get no response. If I were to wait for a team of Wolf researchers to get together to visit Ellesmere Island then I'd grow old and gray first. The avalanche of ideas is more than anyone can process. It is better to trust your instincts and if not swim with the pack at least swim in the same direction as the pack at a safe distance. I can't argue with that because until I have a plan that I can sell like McDonalds fish sticks then no one will pay attention. Wolves, Bison, Climate, Haitians, Vietnamese sweat shop workers: It's gotten to the point where you can't step outside without endangering the rare June Bug or some kind of migratory bird. Everything we buy is shipped from a sea away. Every forkful of food travels 1500 miles. At this point we are closer to the complete disaster I predict if nothing changes than to something stable that includes living arctic wolves. And change happens always a little too late for something.

The ride will be interesting that is for sure.

With gas prices increasing by the day I'm formulating new plans to reach Labrador. It would cost less to outfit a motorcycle and go north than to drive my V8 van. It would cost even less if I rode a bicycle. There may not be a financial solution to this problem. Simplify. That's what Thoreau said.

I've pondered the theory of 'time saving devices' and always come to the same conclusion: They don't save anyone any time but they allow you to do more work in the time that you are working. But since proportionally prices and wages have stayed tightly together these time saving devices are a wash. I was thinking of the floor jack and circular saw. If you spend twelve hours using a hand crank pulley floor jack in 1930 to move 20 pallets...and you flash forward to 2011 and you spend twelve hours using a hydraulic floor jack to move 200 pallets then you have not saved yourself any time but you were able to move more cheese. I'd say this means more money for your boss but from what I've seen they spend just as much time dealing with a bigger business. Consider this, in 1930 if you could live on your wages and in 2011 you were losing money on the same day's work...that's when the whole theory of 'time saving devices' crumbles. It completely crumbles. I would say that I'm one of the few people I know who has actually cashed in all the time he supposedly saved with washing machines and pre-churned butter. That is the only way I can learn to play piano and guitar at 40 years old.

But when you finally add in the environmental consequences of these time-saving devices...and the amount of real time that is going to be spent to combat their ill effects, well, then you get into the biggest joke of all time, the biggest fraud that Henry Ford ever pulled off. It's like giving your backpack to a Sherpa and saying, "Look! I don't feel the weight at all! I must be special!" My conclusion is that as soon as I see something that "saves time" I bail out. The only way to save time is by walking in a straight line instead of a crooked line. Or just staying where you are. Watch a squirrel or a wolf. They don't speed in circles the way humans do driving aimlessly for the opportunity to rest. They only do what is necessary. They practice economy. It's my life's goal to live as economically as a wolf, and to do that I need to study the wolf. My books will not protect me from death but my computer is the source of much grief to which is my friend?

Saturday, April 16, 2011


In reading a pamphlet titled The Crisis, written on Christmas Eve, 1776 you'd think something important was happening. "These are the times that try men's souls." Thomas Paine famously begins. He was a clever cat with his deft manipulations. He had to be. No one wanted the war as much as they wanted some kind of stability that the English were too stubborn to give. So, Paine writes,

"If there must be trouble, let it be in my day, that my child may have peace;" and this single reflection, well applied, is sufficient to awaken every man to duty."

It's the latter day equivalent of "Buy today, pay tomorrow."

Tuesday, April 12, 2011


"[My beanfield] was, as it were, the connecting link between wild and cultivated fields; as some states are civilized, and others half-civilized, and others savage or barbarous, so my field was, though not in a bad sense, a half-cultivated field. . . . Though I gave them no manure, and did not hoe them all once, I hoed them unusually well as far as I went, and was paid for it in the end. . . I harvested twelve bushels of beans." Henry David Thoreau, "The Beanfield," Walden (1854).

"What shall I learn of Beans and Beans of me?" Thoreau

I made the mistake early on of identifying and allying with Thoreau. High School was very unpleasant for this fact alone. Add my protruding Adam's apple and painful shyness around breasts and you have a recipe for a self-loathing recluse. Glad I beat those odds, har har har.

So, beans and cucumbers and hot peppers and sun flowers are on their way, a little late because germination should begin around February 20th. What was I doing then? Looking for a ride to Tampico. And this leads to a transplanting in May, around Mother's Day. But it's an experiment, like Thoreuavian Transcendententalism, and leads to something unlike a finish line or ultimate answer, but hopefully to a hillock above the worms where rabbits graze and chickens preen, where one can ask the right question. In other words, you'll never know how late you can begin germination without being late. Get it? So , I can check that off the list.

"I knew a man who would speak but wouldn't talk." Ah, was that man Thoreau? Where has he gone? It's gotten to the point where the Indians want to eradicate the Indians. Thoreau is honored like Harry Houdini, a person who was original and gifted but of course no one would see him as a model for living. I mean, you can't get in a box and get thrown into the river and try to get out before you drown just like you can't eschew the latest invention and obey a higher law of self sufficiency and light impact. The empathy you might have for the woodchuck in his sleepy burrow and the chicken in her wooden hut is sold by CNN to McDonalds for a plastic figurine painted with lead in China. Naw. That's not realistic. It's a dark future when the flood waters of IBM are threatening the roots of Thoreau's fragile cabin. I don't see how the two can coexist. Expanding need for electronics and the rare minerals pretty much guarantee 100% attrition of wild animal habitat. Unless the Vietnamese and Chinese are happy being seamstress slaves to trendy Americans then they will also want to step up to the buffet of unicorn hearts and arctic wolf brains. We're moving toward some kind of society of canned human beings who are maintained like batteries. Computers are already used to fight computer attacks and we don't really have artificial intelligence yet. I see that I've declared war against Apple without realizing they declared war on Thoreau thirty years ago...and will win when Thoreau's cabin door is finally outlined in the stars. I feel that the strength of my campaign is that it is exclusive: one will conquer the other but there is increasingly little evidence that Walden Pond will remain pristine while Silicone Valley returns to a lupine meadow. A kibbutz would stand a better chance in 1940 Berlin. No. Thoreau is going the way of Pan and Aphrodite. I can understand, since loving nature isn't really a natural trait; we should feel some kind of respect for it or at least empathy for those animals who live in trees and underground as we once did, but not safety or love. Everything from cholera to shingles and small pox are waiting to turn us into virus incubators. We've chosen to fight that which threatens us with everything from stem cells to toad secretions. If that leads to an unstable planet, even an uninhabitable planet, then we will solve that problem too without a thought to the past or future casualties. So, those loyal to Thoreau would do better to turn their swords into plowshares for their own bean furrows. The territory we're fighting over is already metaphysical so lay down your iron swords and defend yourselves with mental arguments. Ultimately, IBM may take Walden but the waters of the oasis in your heart need not dry up in the microchip processing plant. Use it to water the beans of your own garden while it lasts.

Green beans played an important role in some analog memories I own in black and white dreams. Mother kneeled in polyester brown corduroy skirt with two pockets in the front, probably sewed on grandma's old Singer machine, the one in the corner of the room with yarn nearby.

Mother handed fists full of green beans plucked from the garden where a woodchuck (native son of Maine and distant relative of Thoreau's Concord nemesis) lay in wait for father's .22 bullet. The beans cracked wide under my childish thumbs, liberating the seeds into a stainless steel bowl.

"Do you know where beans come from?" she asked.

I adored my mother and did all I could to please her. We had a special bond, I suspected, we shared a language unspoken. My brother and father were not on the same channel as us. We were practical and reserved and walked gently on the earth, leaving all who met us more at peace and richer. We were beautiful and smart and we could predict an upcoming conversation just by the sound of someone's feet approaching. We were that gifted! We gave the impression of humility but only because we knew it was impolite to be a showoff. We really knew we were better than everyone else.

"No," I said; though I did know and she knew I knew and I knew she knew I knew. It was this characteristic of our relationship that made it special.

She gave no hint to this secret and nor did I as a Maine summer wind thick with gnats rolled through the green maples on the border of our estate. A sound of escaping oxygen thundered through the canopy. The ghosts of February were shaken from their crooked limbs and violently sent North for reinforcements. "We'll see you in November," they cried but I wasn't paying attention...

"The garden," she said. "We grew them. Remember when we planted them in the spring? That day we had the late snow? Remember in the basement when you were home from school."

"We had the day off." I confirmed because it was a luxury one never forgets and to spend it in the basement with one's pajamas on and one's mother and a Cat Stevens 8 Track tape playing repeatedly in the background and snow piling up on the early tulip heads and the plaid sunshine streaked patches on the green shag rug where the cats lay napping were details one guards hopefully until better memories take their place, was dreamlike.

"That's right. You had the day off and we prepared the seedling tray and planted beans and what else?" Her lips never touched cosmetics, if I remember, and with one eye on the beans and one eye on her face I thought, these are my lips speaking and my mother's ears listening.

"Cucumber. And Lettuce for the rabbits. And carrots," I said with memories of the small seeds pointing downward and the image that this would one day be an orange carrot sliced on the table top for a summer salad. Future salads, preparation, dreams and corduroy

Another bean pod opened for my thumbs and the seeds fell in rich green freshness into the seed bowl. I bit the seed pod because it too was fresh but too stringy to eat. The seeds split in two in my mouth and grown from Maine compost and downeastern chicken livers these pods were portals to the history of the Northeast with bloodshed and conquests and retreats and heartbreaks of widows who loved clipper ship captains too long.

"And you planted them in the spring."

"After my birthday," I said, remembering the plastic cowboy guns I received and wore over Pooh Bear pajamas. I had turned 5, an odd number that sounds even because it is halfway to 10 and halfway to ten was an eternity that was as close as the next set of shoes and flare madras pants along with a relocation.

The garden was surrounded by silver chicken wire that the woodchuck had dug under and the ..22 rifle lay in the shed with the push lawn mower and the now dusty red plastic sled for winter snow rides.

Importantly, of his enemy woodchuck, Thoreau argued against any defense thusly, "...what right had I to oust johnswort and the rest, and break up their ancient herb garden?" I do not think my father concerned himself with the paradoxes that would become my adopted tasks and my mother's practicality was supplanted by Thoreau's intense contrarian dignity.

A strand of chestnut brown hair captured in the summer wind curled away from her seashell barrett, around my mother's ear and slipped into her mouth. She didn't wear glasses yet but she was squinting into the bowl and casually caught the hair and pulled it from the corner of her mouth.

"We planted them in the garden after the snow melted."

"After the last frost. This was an early Spring so that was in April."

These months all were identified by a holiday like my birthday (march) or Easter Egg hunts (April) my brother's birthday (May). end of school (June), Fireworks at the ball park (July) Archery Camp (August) New shoes for school (September) and so on. Age happened so slowly and irrevocably stealing that which I prayed would be stolen and so I pretended not to notice as the months and years swept away boyhood sleds and corduroy skirts. The last beans fell into the bowl and mother scooped the shells into a bowl for the compost pile. A few escaped her hands and I quickly grabbed them and helped carry them through the woodchuck friendly garden fence, past the Hav-a-heart trap, to the compost bin where their purpose was some function of the garden but more importantly my mother was doing this and I was helping and it's cause or effect ended there. A cat yawned and stretched in her summer warming spot near a rose bush. The lilac bushes in a shade of purple owned exclusively by Maine lilac bushes exuded a heavenly fragrance that was close to cosmetics as my mother ever approached.

The beans were a side dish for the hot dog casserole we had planned for the evening summer dinner. Broccoli, green beans from our garden, and hot dog casserole. A baseball game on the radio and books my father would read to me about stars and a family of talking elephants.

"Thank you, Oggy," mother said telepathically, and I grew a foot from pride and self-respect. A half mile down the hill on the corner of state road 120 another summer wind blew shadows over century old gravestones, the rusted gate rattled against the granite walls as the engraved names galloped toward oblivion.

Monday, April 11, 2011

Friday Night Videos

Watching this after my Babe Ruth baseball game with a plate of nachos was bliss.

Cheese Mascot

True, the Bleacher Man's diet lately is from Chez FÜD pantry but that doesn't mean he can't also be a snob of cheeseriffic proportions...

Case in point: Kraft's new Grilled Cheese flavored, "explosion" line of boxed dinners. The meal itself was edible (but I'm eating mostly stale crackers and ramen noodles so that isn't saying much) and it wasn't until later that I realized they intended this to taste like a grilled cheese sandwich. I can't say I noticed any undertone of grilled cheese and I'm a connoisseur of grilled cheese sandwiches, so if your dream is to eat a pasta version of a grilled cheese sandwich then be prepared to rent a room on Disappointment Avenue.

The milk and butter added to the orange powder brought out a bright cheesy aroma and the hint of a dairy cow in a congested stockyard. The parboiled pasta, which I overcooked because I was distracted by my incontinent dog peeing on the kitchen floor, was shorter and fatter, almost like Penne. Mini penne, I might call it if that made any difference to anyone. This pasta dinner is being hawked as "More Cheese Sauce. Bigger Shapes." Both of these are relative terms and basically empty promises...paper hearts on rain-streaked windows...dirty needles in dead grass...etc.

Special attention must be brought to the use of the word "Explosion" when used in conjunction with any lactose product. Don't do it! Explosion really only belongs on a bag of popcorn. Anywhere else hints of some future gastro-intestinal calamity. There was nothing explosive about this boxed dinner and that was one of the stronger points of the meal. I don't want explosive food. Can I be more clear that using the word explosive is ill-advised. You might as well use the word "blood" or "scab". It makes no sense even for children.

One reason I can't see myself in advertising is it forces associates to justify their existence and their marketing budget with insane promotions that defy any rational or capitalist theory of what people will buy. IF not for marketing failures like this the dinner would cost half as much. So this offensive campaign is actually stealing money from you. Furthermore; Kids don't buy food and parents who buy boxed cheese dinner for their kids probably don't care if the word "explosion" will convince their kid to eat the mini penne covered with viscous artificial cheese paste. And beggars like me who acquire their meals from the food pantry aren't in a position to choose. I found the marketing of this meal atrocious. It was an affront to decency and taste.

I'm also an ad whore which means I took special interest in the mysterious and unusual box cover illustration. Correct me if I am wrong but what I'm seeing is a cheese shaped dinosaur (or is that dinosaur shaped cheese?) getting splashed with a tsunami of cheese. His left paw/hand is held out in surprise and something akin to amusement. His mouth opens in a slightly angst-ridden grimace. It could be a smile, an ear to ear grin. I can almost hear him say, "Aw guys, you got me again! Doused with Cheese! Har har har." The dinosaur has teeth that would make Reese Witherspoon jealous, not the jagged predator teeth that a T-Rex actually had in his gullet. And this cheese dinosaur has his frog-like eyes closed. He seems to be enjoying the dousing. Maybe it is a highly evolved frog. I don't know. It is nameless* and made of artificial cheese. It is an anonymous cheese frog/dinosaur hybrid drowning in sauce. And it has white polka dots as some pseudo-camouflage adaptation. How insane!

*Actually, a little research tells me this brand mascot is called "Cheesasaurus Rex", something that just rolls off my tongue like encephalitis. I predict this one will go extinct much faster than the real dinosaurs and it won't take an asteroid either. Awful, is the only way to describe the marketing team's choice in mascots. Unoriginal and awful.

What the hell kind of emotional reaction is this image supposed to elicit? Well, the box says to "have some cheesy fun with these cheesy flavors." Oh, really? By getting drowned in artificial cheese? Or by menacing innocent dinosaurs with my cheesy projectile vomit? It looks like the dinosaur's right arm has been absorbed by the cheese wave. Or maybe the dinosaur is actually being materialized before our eyes...he is evolving like the pasta shapes, from a reptilian form to a Godzilla poised to traffic despair and wrath on the villages of Japan. Another image I get is in Terminator II, when the T-1000 played by Robert Patrick is tossed in molten metal and melts. This box really asks the question: Are we being born or are we dying? It's kind of a half empty/half full debate to identify your personality type via cheese dinners. I see the dinosaur as succumbing to a torrent of liquid cheese. But another more positive individual might see this as a resurrection of a wounded dinosaur meeting his element head on and gaining strength and confidence. Which are you?

Below is the Latino equivalent, Cheetos that taste like long as you eat them with a hamburger. Let it be known that Mexico is the home of the fish taco but America reigns as king of Hamburgers. This is an abomination but at least the Cheetah mascot is related to the name "Cheetos". What does a polka dot dinosaur have to do with macaroni and cheese?

Creative Commons License
Man in the Van by Oggy Bleacher is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 3.0 Unported License.