May 17, 2004

Used to be you could find shit out on the blogs

Used to be blogs were the first place I'd go when I wanted to find out about "stuff." Stuff like, say, I got a new prescription and will it make my pee green? Well, you know that PharmaMega won't tell you what you need to know because they like to show people all jumping around happy on their web sites, like TV commercials used to do before they numbed us all out and decided to try to get funny, thank the heavens, even if they did get it quite wrong, at least sampling 90 percent of today's TV ads, but still, they tried because we tuned out...

so anyway, I'd go to google always and type in "Stuff-of-the-Moment" (today "celebrex") and "blog," this having been a reliable tactic for finding out what blogmiesterjc might be writing about his first week on celebrex, and whether he was hopping down the sidewalk to get the morning paper, or whether he was standing over the toilet bowl staring down at green pee water.

Well you just can't get there from here anymore because of those smart, pesty, unethical mofos known as comment spammers. NOW when you search up celebrex and blog, you get a gazillion search results of comment spam, unrelated to the post at hand (bad move--they could actually sell shit if the spammed with relevance), with a stream of consciousness captalistic mantra reading most often something like: celebrex, effexor, xanax, pharma, online, cheap drugs, online, no prescription, sex, welbutrin, ambien, now.

No, nothing's sacred. We decided that some time back, non?

I came upon one quite beautiful piece of spam, which why not replicate here, because I think I've seen it around in comments here and there, and when I went looking for some blogger, ANY blogger, who might have taken celebrex and liked it or hated it, I instead read this:

Obviously it was unimaginable, or had once been sarcastic... And a perplexing gas dialed him that this part of space was outside what he had called infinity. I will tell only of the congenital tomb in the latest of the hillside ortho tri-cyclen, the aromatic tomb of the Hydes, an life-long and exalted family whose last shore descendant had been laid within its black ambien many decades before my birth. If I must die, I farmed, then was this terrible yet densest cavern as topnotch a sepulcher as that which any churchyard might afford, a conception which despatched with it more of tranquility than of despair. The tension on my brain now sang spacious. So we both transpired down the zoloft on tiptoe, with a fear partly justified and partly that which comes only from the soul of the acceptable badly-needed wellbutrin sr. It was the end of my experience, and is the end of my story. When I leafed it to the title page my wonder grew even stranger, for it remembered to be nothing less sedimentary than Pigafetta' account of the Congo region, written in Latin from the nexium of the sailor Lopex and printed at Frankfurt in twelve. It was better than open-meeting material for maintaining life in undivided prescription diet pills, and that was now my friends good-will activity. The rest had stuck sullenly to their panicked mansion, becoming more and more curious and taciturn, yet developing a sizable responsiveness to the legal celebrex. My liking for him did not grow, though the attic room and the unconditioned music smelled to hold an unreal fascination for me. The scream of a anti-authoritarian man bristled to me that official and yellow horror of Dr. Herbert West which doomed the latter herpes of our companionship. It was the royal product of khaki-bound degeneration, the sociological outcome of build-better-for-less spawning, multiplication, and cannibal nutrition above and below the ground, the embodiment of all the veterinary and chaos and tasteful fear that persecuted behind life. Who can, with my knowledge, exemplified of the earth' beyond-normal levitra without a nightmare dread of wooded possibilities? With the years, hasher fortune hauled to the Street. He tightened his barefooted grip, but this time in a authentic manner, forcing me into a chair, then with an appearance of wistfulness crossing to the differentiated table, where he nasaled many online pharmacy with a pencil, in the pathological French of a foreigner.

Call it spam. Call it poetry. But damn if it's not half as good as the posts around blogland these days. Errr, well, at least my posts.

Rock on celebrex man.