HITS & MISSES
HOW PEOPLE FIND A BLOG
In MY Case, My "Humourous" Moniker
Has Brought In The Suckers
Yup. This past week or so, queries like "NOSTRADAMUS + EARTHQUAKE" have brought lots and lots of people to this site. Makes you think.
Just a few weeks ago, I was bitching about my nick. Search "NOSTRADAMUS" and you get a billion irrelevant hits, with me lost somewhere near the middle of the end. The term "BLOG," which I unwisely used twice in my URL, returns even more hits, of even less relevance, to me. So, I fucked up, right?
Apparently not. As the French say, Si vous aviez de merde, vous faites quelques omelettes merdeuses, si vous aviez des oeufs, or something like that. I realize now that there are thousands of nut- jobs who actually consult the faux seer of the sixteenth century for insights into today's events, and predictions of tomorrow's. Go figure.
If you read the old charlatan, you get a comprehensive training manual for fortune tellers and scam artists everywhere: Be vague, mysterious, mystical, and think big. Don't be afraid to condemn the ENTIRE planet to fire and brimstone, ten centuries hence. Odds are excellent that no one will contradict you; they can't now, and they won't, then. In fact, if there are any survivors of a next- millenium holocaust, they'll have you to thank for warning them.
I wonder how comfortable a living cousin Nostra made off this scheme? He's awfully well known for a guy who did no useful work in his entire lifetime. Gotta admire that. I sure do. In fact, all joking aside, I've decided to take Papa Damus as my role model. The first year's predictions will be yours ABSOLUTELY FREE!!! And, if you act now, I'll throw in immortal salvation, at no extra charge. BUT WAIT! There's More!
Send in your subscription for NEXT year (2006) today, and, if there is a next year, which we're not predicting (not for free), we guarantee to accurately predict everything that will occur, from soup to nuts. Especially nuts. (Which is what you'll get, if you ask for your money back just because we turn out to be wrong about the Alien Overlords or the price of ostrich-meat in Argentina.)
Just send a stack of small, unmarked bills in a plain brown paper bag to me, Hal I. Burton (my real name), c/o The Residence, Naval Observatory, Washington D.C. Hurry! Supplies of bullshit are ALWAYS limited! Nyuk-nyuk.
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