What are you lot, a festering pile of fomenting mutes, a lumbering bunch of lethargics? Did noone tell you how to court a keyboard? Are you SCARED of what might happen if you were to hit enter after furnishing this site with an astute or, more probable in your case, astupid, insight into the events of the day?
Why of COURSE I’m talking about comments. What else? You can’t have sausage without mash, can you? So how can you possibly expect a blog to thrive and improve without input?
You know, when I used to work down the bookies, what drived me proper up the wall was them old biddies who used to come in, place their bets, lose and then walk out, grumbling about a three-legged equine or their eggs being underdone (I know – it didn’t make sense to me, either).
Contrast that against my time as a croupier. Stakes were higher, obviously: well they had to be, there was no way I was accepting a 2p stake on red. Anyway, when the bids upturned their purses looking for a chip like you’d look for a quid coin down the back of your Parker Knoll, they’d outburst all sorts of wild and highly improbable accusations about the manager rigging the tables with magnets, or a Japanese robot putting mind-altering tomatoes in their casino-issued complimentary fry-ups.
The difference between these two situations? Quite aside from the quantity of money involved (I once took £70k from a group of game Germans in a 40-minute session on the roulette), there was camaraderie, community – cheer. Punters in betting shops have the air of a one-way flier to Zurich. Soundlessly the money is injected, the only sign of life a rare tinkle of 10ps as the solitary fruit machine gasps the payout for a couple of bells.
Casinos provide a conducive environment. People come to have fun. They give, they get back. Whether the returns are in free fry-ups or a good bit of banter with the pit boss, our good friends the customer-suckers always leave with a smile, albeit accompanied by a chilly back uncovered by the shirt they lost. House always wins? Maybe in money, but it’s a marvellous way to get YOUR house repossessed.
Where’s this going? Well I don’t know. But looking around Dave’s blog, I see the attempts of a man who is craving your love and attention. He’s as stupid as a wood fence, but he’s trying.
Dave sees himself as an ideas man. Whether or not that’s true – and you and me (can I call us friends? I’m intimate with your sister, so we’re virtually family) know he’s got more in common with a blind Cervus elaphus – he needs to be put right.
How can we stop him, lower his sights a little? Well, we can’t do transmogrification so a face to face chat is unlikely. Mindwaves are also out of the question, especially with a brain as tiny as yours. So we have to go down the ‘traditional’ route, a route that involved putting the pad of your index finger to the spongy, receptive square of plastic on the oblong casing in front of you. And oscillate, retrieve, return, upshift, downshift, punch and pull. Eventually some pixels will appear on that square in front of you, and, probably dribbling by this point, you’ll execute the whole blimmin lot on to the interwebs.
In English, we call this commenting. Evidently you’re not familiar with the concept. I’m hardly surprised.
But blogging, as I believe they call this form of charade, needs the comment, like the bookies needs a revolution. Comments and blogs go together like chips and casinos, like fun and games, like me and your sister.
What’s in it for you, I hear you slobber.
How will commenting on Dave’s blog save me money?
How will commenting on Dave’s blog save me time?
How will commenting on Dave’s blog make me more money?
These are valid questions:
1. Once you’ve commented, you’ve closure. You’ve been wondering why you’re here, and I think it’s because you feel a sense of guilt. Dave’s on his arse, and simply by attending his daily sermons you’re offering comfort and companionship. Well, Dave doesn’t deserve that any more. He actually told me just now that he’s actually finding you quite overawing and is considering a restraining order. So comment once, and bog off. Time is money, so you’ll save both in the future.
2. Bloody hell. Read the one above, and swap ‘time is money’ for ‘money is time’. There’s yer answer.
3. I noticed a good half dozen posts by doddery Dave that could – in all honesty – make you some money. There was that one about the REAL secrets of blogging. I’m not a betting man, never have been, I mean, I’ve never even been in a bookies or a casino, but I do know there are at least half a dozen sites out there that would charge you good money for what Dave gives you for free. You’re up. And Dave also casts his incompetent electronic pen towards your blog for the sweet sum of nothing, in the form of what he calls ‘incredible guest posts to turbocharge your site’. If you asked, say, Bob Geldof to write a post for you, you might expect to pay at least £8. Dave would do it for nothing, and he wouldn’t even make your readers cry, which is another bonus. So all told, by commenting on this blog, you’ve actually made about £31 (plus postage and packing).
It makes me cry. It’s 10am in the morning, and I haven’t touched a drop, yet. And it’s all for the love of you (and your sibling). I spoil you, I really do.
So do something for me. Make a comment. Spill your guts. Do whatever it takes. And last of all: commenting on blogs is good for the soul.
I’m off the boozer.
No comment: The Bob Booby burstcast
What are you lot, a festering pile of fomenting mutes, a lumbering bunch of lethargics? Did noone tell you how to court a keyboard? Are you SCARED of what might happen if you were to hit enter after furnishing this site with an astute or, more probable in your case, astupid, insight into the events of the day?
Why of COURSE I’m talking about comments. What else? You can’t have sausage without mash, can you? So how can you possibly expect a blog to thrive and improve without input?
You know, when I used to work down the bookies, what drived me proper up the wall was them old biddies who used to come in, place their bets, lose and then walk out, grumbling about a three-legged equine or their eggs being underdone (I know – it didn’t make sense to me, either).
Contrast that against my time as a croupier. Stakes were higher, obviously: well they had to be, there was no way I was accepting a 2p stake on red. Anyway, when the bids upturned their purses looking for a chip like you’d look for a quid coin down the back of your Parker Knoll, they’d outburst all sorts of wild and highly improbable accusations about the manager rigging the tables with magnets, or a Japanese robot putting mind-altering tomatoes in their casino-issued complimentary fry-ups.
The difference between these two situations? Quite aside from the quantity of money involved (I once took £70k from a group of game Germans in a 40-minute session on the roulette), there was camaraderie, community – cheer. Punters in betting shops have the air of a one-way flier to Zurich. Soundlessly the money is injected, the only sign of life a rare tinkle of 10ps as the solitary fruit machine gasps the payout for a couple of bells.
Casinos provide a conducive environment. People come to have fun. They give, they get back. Whether the returns are in free fry-ups or a good bit of banter with the pit boss, our good friends the customer-suckers always leave with a smile, albeit accompanied by a chilly back uncovered by the shirt they lost. House always wins? Maybe in money, but it’s a marvellous way to get YOUR house repossessed.
Where’s this going? Well I don’t know. But looking around Dave’s blog, I see the attempts of a man who is craving your love and attention. He’s as stupid as a wood fence, but he’s trying.
Dave sees himself as an ideas man. Whether or not that’s true – and you and me (can I call us friends? I’m intimate with your sister, so we’re virtually family) know he’s got more in common with a blind Cervus elaphus – he needs to be put right.
How can we stop him, lower his sights a little? Well, we can’t do transmogrification so a face to face chat is unlikely. Mindwaves are also out of the question, especially with a brain as tiny as yours. So we have to go down the ‘traditional’ route, a route that involved putting the pad of your index finger to the spongy, receptive square of plastic on the oblong casing in front of you. And oscillate, retrieve, return, upshift, downshift, punch and pull. Eventually some pixels will appear on that square in front of you, and, probably dribbling by this point, you’ll execute the whole blimmin lot on to the interwebs.
In English, we call this commenting. Evidently you’re not familiar with the concept. I’m hardly surprised.
But blogging, as I believe they call this form of charade, needs the comment, like the bookies needs a revolution. Comments and blogs go together like chips and casinos, like fun and games, like me and your sister.
What’s in it for you, I hear you slobber.
How will commenting on Dave’s blog save me money?
How will commenting on Dave’s blog save me time?
How will commenting on Dave’s blog make me more money?
These are valid questions:
1. Once you’ve commented, you’ve closure. You’ve been wondering why you’re here, and I think it’s because you feel a sense of guilt. Dave’s on his arse, and simply by attending his daily sermons you’re offering comfort and companionship. Well, Dave doesn’t deserve that any more. He actually told me just now that he’s actually finding you quite overawing and is considering a restraining order. So comment once, and bog off. Time is money, so you’ll save both in the future.
2. Bloody hell. Read the one above, and swap ‘time is money’ for ‘money is time’. There’s yer answer.
3. I noticed a good half dozen posts by doddery Dave that could – in all honesty – make you some money. There was that one about the REAL secrets of blogging. I’m not a betting man, never have been, I mean, I’ve never even been in a bookies or a casino, but I do know there are at least half a dozen sites out there that would charge you good money for what Dave gives you for free. You’re up. And Dave also casts his incompetent electronic pen towards your blog for the sweet sum of nothing, in the form of what he calls ‘incredible guest posts to turbocharge your site’. If you asked, say, Bob Geldof to write a post for you, you might expect to pay at least £8. Dave would do it for nothing, and he wouldn’t even make your readers cry, which is another bonus. So all told, by commenting on this blog, you’ve actually made about £31 (plus postage and packing).
It makes me cry. It’s 10am in the morning, and I haven’t touched a drop, yet. And it’s all for the love of you (and your sibling). I spoil you, I really do.
So do something for me. Make a comment. Spill your guts. Do whatever it takes. And last of all: commenting on blogs is good for the soul.
I’m off the boozer.