So over the weekend I got to talking about how I wanted this site to look but seeing as though I know nothing about site design or site building or even building design for that matter, and I have no wish to learn (just yet), I figured the best way for me to explain it on here is by doing rough sketches that will infuriate people enough to do it properly for me.
I’m looking at you phantom web designer.
Last night the chicken bone broke on my side.
Game on Bitches.
I didn’t feel like writing much today. I’m in editing mode this week. Ridding the world of horrible horrible voice hijackings of the past and rewriting to a Porter voice that once was.
That being said I am in a sharing mood. So revel in the wonderfulness that is this Spider-Pootes logo (yeah that’s me under that mask) and listen to some Curumin.
This is an example of why I feel I need to be a writer. Not the cartoon above, the story below. But really…both. What? Pootes is an old money vampire. What’s wrong with that?
But I digress…
About four years ago when working on a marketing report in University I was placed in a group with three other people. One business student who was intent on doing all the work himself as he didn’t trust the rest of us. One incredibly gorgeous Spanish girl who couldn’t speak four words of English but shouted out “Kung Pow!” when I referenced the phrase “Wee ooo pee ooo” (sp?). And one tiny blond girl named Dina who kept to herself until one day after a meeting she and I decided to get dinner together.
Does anyone else feel holy over bloated Batman from the marketing of the new Dark Knight film? Does anyone else feel they know the entire plot line just from watching fifteen different spots on TV, fourteen different viral marketing campaigns online and every single Heath Ledger/Joker/Oscar write up review out there. I said it before and I’ll say it again, the way they’re whoring this movie it wouldn’t surprise me if Ledger’s death is just a viral marketing campaign to get people out to see the movie. Give the industry ten years and I’ll bet they’ll do it.
Hell, it happened to the shock and horror of a Subway Sandwich artist when owner of the WWE Vince McMahon was killed off. That poor poor artist. He didn’t know what to do with himself for that one week Vince was gone, until Vince had to come back alive because that wrestler killed himself and his wife and kids.
Oh society…you so crazy.
Seriously, I’d like to plan a road trip to a ghost town.
Also: I’ve been writing quite a bit lately.
Not on here obviously, on my other site www.yootes.com where I go by the name of Jimmy Ramona and I write in full detail about all of my friends secrets and dirty laundry. Literally, I talk about how their filthy socks and underwear. You’d be surprised what kind of market there is out there for that kind of filth.
Alright, so I haven’t been cheating on Pootes.com but I’ve been sure as hell neglecting it. Not Austrian daughter in a dungeon neglect or anything. More like leaving your dog in a car on a summers day with the windows rolled up and people passing by stop to watch the dog slowly dehydrate to death kind of neglect.