Outside Man In


Axis of Evil - a portal
Yesterday, late in the evening, I became a foul man in a foul mood, but not for the reasons below, but a domestic dispute.
Over the course of the last week, I've become increasingly aware of my distaste for e-marketing (e.g. how companies market online, how companies gather information and how they exploit that information).
"Do No Evil." - Google Mantra.
Google has become evil as a portal rather then an effective search tool, ever expanding it's offerings to control the flow of information to better target everyone, including you and I who are blogging on blogger at this very moment.
You're being targeted. All that you do is being recorded so that marketers like myself can better target you to better exploit you.
Perhaps you're willingly exploited, but even then, is it an ethical act, to target market people through the information they process?

For Some Others



(for some)

At the bottom of the drain in my toilet
is the smallest eye in the world
It gets to see all of my shit
Perhaps it's the least luckiest eye in the world, too
Perhaps, like me at this very moment, you're wondering how the smallest eye in the world ended up in the drain of my toilet, rather than in a museum
or in someone's private collection

If I was the smallest eye in the world, I wouldn't choose the drain of a toilet to sit in

But then again, I'm not the smallest eye in the world and the eye won't answer my questions
It just sits there, like a dumfounded eye and blinks.


(for others)

I've stopped cutting my toenails, hoping that something that comes from inside me will grow out long and hard and lovely
Well, beside my belly that traps this book between itself and my lap

Sometimes I believe that my belly is the symbol to the world of my indulgence
But really it just stores the leftovers from my decadence


(for some others)

The examination and treatment you have recieved in the Emergency Department at Saucer Hospice (EDSH) has been rendered on an emergency basis only and not intended to be a substitue for complete care.

Please consult your personal seer for further care.

Thank you,

Frank Sauce

Facism's Courier


Dear Reader,

It was a day like today that I got a letter from the Fascists. A day full of rain, bits of sun and sky at times like the reflection of a spring lake through the clouds, then hard rain. That day, just like today, the air seemed to collect on my skin until a layer built up so thick that it, my skin, could no longer breathe.

The Facsist's Courier, whose name was Ted, strong armed me with a letter, a very long letter full of absolutes and polemic rants about their need for me to take Ted's position as their new courier. There was something in the letter about my courier capabilities, even though I'd only been a courier for a short while during my years in the Army over in Germany. I got fired as a courier because I didn't deliver the right report at the right time to the right place. Hell, I didn't deliver the report at all; I brought it back to a very miffed company clerk, who never again asked me to be the fill-in courier.

"Why would the fascist's want me to be their courier?" I asked Ted.

He smiled a half-smile and then tried to shoot me in the heart. Luckily, he wasn't hired for his aim and I had the chance to get away.

Maybe that's why they wanted me as their courier; I was always a pretty good shooter or good at getting away.

Either way, that's about it for now.

Danke dir,

Frank Sauce

Frank Sauce

Recent Sections


Frank's Favorites


Feed Me

ATOM 0.3