it’s not me, it’s you
October 17, 2006
Oh internet, you are crazy.
Just when I think you can not get any crazier I open my email and find this gem.
Would you please not trap me! Allow users to back out of your site to the search engine where they found you. By not allowing me to hit my back button and go back to the search engine and leave your site, back to the search engine and list that was generated by the terms I am searching, I have to close my browser, open a new one, enter my search terms again and find my place to resume. This in no way makes me want to purchase from or use your product. I feel held hostage and very put out. I recommend you change the entrapment procedure. It is not smart.
Oh Jerry, Jerry, Jerry. I am so sorry that you are being put out and no longer want to purchase my product. I am crushed. Oh wait… I don’t actually sell any sort of product. Frankly I am not sure why your back button doesn’t work, because when I tested it out I was able to do it just fine.
So Jerry, the problem would appear to be you.
But in the spirit of being helpful I searched through my statcounter and pulled up the last few search strings that brought people to my site. Perhaps one of these is the search phrase that brought you here.
Are you a little pervy, Jerry?
Or was it this one?
Which I think I can safely answer as try not to go crazy? Just guessing here.
I’ll tell you tonight it was pork chops, mashed potatoes, and corn, not on the cob. It’s cobless state the cause of much heartache in small children living in the trenches with me.
You want them to sag? Men aren’t supposed to have boobs, Jerry. Just so you know.
sparkly and saggy, huh?
Oh now you are just being mean, Jerry.
I am going to go out on a limb here and say with money. I know, crazy.
I didn’t even know canned goods expired. I thought that was why people stockpiled it. But if you are still alive and typing this, I would assume you are going to live. For future reference if the can is covered in an inch of dust and sealed with lead solder or if you found it in your grandmother’s cellar, you might want to pass on it.
This one was refreshing change of pace from all the people searching for love notes. And I wish I could ask what exactly a pain in the ass note would say.
I hope you find this helpful. Unless of course you were one of the people I skipped who were searching for disgusting things. If that is the case you deserve to be held hostage and not in the virtual sense of the word. But you would probably enjoy that, wouldn’t you?
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