Busting the Twitter Whores

The Twitter people do a pretty good job of finding and rooting out the obvious exploiters. Here are the icons of a few recent followers.

Now, granted, these fine ladies were following Ronnie Reed, who is only asking for such company when his twitter name is Ronnie6969xxx. Ronnie would love them. Since I have images blocked in my gmail, I never see their icons. So when you click on a profile link in your email to see if maybe this person is legit, you get taken to a Twitter screen with a message something like this:

They always have names like MonicaF75, are following 65 people with 0 followers and 1 tweet, which is in most cases a link that is going to get you in trouble in one way or another. Twitter does a great job of getting rid of them. Now if only they would get rid of the life coaches, social media experts, bad comedians and foreign currency traders, all of whom are just as whorish.

Monorails and Sky Trams

(El clicko, por favor.)

Papa Was a Rolling Stone

He was a player. A smooth operator. He was Don Juan and James Bond in one man. He didn't have much sense when it came to furnishing his sex palace. He had other things on his mind. When the ladies came by, which was every night, he'd lube 'em up with Canadian Club. It was a wild time. Your Dad was the first among his buddies to be in a threesome. Then your Mom, one of his many throwaway conquests, got pregnant and your Dad "did the right thing" and married her. Then you were born. Then he REALLY started drinking.

Canadian Club is doing its first advertising in 20 years. They've gone for the Old Spice approach, only without the knowing wink and a nod. They're serious. Real Men, Cool Men, drink Canadian Club.

More details on the campaign at Wine & Spirits Daily.

Scanned from the November 1 issue of Rolling Stone, the last issue of my subscription, according to the giant wrapper on the magazine. This one is so filled with Springsteen sycophantic sucking-up that the only thing I will miss about the magazine are the ads.

The Sex Bugs are Back

They fly around twice a year, messing up your windshield and landing on you as they screw even in flight. The sex bugs, (or "Love Bugs," as they are commonly referred to) are the scourge of the Gulf Coast (and most parts of Florida) and a bi-annual reminder of the female's sexual power over the male across the animal kingdom.













"Upon reaching maturity the love bug spends the entirety of its life copulating with its mate, hence its numerous romantic nicknames. The male and female attach themselves at the rear of the abdomen and remain that way at all times, even in flight. In fact, after mating, the male dies and is dragged around by the female until she lays her eggs."

Boing! Blogstats Sporting Wood

In an interesting post about the Toblerone logo having within it a hidden bear (never knew that) someone over at BoingBoing text-linked to the old Land O' Lakes butter trick post here at Where's My Jetpack?. I was wondering why my inbox was showing new comments on that old thing.

That's a very powerful website. I normally hover just under 200 visits per day. BoingBoing brings me 7,500 with a text link.












And most amazingly, nowhere in the text link was the promise of seeing bare breasts. But that does not negate the truth of the blogging maxim; "Tag it with nasty labels and they will come." Like so: