ka-ching!

Some might call it “selling out”; I call it a long slow crawl out of hand-to-mouth poverty.

Because of my Fleshbot gig, because of being linked by some really super-duper superluminary writers, because of lots of virtual warm fuzziness, I have a fairly respectable readership these days. On a regular week, I average around 2,000 readers a day, and the great big lot of you end up generally reading somewhere about 3,200 pages a day.

Bless you all.

Now that you’re here, I’m going to take advantage of you and make with the mad phat capitalism. You’ll notice over on the left, right there under my “pick of the litter,” a space for advertisements. It’s new. Bright, spanky and new. It’s so new that it’s still pretty much inviolate.

And it’s ripe for someone who has something to sell to people like you who only await the wet hott opportunity to buy it, whatever it is.

I have for almost a year now had that friendly little tip jar over there on the upper right. Some of you have actually availed yourself of its totally anonymous flirtatiousness to place a buck or ten or a hundred in my coffers, and you have kept me from financial annihilation. I appreciate each and every one of you who has gifted me money. I needed it. I still do.

Really rather much. It’s tough to support this Ph.D. habit of mine on an adjunct teacher’s salary. And, really, the money I’ve received in the past ten months on my tip jar has just about helped me break even with the fees here on Typepad, so at least I’ve not paid to give you my pretty dumb things, or not paid much.

I was really resistant to putting up ads. It felt just a bit…dirty, and not in a good “little whore-pet pet-whore pet” kind of way. Even after I decided that this attitude was nonproductive and unhelpful to my red bottom line, it took me a little while to find the right ad company. At first, I tried to join Google Adsense, but they rejected me for being too “adult” and “mature.”

As if.

They have no idea how truly juvenile I am.  I, like Liv Tyler, laugh at fart jokes.

Google sent me a lovely note explaining that their policy is to be “family friendly” and that my content didn’t fit that profile. I’m not sure where the good people at Google think families come from, if not from good old Anglo-Saxon adult and mature fucking, but perhaps they’ve been so thinking “don’t be evil” that they’ve forgotten to pencil sex into their Google Calendars.

Then I tried another company whose software did a quick scan of my page and generated ads with catchy phrases like “Wanna Fuck a Hottie Tonight?” I have to wonder why sexverts are so often as subtle as an aging fratboy with a hard-on in one hand and a roofie in the other. I saw the list of ads, I squigged, and I rejected them. I banished their code to the dust bin.

Finally, a bloggy friend invited me to Blogads, the company behind that soon-to-be-stuffed-to-overflowing-with-money-making-goodness space on the left. (Thank you, Autumn.)_ This company seems pretty cool. I hope it will work. If it’s good enough for Perez Hilton and Susie Bright, it’s good enough for me.

So now my pretty dumb things can be yours, or a tiny tidbit of them, anyway. If you or someone you know needs to try to sell something to a whole lot of people every week, just go on over and click on that little link. You know you want to.

______________________________

UPDATE: Thank you Allessia for busting my ad cherry. Thank you Rachel for choosing to grace my pretty dumb things with a cheesecake photo of your cupcake ass to sell your tasty spanky book. And thank you Liese for tipping me.

kissykissykissykissy.
chelsea girl

Comments

[Tony Comstock]

Hooker with a Penis

[chelsea girl]

Tony,

Could you vague that up, say 10% or so?

Or is that cryptic comment just a Comstockian way of saying, "Yes, I'd love to advertise my beautiful films on your pretty dumb things. Where do I sign up?" Because if so, you can just click on the link, sugar.

kissykiss,
chelsea girl

[Autumn]

I am HAPPY to help. If you know anyone else who needs hooked up, let me know - I have a couple more invites.

May you make madd money and prosper.

[Karl Elvis]

Whip it on out for CG, Mister Comstock.

You know, C, the funny thing (to me) is that google accepted my app; they clearly haven't seen all my entries on ball shaving and spanking, nor have they clicked my links to dirty stories. I think they don't look so very carefully. But you'd think they'd at least notice that every other word in my blog is 'fuck'.

While we're on it though, I'd suggest hooking the type-pad built-in ads back up til you get your little advert business built on blogads. They were the ones that didin't use the word 'hottie'.

[Jefferson]

I've been meaning to get back to you on this, but yes, I am still considering your request to marry me for my money.

[chelsea girl]

Jefferson,

How lovely to know that it's still an option. I'll alert my stockbroker.

kissykiss,
chelsea girl

[Karl Elvis]

You gots ads already! Rock the fuck on! I feel absurdly proud for my small part in this effort.

[Tony Comstock]

Listen to Tool's "Hooker with a Penis". Here are the lyrics:

I met a boy wearing vans, 501s, and a
Dope beastie t, nipple rings, and
New tattoos that claimed that he
Was ogt,
From 92,
The first ep.

And in between
Sips of coke
He told me that
He thought
We were sellin out,
Layin down,
Suckin up
To the man.

Well now Ive got some
A-dvice for you, little buddy.
Before you point the finger
You should know that
Im the man,

And if Im the man,
Then youre the man, and
Hes the man as well so you can
Point that fuckin finger up your ass.

All you know about me is what Ive sold you,
Dumb fuck.
I sold out long before you ever heard my name.

I sold my soul to make a record,
Dip shit,
And you bought one.

So Ive got some
Advice for you, little buddy.
Before you point your finger
You should know that
Im the man,
If Im the fuckin man
Then youre the fuckin man as well
So you can
Point that fuckin finger up your ass.

All you know about me is what Ive sold you,
Dumb fuck.
I sold out long before you ever heard my name.

I sold my soul to make a record,
Dip shit,
And you bought one.

All you read and
Wear or see and
Hear on tv
Is a product
Begging for your
Fatass dirty
Dollar

So...shut up and

Buy my new record
Send more money
Fuck you, buddy.

[Alessia Brio]

Getting a nice steady click-thru on the ad, BTW. Money well spent.

[chelsea girl]

Oh, Tony, you the man.

And, apparently, so am I.

kissykiss,
cg

[MonMouth]

CG, darling, anything that helps you pay the rent without punching a clock and getting shouted at by a pimply burger joint manager meets with my approval. Besides, that picture of Rachel's behind has almost rehabilitated late capitalism for me.

*mwah*

[Kicesie]

I absolutely love your blog... your life stories, your writing ability, your passions, etc. I try not to miss a single post. Okay, I admit, I check it obsessively, about twice a day to see if there is a new post.
Anyhow, are there any kinds of ads that you don't want? Or that the particular company you are using won't allow? I'm talking my boyfriend into advertising his company/products here. I'd love to see advertising dollars help you out. And I looked at the prices. Wow... you can't beat umm!

You write so well and so faithfully, I really wish you could survive entirely off of this site. You do more of a service than most people I know.

Best wishes!

[chelsea girl]

Kicesie,

As long as it's legal and not pitched in a lowest-common-denominator way, I have no problem with just about anything. And now I must admit, you have piqued my curiousity...what can your boyfriend be manufacturing?

Hmmmm.....

Drop me an email.

And thanks so much for enjoying.

kissykiss,
chelsea girl