And Now A Word From Our Sponsor, Saint Joseph

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As you may have noticed, this blog has advertising. And I get paid for it, or I will, when the total revenue reaches 100 bucks. Sometimes, I have to laugh when I see what sorts of ads have been dredged up because of my content...

My recent post about real estate superstitions led to a comment being posted about St. Joseph statues being buried on property. Right after that, an ad appeared with a link to an "underground real estate agent" kit which includes--ta da!--a little St. Joseph statue, suitable for upside down burying, I assume.

My friend Bryan Thao Worra said he avoids allowing advertising on his blog because some of the ads might undercut the very things he's trying to say. I'm just amazed by the sheer randomness of some of the ads but, admittedly, they ARE linked to my content.

Like, I could put up some random words, and random ads would be generated because of it. Let's try an experiment, shall we? Feel free to jump in with noun-rich colorful comments, if you catch my drift. Here we go:

On the coast of Fire Island, living and animated extinguishers toddled in their fireproof pajamas toward the ocean, quaffing delicate sea foam like it was the finest A & W root beer which it was, actually, and fat "Papa Burger" flying fish leaped in the ocean.

On the horizon, a luxury cruise liner had been pressed into service hauling cinnamon, and the crew kept fearful watch for pirates off the coast of Cinnabun. The pirates had been known to raid in small Kodiak boats, but being made of chewing tobacco, the boats often sank before they reached their intended targets.

"Where is my antique silver pendant?" cried the captain's wife, who was chronically depressed and off her M&M meds. "I'm sure one of the crew must have stolen it! They've probably melted it down and wrapped it all about a hundred Hershey kisses."

The Captain said nothing. He was contemplating throwing her overboard to the Swedish Fish near the coast of Candynavia.

The poor woman was psychotic, but it was mostly because of her ability to read minds. So she picked up a bowling ball carved from the most exquisite red licorice (one of the crew had left it rolling around on the deck, for possible use as a cannonball against the pirates) and caved in her husband's skull which--the truth be told--was Easter eggshell thin and made of Graham cracker.

"Now you're Captain CRUNCH!" she shrieked.