Day 85 - The Reason I Work & Duel Personalities


I had one of those mornings where I wake up around 5 am to take a piss, then struggle to go back to sleep, then go back sleep, but then wake up an hour later, then go back to sleep, I think, then wake up in another hour. I wasn't sure if I was awake or asleep, which probably means I was asleep.

I wake up about 7 am, throw on the walking dog/workout clothes and take the dogs for a quick walk. It felt good out. The air was a little crisp. The sun wasn't quite up all the way, but it was light out. I finished with the dogs, filled my water bottle up, strapped on my heart rate monitor and headed to the park for the training routine I'm currently engaged in, dreading that this one was going to be slightly brutal. And it was. Ramping up the difficulty before it's warranted will have that effect.

But I finished it, having become a better man, a saint even, than when I started. Then I headed back to the house and went back into daydreaming about having a mini gun mounted to the roof of my car so all I have to do is designate targets and the gun does the rest. It's a fun, stress relieving activity that I like to play. I'm thinking of making a video game about it. I'm going to call it, Suck It All You Asshole Stupid Fuck Drivers, Die. $9.99 at the Walmarts.

I got home, started steaming some broccoli for my lunch, made a protein smoothie out of bananas, celery, and frozen watermelon, then hopped in the shower. While I was scrubbing my balls and feeling the horny between my legs, I felt good, happy, glad to be alive. I don't normally feel that way on a Monday. My usual feeling is dread. Not terrible dread, but more like, "ugh, fucking Monday." Maybe the borderline brutal workout had something to do with it? I don't know, but THEY say that exercise releases feel good chemicals in your brain. So there's that.

On the way to work, I stopped by a real office building, the kind that has a security station in the lobby, the kind that makes me feel like I need to be wearing a suit and tie just to walk into the place, the kind that gives off the illusion that the people who work inside the building have all their shit together. Needless to say, I felt out of place.

I had to drop off the security deposit for a place we're going to rent, a house, in the suburbs, closer to the jobs. Yippie. The people I was dropping off the money to were more than happy to accept it, even if I was dressed like an extra in a Nirvana video.


Don't do certain things, like Twitter or Facebook. Don't do anything that doesn't help get you closer to answering, "how can I get a paying customer."


You have to put on a different costume when you walk through the doors of an office, when you punch in at the job. You have to become a different person. There's no room for your personality, your anger, your personal problems, anything that gives the slightest indication that you have feelings or thoughts or whatever. You have to show up ready to smile, ready to work, ready to serve the master.

All the people you work around are your enemy. There ain't no such thing as friends in the workplace. You might go have a beer or two with some, or do whatever, go bowling, whatever boring time killing people do. They may like you, you may like them. Big deal. They're all agents of The System. They'll all tell on you, throw you under the bus, and/or slit your throat at any time. Never trust them. Ever. They are all drones, conditioned to be pawns. 

Don't get tangled up with them. Don't share secrets or expose yourself whatsoever to any of them. Come in, shut your mouth, get your work done, smile, and go home.


I was wondering what it would take to completely unplug from The System. You know, “go off the grid.” It’s like I have to give out every bit of information about me, as a person living in the world who goes to a job, makes money, consumes, and does other stuff, when I want to do anything. Like, for example, leasing a fucking house. 

And I’m also convinced that the whole jobs-money-consume thing is a scam. Because I go to work to make money. I make money because I need to pay bills and buy food and have a little leftover, so I can stash it away somewhere so when I start shitting my pants in old age I’ll be able to pay someone to clean it up. Then I get nickel and dimed to death with fees, and taxes, and hidden costs. Everyone has their hand out. And most of those hands aren’t optional to put money in. 

So, yeah, I was thinking of what it would take to completely go off the grid.


I’ve always hated dealing with errors in applications. It’s the biggest pain in the ass. On the one hand, I want to deal with all errors gracefully, letting the user remain ignorant. But on the other hand, sometimes, fuck, most of the time, it’s impossible to not stop operation and tell the user something bad happened and let them decide how to proceed.

That’s my struggle right now with Knorbi, what to do with error messages. Like, if you open a new project while working on a current one and the current one doesn’t save, what do I do? The simple answer is to just throw an error and abort the whole operation. A more complex answer is to tell the user and let them decide how to proceed. Keep going? Abort? An even more complex answer is to do some fancy juggling under the hood, saving the file off to a known good destination and never telling the user what’s going on. Of course I chose the simple option, for now.

Day 83 - The Clogged Drain As A Metaphor


Sometimes I cook. And I’m a huge fan of the garbage disposal. If you throw it in the trash, it starts stinking, right? Right.

So I clogged the drain last night because I overloaded the garbage disposal with sweet potato peels. That was the first thing that greeted me this morning, a pool of murky sweet potato peel water in the sink.

Regardless, I put on my workout clothes and took the dogs for a long walk. It was still dark out, again, but I don’t feel nearly as tired on a Saturday morning as I do during the weekday. “Why is that, oh great A-ron?” Well, because, fuck the drunks whose lives are miserable moments spliced together, and fuck them because I can’t be like that any more. That’s why.

Anyway, I got back, fed the dogs, then got to work on the sink. I watched a youtube video about how to unclog a kitchen sink. I actually didn’t watch the whole thing because I thought it was going to be some trick to get it to unclog. But no trick, I was going to have to take apart the pipe structure under the sink to find the clog.

And that’s what I did. I put a bucket under the pipe structure and started unscrewing pipes. I knew the clog was somewhere close to where the garbage disposal meets the pipes, because the other side of the sink was draining fine. I unscrewed the pipe that plugged into the disposal outlet, and the water came splashing out, filling the bucket and shooting sweet potato peel juice all over me. Yummy.

I unclogged the pipe, screwed it all back in place, and, like it never happened. I rewarded myself by lounging on the couch for 10 minutes.


There is no shortage of fat people in the world. And that fact was on display in abundance yesterday. Fucking every kid at the girls softball ball game (7 to 10 year olds) was fat to obese. At the very least, they all had a gut that puts mine to shame. I felt 20 times more attractive than I normally feel.

I postulated with my mother about which of her two offspring she would eat if the government, in order to save the planet, dictated that she had to eat all but one of her kids. Because, you know, some animals eat their young. What if it was OK for humans to do that? She never gave me a clear answer, but I think she bought in to the whole eat-a-kid-to-save-the-planet thing because she kept saying she didn’t want to eat either one of us.


Saturdays tend to not be filled with routine. I wanted to go to the fair and eat a corn dog and a funnel cake and other delicious foods that turn people into the fat people that I just finished judging earlier. But it was too late, so we went to deep ellum and had a sandwich at the greatest sandwich shop on the planet.

Then we went to meet a friend of my girlfriend’s who was toting around a new boy toy who she had never met before today and who was staying with her. Yeah, psycho killer. Turns out, he’s a tall, good looking dude who both girls were all over. I was left being the short jealous guy who couldn’t buy attention from these girls if I had the money to do such a thing. I’m used to being the tall one in the bunch, so I was a bit miffed. Whatever, the girls can’t help it, that’s the way God made them. Survival of the fittest, and I wasn’t even close to being the fittest.

I suppose I should get used to it. Age isn’t doing me any favors.

Day 82 - Fuck Friday, And Fuck Complete Control


Good morning, 6:10. It's Friday, September 26, 2014. The last day of the work week. The first day of the weekend. Thank fucking God it's Friday.

You know what the shitty thing about Friday is? It's an illusion. It's false hope. It's a fucking tease. Friday is like the slave master going out of town for a couple of days, so the beatings stop. But you know he's coming back and the beatings will resume. So, fuck it, I don't believe in Fridays. It's just another day. Sorry to be such a downer. I love you.

I crawled out of bed, put on the workout/walk the dog clothes, and took the dogs for a medium walk. It was still dark outside. I hate that. It makes me feel like I'm up too early or something.

I fed the dogs the headed out to my punch the clock workout inspired by Pavel Tsatsouline in Power To The People. 2 sets of push ups, 2 sets of kettlebell swings, 2 sets of goblet squats, 2 sets of pull ups, 2 400 meter sprint/runs. Each workout I ramp up the difficulty. Right now, it's about at medium. By the end of next week, I may be hating life afterwards.

I came home, made a smoothie, and opened up the laptop with every intention of doing something on Knorbi. I did. I wrote one function prototype and called it a session. God, if I ever finish this thing it will be a miracle.

I took a shower, making extra certain to wash my ass, taint, and balls well. You never know what the day may bring. I threw on some clothes and drove to work without fanfare, and now I stand before you on the other side of the digital divide and write this that you are now reading with your eyes. Thanks.


The insane thing about developing something where I am the sole person in control, i.e. I don’t have a fucking boss and company structure breathing down my fucking neck to do things a certain way, is that I have complete control over everything. And further, since I’m a fucking perfectionist, I tend to get stuck in complexity and making changes and essentially doing nothing productive.

I’ve decided to make another change to how Knorbi is going to operate. I had thought of this complex sync system and library system that was going to require a lot of making sure everything was saving properly and blah blah blah. Then I remembered today how much I fucking hate Evernote’s sync system. And they have 7 billion dollars and an army of developers at their disposal. So, I’m just a guy, with a degree and an easy government job. Yeah, it makes my eyes water a bit also.

So I decided to simplify, makes things easy on myself and the people who will potentially use this thing. I’m removing the sync system and the library system and focusing more on the writing. That should be the way to go for a WRITING APP, don’t ya think? Thank you for your support.

Day 81 - Worried At 3am


7 am felt early this morning. Probably because I woke up to pee around 3 and couldn't go back to sleep until well after 4. I couldn't help but think about what Walter White said to Hank about being afraid and worrying and what not.

I was watching Fight Club right before going to bed, and the scene where Tyler Durden holds a gun to the convenience store dude's head and threatens him to get his shit together or he's going to kill him kept going through my head. How much more focus would we all have, and how much different would our lives look like, if we all had a gun to our head threatening death if we didn't get moving doing the things we really want to do? I would be a drummer. That's it.

So I got up at 7, walked the dogs, fed them, and did some fantasy football maintenance. No breakfast, no workout (yoga later), just a shower and a goodbye.


My task was to identify my skills, my strengths, and what interests me, then come up with at least 3 "fields" that I could pursue. Sounds easy enough, right? Well, it's fucking not.

Skills are abilities I already possess, things that I am good at or want to get good at. This is stuff I could put on my resume, like programming, or writing, or tree hugging, whatever. This is also stuff that I could potentially teach others to do, or help them learn. And also, this could be things I would like to be good at, that I'm willing to go out and acquire the skill, then teach it to others. Like, doing this whole money making thing is a skill that I will (eventually) acquire and can teach to someone else.

Strengths are the intangible abilities that I possess. Things like organizing, or bringing people together, or being really good at derailing conversations (my specialty). These are the type of things that make me feel in the zone, like, I get lost doing them.

Interests goes without saying. What am I interested in? Stuff like blogging, sports, anal sex, midget porn, that type of stuff. What kind of things do I spend time reading? I spend a lot of time reading about personal development, but just reading about it, and then doing nothing. I know just how fucked up I am according to a handful of people who have the cure.

I didn't get around to picking my field yet, that'll be tomorrow. I got sidetracked with the fucking job. I think the most important lesson is that there's no such thing as the perfect idea. In fact, picking something boring, that other people are already doing, is probably the best route. Why? Because I know there's already a demand. How much of a demand is another question.


On the drive home from work, my favorite radio station, Sports Radio & 1310 AM Ticket, was talking about the prolific Bill Simmons getting suspended from ESPN for 3 weeks for saying an opinion about Roger Gooddell, the NFL leader man. The overly wordy, always mousy, tangentially boring shill Simmons said he thought Gooddell lied about never seeing the Ray Rice tape before it was leaked by TMZ. The same opinion every other human on the planet that has a brain has. That's it, that was all.

ESPN suspended him for 3 weeks, and the boys on the radio were going off on ESPN for suspending a guy who was just doing his job.

I formed the opinion that it was all somewhat staged, or at the very least, a happy accident. Actually, I'm of the opinion that most PR things these days are staged. Just like rap "beefs" or WWE rivalries, they all serve the single purpose of selling whatever. For rap people, they sell more records because, fuck, you gotta hear Jay Z's response to Willy Whack Hustla's dis, right?

In the Simmons' case, ESPN gets pub for being ridiculous, ergo more viewers, ergo they can charge more for advertising. And Simmons gets a 3 week vacation from having to write drivel or give his boring opinions about stuff going on in sports. I wish my fucking place of employment would suspend me for 3 weeks with pay.


I came home, took the dogs out for a quick walk, then enveloped myself in yoga attire and headed to class. It was especially not crowded, so I got my favorite spot, at the back of the room, dead center. It's the perfect place for me, especially when I'm tired because I don't want to look like a whimp in front of so many cute girls. And, you know, it gives me a good view. Get it? Even though it makes me feel like a creepy old man. Oh well.

I went home, ate some delicious leftover beef stew and had every intention of working on Knorbi. But guess what, I have access to literally thousands of television channels, and I happened across the one showing Dallas Buyers Club. I got sucked in.

After the movie, I did do some work on Knorbi, but I got distracted again by fantasy football. So really, all I can say about the progress I made on Knorbi is, I opened my laptop and thought about it for about 5 minutes. I hate to say it, but it looks like it's going to fall to the curb.

Day 80 - Tie Me To A Post And Beat The Shit Out Of Me


A loud crashing noise wakes me up around 2:30 in the morning. Probably a wreck on the freeway that sometimes feels like it cuts through my bedroom window. Whatever, I go back to sleep.

I wake up around 6:30 and lay in bed thinking about the beat down of a day it's going to be (see below). I roll out, throw on my walking the dog/workout gear and take the dogs for a walk. It's a little crisp. I feel my nuts shrivel close to my body.

I get in my car and drive to the park. I unload the kettlebell and carry it to the now empty basketball court, that was used over the weekend as a platform for port-a-potties and cigarette butt holder things. I do my workout then hit the trail for some running. It was an ordinary, punch the clock kind of workout.

I come home, make myself a smoothie, and zone out until shower time. I think about what I want to accomplish for the day, but come up with nothing definitive.


I imagine hell being populated with cookie cutter office bosses who ask endless, meaningless questions about project deadlines and metrics and "why haven't you finished this in the time frame I said it should be finished in?" I imagine myself sitting in a 24/7 meeting with the bosses who torment me with boss-y stuff for eternity.

I also imagine there being several hundred other people who have "opinions" about what you're doing, how you're doing, and when you should have it done. And they voice their opinions, all talking at the same over each other, all trying to appear smarter than the other. And my role is to defend myself and try to explain how they're all fucking wrong. Then the devil comes in my cell every night and fucks me in the ass with his pitchfork dick.

That's my version of hell, and I just lived a facsimile of it, minus the getting fucking in the ass part. Although I get to home and get it metaphorically.

I spent the rest of the day pretending not to want to jump out of a window, strip naked, and live out the rest of my life under the nearest bridge.


Feeling completely deflated from a long, arduous, mentally draining day, I went to the Target to get some things that we've all agreed are necessary to live life in the modern world. Toilet paper to wipe the poop remnants off my butt, paper towels for whatever, toothpaste because that's what we're told we're supposed to put on our teeth to keep them "clean," and a new toothbrush, the thing used to apply the toothpaste.

Walking around Target, I'm convinced that half the people occupying the store are robots, agents of Target used to push the illusion that shopping there is the right thing to do. Sometimes I wonder if I'm one of the robots. It's hard to tell since I move and behave like everyone else.

Maybe I see them as robots because most of them stare straight ahead while walking with a blank look on their face; I call it the "uptown look," because that's what you see on all the billboards advertising "the life." Blank faces, holding some kind of fancy alcoholic drink, with borderline anorexic models lounging around in some "cool" environment. It's like everyone is falling over each other trying to out cool one another. Ugh, that's me in the background looking on in jealousy.

I gave money for my items, while trying not to question the robot checkout girl who says the same thing over and over to every person who comes through her line, "would you like to save 5% today by signing up for a Target credit card?" Shut the fuck up and tell me how much I owe.

Day 79 - The Invention Of Time Is Fucking Stupid


I woke up a little after 7 and laid in bed listening to the beep, beep, beep sound piercing through my bedroom window, which is feet from a busy street and a busy apartment complex thoroughfare.

I rolled out of bed and checked my email. All of it was spam, which I knew it would be, but I can't help but check it because I'm fucking addicted to the possibility that there might be something exciting in there. But, nope. There never is.

I took the dogs for a walk, listening to The Ticket AM, and turns out, the beep, beep, beep sound was coming from a moving truck that had literally backed up to my bedroom window. I begged God to drop a rocket launcher from Heaven into my angry hands so I could end these motha fuckin' moving people's miserable lives, and in the process, feel a little better about my existence. But God must've been asleep or something this morning.

I made breakfast, bacon, eggs, avocado, chicken sausage and started a pot of what I'm calling beef stew in the slow cooker. I hope it turns out OK.

Got dressed, drove to work, and started writing this.


There's nothing better than a time waste meeting to learn how to properly enter how you spent your work day. Like, why is every fucking time accounting system so fucking complex? Is it because companies all have complicated accounting processes? Yes, that's the answer, the fucking company is to blame.

Actually, the government is to blame in this case, because the company I work for does a lot of work for the government. Therefore, all the company's accounting processes are stupid fucking complex. And I have just wasted an hour of my life, an hour plus, learning a new system, which I will forget in about a an hour from now.

Thanks, Obama and the whole go-to-work-so-you-can-make-money-so-you-can-buy-things-like-everyone-else lifestyle. "This is your life, and it's ending 1 minute at a time," Tyler Durden. Fuck you, I liked Fight Club!


Yoga was extremely not crowded tonight. Like everyone decided tonight was the night to blow it off. It was nice, not having another man's ass inches from my nose during the wide leg bend over things. I never have a cute girl's ass. It's always some smelly, hairy dude. The girls like to set their mats up as far away from mine as they can possibly get. I don't blame them.

I came home and ate a bowl of the beef soup/stew that I made myself in the slow cooker. It was good. I thought about the things I want to do with whatever life I have remaining and couldn't calculate enough time to get them all done. I'll need to live until I'm like 178 years old. Maybe that'll be possible in the near future, but I can't count on it.

Day 78 - New Things, New Optimism


I went to do my usual, boring workout in the park this morning. There was some kind of party from the day before. Some kind of gay pride thing, I don't know. The basketball court, where I usually perform most of my workout, was covered with port-a-potties and those things that accept cigarette butts. Lovely.

I decided to work out in the grass. I did my push ups, then a truck with a handful of "lawn workers" pulled up and everyone got out and grabbed their leaf blowers and went to work. I gave up on the work out and drove around for a few minutes wondering where it all went wrong. Then I went home and made myself a smoothie, listened to The Ticket AM, read the Internet, took a shower, and went to work.


I started Earn 1k, the very first video, setting my goals. Here's mine...

"My goal is to make $500 working 6 to 15 hours per week within 3 months from today (Sep 22, 2014). I'll keep going until I have the option to quit my job and/or automate most or all of the business so I can begin building another."

I feel good about that goal, even though I hate them, because I'm almost 90% positive I'm going to fail. But it's just like Ramit asked for. Specific, time constraint, and a long term outlook. I feel like I was a good little boy in the lesson today. Of course, these are the easy ones. So...


I stared out the window a lot. It was a nice day. It feels inhumane to keep the humans trapped in shitty offices on such nice days.


I got home, flipped on the Monday night football, opened up the laptop and multi tasked, I watched football and worked on Knorbi.

I needed Brandon Marshall to come through for me, because I'm playing in at least a billion fantasy leagues, and I haven't lost a game in any of them yet. But Brandon failed me, that fuck head. I started thinking I need to stop playing fantasy football because it warps how I watch a game. If I didn't have any fantasy interest in last night's game, I probably wouldn't have watched it. Bears vs Jets? Who fucking cares.

But I made some progress on Knorbi. I've been struggling lately with how to log errors and application stuff, just in case the thing crashes or runs into problems, I'll be able to know what's going on under the hood. I wanted to use a database, but Qt is stupid and the way I wanted to use it wasn't going to work at all. So I switched to a plain text file, which I hate, because it's harder to prune out older entries. I'm thinking of just blanking the file every time the app starts up, until I can figure out a clever and efficient way of deleting old entries.

Day 77 - Fuck Ramit & His Bullshit, Wait, No


I’ve done a bit of reflection over the last few days. I sat by reflecting pools looking longingly in the distance and letting my mind wander, which is total bullshit. And maybe I’ve gone over the deep end on some things. Maybe I thought I was smarter than the pack, when in reality, I’m not that smart at all and need all the help and guidance a boy can get.

I turned my back on Ramit Sethi, and a bunch of other stupid fucking bloggers, a while ago. Because I was convinced his stupid fucking “courses” are just money grabs. They are. I still believe that. But I also think there is some value there, and maybe I didn’t give it its fair shake. I’m talking about his Earn 1k crap. 

I only made it about halfway through before giving up. And I typically give up at the first sign of resistance. When that first obstacle comes up, I throw my hands up in the air and give up. I probably have my mother or father or school or whatever to blame for that one. It's just a pattern my brain likes to follow.

I think I’ve decided to give it another shot, and document, in detail, my experiences here. So really, this blog for the next few weeks will be the Earn 1k course distilled through my eyes and experience. I try it, so you don’t have to waste your money and time on something that may not be right for you. Hell, it may not be right for me. Maybe I’m in desperation mode, who knows.

Fuck it. I paid for it, why not use it? Why not follow it to the bitter end, see where it takes me. Maybe this year will be different?

The only reason I’m thinking of going this route is because this blog and all the other little things I'm fucking around with, like the writing app (knorbi), that I thought had promise in the beginning but may not have so much promise, isn’t working out well. I could just be impatient, who knows, but when the desired results aren’t showing up when I believe they should be showing up, it gets very demotivating. I know when this moment comes because I find myself spending more and more time on the line looking for information. Like, Earn 1k popped back in my head because I searched the Google for “how to make money,” and he has a slick little site that shows up for that term. Fucking asshole. I still hate him and hope at some point in the future he fails and has to resort to giving hand jobs for money.

Don’t judge me, I can dream, right?

Day 82 - Fuck Friday, And Fuck Complete Control


Good morning, 6:10. It's Friday, September 26, 2014. The last day of the work week. The first day of the weekend. Thank fucking God it's Friday.

You know what the shitty thing about Friday is? It's an illusion. It's false hope. It's a fucking tease. Friday is like the slave master going out of town for a couple of days, so the beatings stop. But you know he's coming back and the beatings will resume. So, fuck it, I don't believe in Fridays. It's just another day. Sorry to be such a downer. I love you.

I crawled out of bed, put on the workout/walk the dog clothes, and took the dogs for a medium walk. It was still dark outside. I hate that. It makes me feel like I'm up too early or something.

I fed the dogs the headed out to my punch the clock workout inspired by Pavel Tsatsouline in Power To The People. 2 sets of push ups, 2 sets of kettlebell swings, 2 sets of goblet squats, 2 sets of pull ups, 2 400 meter sprint/runs. Each workout I ramp up the difficulty. Right now, it's about at medium. By the end of next week, I may be hating life afterwards.

I came home, made a smoothie, and opened up the laptop with every intention of doing something on Knorbi. I did. I wrote one function prototype and called it a session. God, if I ever finish this thing it will be a miracle.

I took a shower, making extra certain to wash my ass, taint, and balls well. You never know what the day may bring. I threw on some clothes and drove to work without fanfare, and now I stand before you on the other side of the digital divide and write this that you are now reading with your eyes. Thanks.


The insane thing about developing something where I am the sole person in control, i.e. I don’t have a fucking boss and company structure breathing down my fucking neck to do things a certain way, is that I have complete control over everything. And further, since I’m a fucking perfectionist, I tend to get stuck in complexity and making changes and essentially doing nothing productive.

I’ve decided to make another change to how Knorbi is going to operate. I had thought of this complex sync system and library system that was going to require a lot of making sure everything was saving properly and blah blah blah. Then I remembered today how much I fucking hate Evernote’s sync system. And they have 7 billion dollars and an army of developers at their disposal. So, I’m just a guy, with a degree and an easy government job. Yeah, it makes my eyes water a bit also.

So I decided to simplify, makes things easy on myself and the people who will potentially use this thing. I’m removing the sync system and the library system and focusing more on the writing. That should be the way to go for a WRITING APP, don’t ya think? Thank you for your support.

Day 74 - You're Going To Be Fucking Old Anyway


I got called "sir" the other day, by some fucking shit head with a face and a stupid mouth. Fuck that guy. He made me feel old, like a person who doesn't matter any more. I suppose when you hit 40, you'd better be ready for the general population of people to have that opinion of you.

Then I thought of all the times I've probably made someone else feel old and worthless by calling them "sir." Fuck them, they don't matter.

What does matter is the nothingness, the empty vacuum of space that we all try to fill up with stuff. It's the quest we're all on, even the little 8 year old with an AK47 risking his life harvesting diamonds for us fat, lazy, spoiled Americans. It's that vacuum that nature has blessed/cursed us with. It always needs to be filled up. And even if one manages to fill it up, it empties out pretty quick. It needs constant refilling.

I heard an interview with a person on my favorite radio station the other day. He was an early 40s dude who was doing something with cancer. I don't remember. It's not fucking important, so stop asking!

He said he was talking to a doctor person, I don't know if it was his friend or just a guy he ran into in an alley giving out hand jobs for meth.  He told this doctor person that he was thinking about going to medical school and becoming a doctor, but he was concerned that he would be in his 50s by the time he got out.

And this doctor person, who may or may not prostitute his body in exchange for meth, told him, "you're still going to be 50."

It took a couple of minutes for it sink in, because I'm dumb. Then it seemed like my world view changed. I'd heard that concept uttered in various forms, but I've never heard it put so bluntly and so, what's the word, simply, in a way that even I could understand it. Or maybe when I'd heard it before I was too young to give a shit.

But now that I'm 40+, I realize that I'm not so indestructible any more. I realize that I'm not going to live forever. I also realize that had I stuck to any of the stupid things that were important to me 10, 20 years ago, that now, I'd be a 40+ year old who did those things also. Drummer, musician, writer, rock star, belly dancer, whatever. 

It's almost like hearing those stupid words come out of that stupid guys mouth gave me permission to do anything I want. It gave me permission to start something new, even if the end is years down the road, even if the end puts me in my 70s.

Like having a kid. I worry that I'll be too old to do anything but sit around and be old with him/her. Maybe, but even if that is the future truth, I can either sit around and be old without a kid or sit around and be old with a kid. I can either be a 50 year drummer/musician, or I can be a 50 year old whatever I am now (not that there's anything wrong with how awesome I is now). I can be a 70 year old that's published 100+ books who can't control his bowels, or just a 70 year old who can't control his bowels.

You get the picture.

Day 73 - Just Another Piece Of Trash On The Pile


I realized, just now, as I'm sitting at my stand up desk at the job staring out the window listening to this story, that in order to get people to pay attention to me, to become my "fan," I'm going to have to make shit up out of thin air. I'm going to have to create from nothing. I'm going to have to produce something that is completely different than anything else available, instead of trying to just put a new spin on the same old same old. I'm going to have to climb out of the noise floor, which gets a little bit louder every single day.

It wasn't the content of the story that made me come to this realization. It was the production value, the effort that went into creating the story, the details, the number of people involved, and how in the hell did they come across the story in the first place? A woman (literally) living with a dolphin, and eventually jacking it off, and eventually "talking" with it? So stupid, but I couldn't help but listen.

But now, since typing the first paragraph 2 minutes ago, I'm thinking why I should care if I have "fans?" It boils down to money, right? People who become famous, and stay famous, have a built in revenue stream for as long as they're famous, right? And do I even feel comfortable having fans? What kind of responsibility does that entail? Is it something more? Why do I have this desire to have "fans?"

This is my ego thinking. And it hurts whatever it is I want to create/do, because I'm constantly thinking, "well, it needs to be appealing to other people or what's the point in doing it?" So I'm getting wrapped up in trying to make something that I THINK people will want to consume. And in the process, I'm dismissing things that might just be fun for me to do, regardless if anyone else gives a shit.

Like, I have an idea for a TV show, or a series of books, that centers around the porn industry. Essentially, technology evolves from porn to the point that (the always nebulous) they (the porn people, whoever "they" are) create the first life like robot. And it's a chic, who never ages, who never complains about whatever sex act they want her to do, who doesn't have a conscious, but has the ability to learn and imitate. The story grows from that premise.

I've dismissed it as something that isn't "mainstream" enough. In other words, I'm THINKING there is no audience that would be interested in this premise, so why bother? Even if it would make me the happiest human alive on the planet, even if zero other people thought it was good and wanted to consume it. Why bother?

It's another excuse. It's the difference between people who make incredible shows like Breaking Bad and spares like me, standing in the shadows, jealous, complaining  that I don't have any good ideas, hating those who are on the field playing while gossiping and criticizing with all the other wanna bes on the sideline. It is the only barrier to entry left on the planet. That, and one's ability to execute.

So if I somehow lick those monsters, how do I rise out of the trash heap? Maybe it's a matter of finding a smaller trash heap? Or maybe I lose the thinking that I need to compete, that I need to be better, or more interesting, or that I have to sway people from one thing to my thing? "How about you just experiment and see what works best?" a smarter person than myself might be saying to themselves right now. Yes.

Day 72 - Possibly The Shittiest Words Ever Published To The Interweb


There comes a time when you have to realize that you're in over your head, that you just aren't good enough to compete with the big boys, that you're broken in some way, flawed, incapable of making the necessary changes or putting in the necessary hours to make whatever it is you want to happen, happen.

This is the hallmark of the also ran, the lowly wanna-be, the person who tries and tries as best they can to be like whatever, but always comes off as a cheap imitation.

I embody that person. The person who isn't quite smart enough, or healthy enough, or motivated enough to do what is necessary. I give up. I quit.

I have no idea where I'm going with this. I think I've been deluding myself all along, thinking I'm something I'm not, thinking I'm better than I actually am, thinking that anything I do matters.

But I have to ask, what does it matter if anything I do ever matters? Or really, who am I trying to impress?

I think it's time to simplify. I want to do so many things, but I just don't have the time or the energy or the mental stamina to do them all at once. And I hate it. My body just can't handle the workload, at least not right now it can't. Or maybe I'll keep on trying to do everything and accept that nothing will be exceptional. 

I suppose by now I should be comfortable being mediocre. I should just be grateful that I'm still alive and that I've done a few things and whatever. But I have a hard time shaking the nagging thing that keeps telling me I can do better. It's probably the reason I'm so judgmental and critical and jealous of other's success.

Day 71 - Dream Killer


I got an email from this douche lick Chris Guillebeau. Another one of those Internet dream pushers selling the "Quit Your Job And Work On A Beach In Thailand While Being Served By Gorgeous Women/Men In Bikinis" bullshit. You know, one of those "living life to the fullest" assholes who try to make you feel shitty that you're not "living life to the fullest, so buy my book, read my blog, follow me on Twitter, buy my products and all your problems will be solved?" Uh, huh.

Here's the email he sent me, unedited:

Hey Aaron,

You're receiving this note because you signed up for a $100 Startup tour event, either when the book came out or recently.

Breaking news: I have a new book out ... and I'm back on the road!

As with last time, all reader events are community-based and FREE. Please sign up and come say hi! -->

The Happiness of Pursuit: Official Tour

My new book is all about QUESTS, including my own journey to every country in the world, as well as the journeys of many other amazing people:

▪ The young woman who circumnavigated the globe in a small sailboat
▪ The man who walked across America
▪ The woman who made a meal from every country in the world
▪ The small team who produced the world's largest symphony (it took 28 years!)
▪ and many more

The book is now available on and from your favorite local bookseller. I started the tour last week in New York City and continued to several more stops ... but there are 35 cities to go.

I hope to see you out on the road. If you can't make it, send your friends!

Yours in World Domination (and gratitude),

Chris Guillebeau 

P.S. If you'll be able to come out and say hi, let me know! I'd love to know what city you're in.

What a shock, he's hocking a book titled, no less, "The Happiness of Pursuit." Fuck me.

I bought his last book, the $100 startup thing and it sucked balls. It's nothing but a bunch of over blown testimonials from people (who even knows if they're real) who started a business on a shoe string budget and over night became quadrillionaires, or something like that. It has nothing of substance, nothing useful to pull out and use. It's just a money grab.

I'm not bitter or anything (I am, but not for the reasons you might think).

In response, I sent him this email:

This is great news! I'm so glad you're coming back to hang out again. Remember last time when we really got wasted and picked up those strippers and took them back to your hotel room? Man, that was a great time. I promise I never told the cops about your little "accident," ;).

This time I thought we might ramp up the action. I want it all to be a surprise though. Just send me your hotel information and I'll make all the arrangements. I promise it'll be better than the last time. You're still into cocaine, I assume? And red heads are your preferred style of stripper? I wrote it all down from last time. And again, I didn't tell the cops nothing when they asked.

I'm so excited! Please respond with the hotel dets as soon as possible. Looking forward to hangin' with you again buddy.


Just call me the dream crusher. I'm the asshole in the back of class trying to ruin the lecture for everyone else. Because I want all the attention, and I can't stand it when someone else "makes it." Oh well, fuck it, I'll play the destroyer.

Day 68 - Everyone Needs An Outlet


I'm a software developer. I have a degree in computer science engineering from the University of Texas at Arlington. Who fucking cares.

I like the abstract, creative aspect of programming, but I hate the process and management overhead and having to work in teams and all the other bureaucratic bullshit that attempts to make software into anything other than what it really is, an art form. But still, I get it. When there's money to be made and deadlines to meet, these things come in handy.

There's also the problem of varying degrees of competency among software people. In other words, some software developers are "better" than others. That's why the whole process crap was invented, to keep the superstars from flying too high (i.e. so they don't have to pay them more), but mainly to bring the shitty/mediocre ones up to some adequate level (cheaper and easier to hire "meh" talent to get the desired results). The graph looks something like this:

This has the effect of boring superstars to death, because they have to pull most of the weight of whatever project they are on AND deal with the burden of process. Eventually, they quit and move on to something more interesting, or at least perceived to be more interesting. It has other effects too, but that's the one that kills people the most.

And it is a death sentence, if you allow it. Because if a person isn't allowed, or is hindered in any way, from expressing themselves to the fullest of their ability, then they will, at some point, become resentful. And then question the whole nature of jobs and economies and blah blah blah. And then spiral down to questioning the purpose of life. And then eventually, come to accept their lot in life. Then they check out and become just another person occupying a space in the line at Walmarts.

That's why a superstar needs an outlet. They need something on the side that allows them full expression. If they get too content just writing the little piece of code that makes the light blink when x is > 11, then they're already dead. If they're the one defending the process, then they're already dead.

This is good news for the plethora of "mehs" out there, because it almost ensures they'll have a job for the rest of their "meh" life. But they don't really matter, do they? They're already dead and they don't even know it. I'm sorry.

Day 67 - The Ultimate Human Question Answered


The last few days have been shitty. Meaning, I haven't got shit done towards anything that actually matters to me.

I have to find a house to live in. I have to get shit done at work. I haven't felt the greatest, physically and mentally. I have to deal with eleventy billion fantasy football teams. I want to start podcasting again, but I keep making excuses that I need this equipment or that in order to get going.

I need to be working on knorbi. I need to be writing in this stupid fucking blog that nobody reads or cares about every day. I need to get moving on my health and fitness quests. I need a fucking break.

It's one of those times where I just feel paralyzed by "stuff." I got a lot of shit on my mind and feel like I ain't got no time to get it all done. The demands of a modern man are upsetting, unnatural.

So what's a boy to do? Cry foul? Stand still and do nothing? That sounds good. Seriously, doing nothing sounds really good right now. Curling up in a little ball and laying in bed for days sounds like the thing I should be doing.

But of course I won't do that. Because I'm programmed to be in constant motion. Forward is the preferred direction, but any motion will do. If you're not in constant motion, well then, there's something wrong with you.

I hate dealing with things. It always seems like such a waste of life to do all the little things that a functioning, average, tax paying individual has to do to keep on being a functioning, average, tax paying individual. Consuming is hard fucking work, and requires constant attention.

Like, my car battery dying. It required me to wait on someone to come jump me. 1.5 hours. It required me to search for a replacement, and possibly someone to do the work to replace it. 1 hour. I could've done it myself, but that would've cost me another hour. It required me to take it to a place that handles this sort of thing and spend time dealing with the transaction. 0.5 hour.

3 hours of my life, gone, dealing with a stupid fucking car battery. 3 hours I could've spent doing nothing, watching a movie, making progress, working, walking around, driving to Austin, whatever.

And when you look at the alternatives, they don't seem like a good investment of time either. Which leads to the ultimate question. The question humans have been asking themselves since inventing boredom. What IS a good investment of my time?

And the answer is nothing, outside of eating, breathing, sleeping, fucking, and surviving. Everything else is a complete waste of time. So now, I don't have to feel bad when I spend 40+ hours of my life searching for a new place to live. Or 50+ hours watching Breaking Bad. Or 30 minutes staring at a wall. It's OK to waste all the time I want. Because in the end, I'm just going to die and be replaced by something.

That's not as depressing as it sounds. It's not depressing at all. It's liberating. It gives me the freedom to do whatever I want, when I want, without feeling guilty. So if I never finish knorbi, or accomplish anything with the rest of my life, then, OK, so what? I survived.

Day 65 - How To Suck At Marketing


I started this experiment on August 30th, because Google sent a thing to get a $100 worth of adwords if I spent $25. Since I already had a credit from another time Google sent me the same thing, I took advantage.

The experiment was to see what, if anything, people would be willing to pay for my writing app, Knorbi. Essentially, it was an experiment in marketing. And it failed. Not miserably, but the results were less than impressive.

I kept tweaking the site over the course of the experiment. I offered tiered pricing levels with no free option at first. Zero interest. Then I offered a free option with limited features and received two interests. The final iteration looks like this...

So out of those 99 clicks, two emails, and very little interest in ANY version of the thing. Fuck me. I was sure this would be a desirable little app. But maybe people aren't willing to pay for just another text editor? Or maybe they don't understand fully the concept? 

This leaves me questioning if I should keep going. The sub-title of this site is "Making Money, And All That Implies," and it doesn't look like knorbi is going to make me any money. At least up front.

The doubt isn't going to keep me from building it. It looks like it might be one of those things that needs to get a little traction before it becomes profitable. It may never become profitable, but it will still be valuable to me, because I plan on using the shit out of it.

I'm going to stew on the marketing approach for a while. I'm not sure if I should charge anything. Instead, I'm thinking I just collect email addresses and figure out a way to monetize that list later. I hate doing things that way, because I hate when other sites do it to me. Maybe I can come up with something more unique? Or, fuck it, maybe I'll sell the list to dirt ball spammers (I would never do that, wink, wink).

Day 64 - Goals - The Drug Dealer To Regular People


Having goals is fucking stupid. I'm convinced of it. Goals may be the most depressing thing a person can have.

I've read all sorts of crap about setting and attaining goals. Like, goals should be challenging, but not too much, or else you'll feel like shit if you don't accomplish them. Well, this is one of those times where this human being typing this into the computer right now is feeling like shit for not having achieved any of his goals yet.

Maybe it's my fault. Maybe I've set myself up to feel like shit, because I heard this "tip" on the radio the other day that was talking about a guy who turned his passwords into little mantras. I thought, "oh, that's cool, I think I'll try that." So I did. And now two weeks later, every time I enter my password I feel like hot garbage because my brain keeps saying, "why haven't you achieved that yet?"

I was running yesterday on a popular trail here in Dallas and these two dudes came running up behind me and they were chit chatting about, whatever. I heard one of them say real loud, "yeah, my goal after this is [insert some stupid thing here]." My judgmental side came out and I said to myself, "you're an idiot for having goals. Goals are stupid." Then I remembered that I have goals. I wanted to hug him and apologize for being so critical of his stupid little goals.

But I didn't hug him. Instead, I tunneled into hell and wondered why we have goals in the first place. Who invented the concept of goals? I know they were invented because we have absolutely nothing to worry about in terms of survival. We've elevated ourselves so completely out of the food chain that we need something to fill the time that we would be spending simply surviving. Ergo, goals were invented.

You have goals at the job. Personal goals. Health goals. Fitness goals. Financial goals. Goals on top of fucking goals inside other goals wrapped in meta goals. And it's all fucking stupid. Why can't I just be content being?

The easy answer is because I've been trained by The System to feel the need to achieve. The job worker's mentality needs to be a never ending stream of achievements, preferably ones that build on top of each other. "Oh, you sold 90,000 widgets last month, then you should be able to sell 100,000 this month." Then when you reach the absolute maximum, you get fired and they hire a 20 year old whose eager to please as your replacement.

I actually wish I got paid for all the goals I've failed to achieve. I have literally a land fills worth of pissed away goals that I never accomplished for some reason or another. And it drives me insane that every day I wake up and feel the need to set new goals. As if setting these goals will help me attain them.

I think I'm going to start not caring whether or not I achieve my goals. I'm still going to have them, but instead of feeling shitty when that part of my head that likes to criticize me for not being perfect all the time, I'm going feel good about myself. Because I know that there's literally billions of goals floating around in the world today, distributed across millions of people who are so bored with their lives that they have to make shit up to do. And I know that 99% of those goals will go unfulfilled. So I'll be in good company.

I guess you could say I'm going to get familiar with failure. Or rather, instead of tossing goals aside and replacing them with new ones, I'll keep them all around me, like a hoarder who can't let anything go. And when that TV show that goes around trying to "help" these poor bastard hoarders gets around to me, I'll get angry when they start wanting to throw away that really vague goal from 1994 that was centered around quitting my shitty job at the time and moving to a tropical island a millionaire. They'll become my own personal badges of (dis)honor.

I feel a little better now, knowing I've just given myself permission to fail. And also knowing that it's OK to remind myself of those failures every single day.

Day 62 - Creating Artificial Desire


Things are hard. I get that.

There’s a commercial I hear on the radio sometimes. It’s for Blue Bell ice cream and it’s so fucking stupid I wanna kick the radio in the face every time I hear it. It tries to provoke feelings of nostalgia by taking you back to when you were a kid, in “simpler times.” Implying that today, things are complicated. Which is stupid.

The truth is, things are hard. They’ve always been hard and will always be hard. As long as survival is the number one priority, things will be hard. As long as there’s 8 trillion ways for a person to die, things will be hard.

“Complicated” is a cop out, a complaint, an excuse for why your life sucks. Complexity ain’t got nothing to do with your lot in life.

It may have been simpler when you were a kid and it was your parents responsibility to keep you alive. But their lives were just as hard as your life is today, as a grown up living in the real world. When you were a kid you didn’t have to worry about money or bills or getting laid or divorce or that sum bitch down the road with the loud motorcycle who likes to ride it up and down the street at 2 am when you have to get up the next morning to go to a shitty fucking job. 

So yeah, life is hard because of all the shit you have to juggle as an adult, but it’s no more complex than 50 or 100 years ago. It’s just the complexity has changed.

I wish I didn’t have to jump through hoops and waste enormous amounts of my life searching for a place to live. I wish I didn’t have to deal with flaky real estate agents, or shitty landlords, or bait and switch advertisements on Zillow. I wish everyone would return my calls and clear a path lined with a red velvet carpet so I wouldn’t have to do much work.

But of course shit doesn’t happen that way. Instead, real estate agents don’t return my calls. They show me properties that are shitty and overpriced. And Zillow is stupid. Not as stupid as Trulia, but still stupid. I keep asking myself, there has to be an easier way.

But there isn’t an easier way. I have to wade through the sludge, waste enormous amounts of my time and energy, and deal with the frustration. Which I am going to do, like a good soldier should.

Which makes me ask the question, why can I tolerate this and not something else frustrating that gets in the way of something I supposedly want? And the answer is simple. I have to have a place to live. I don’t have to have $500 per month from a business. I don’t have to have 10 percent body fat. I don’t have to have a successful book publishing career.

So is there a way to turn the things that are really just nice to haves into must haves? Is there a way to create the same sort of desperation around something that’s not a necessity?

I don’t have an answer, other than continuing to build every day, to continue trying to move a little closer to where ever it is I want to go, every day. There has to be a point where the goal is in sight and it creates that burning need. Like, I can see into the near future needing a new place to live, so I’m willing to punch through all the frustrating things that finding a new house entails. Will the same be true if I make a single sale of Knorbi? If I lose a couple percentage points of body fat, will that punch me in the face?

I don’t fucking know. I do know that in about a month, I WILL be living in a new place. I know I won’t fail at this task, because if I do, then I’ll be stuck living out of my car. Which might not be so bad, but I’ll have to share it with another human and two stinky dogs.

Day 60 - Fuck Change, Just Stay The Same


I'm struggling to maintain motivation. I'm struggling to make the changes necessary to get the things done that I want to get done. I want to stay in the bosom of comfort. I don't want to sacrifice, or feel uncomfortable, or be frustrated. I want everything to work out exactly as I want it to.

I want to be lean and healthy, but I don't want to give up the foods that I know make me fat. I want side income, or better, a full time income from some business things, but I don't want to put in the hard work required to get it off the ground. I want a whole bunch of other stuff also, but I don't want to carve out the time to put into getting better at them.

This is a conundrum that I think a lot of people are stuck in. There's too many choices, we know that. There's also too many ways to feel shitty. It's easy to find something you don't like about yourself. If you're not this, or that, or doing this, or making that, or if you don't look like this, or whatever, then you're broken in some way and you need fixing.

And it doesn't help that there's a "resource" for just about any problem you think you could have, that somehow validates the problem. And there's also a plethora of people who are trying to convince you that you have this problem or that problem so they can sell you the cure. 

I've fallen in that trap again. And I'm sure I'll do it again and again. I feel down because I think having something I don't currently have will make me happier, instead of practicing happiness right now. Who I is, right now, is just fine. If I'm not eating like I'd like to eat, or I'm not doing as much work towards [name whatever thing I want to do here], then it's all fine. If I spend the rest of my life having to go to a shitty job everyday to make money, then so be it. If I spend the rest of my life a soft, semi-squishy boy, then whatever. It doesn't mean there isn't stuff to be happy about.

Change is hard. Practically impossible, I'm going to say. It's impossible long term. Although I do have evidence in my life to suggest otherwise. I quit smoking almost 10 years ago. I quit drinking almost 2 years ago. Even though I still eat crap today, I eat more vegetables and fruits and shit than I ever have. I exercise more. I'm calmer, less anxious. Yada yada yada.

And all that suggests that change is simply hard, long term, not impossible. But it feels impossible sometimes. And I get stuck in the all or nothing way of thinking. I can't just have one soda. It's either I'm drinking the shit out of them, or I'm not drinking them it all. It's either I'm eating healthy, getting better, working hard towards some project, or I'm not. I have a hard time just being in the middle, where I'm doing some things the way I'd like to be doing them, and others, not so much.

That's the torturous part about it. It's the black and white thinking in a gray world. Everything is always gray. No one is behaving or thinking or doing everything 100% "right." There's good days, and bad days, and mediocre days, but mostly regular, boring days. And even then, a day could be a mixture of everything. A good morning, a shitty afternoon, a boring evening. Whatever.

I'd like to say I'm done caring. But after a couple of days of falling back into routine, and moving on to the next made up dilemma, I'll probably find myself feeling like crap again because I ain't where I want to be.

Maybe I should stop improving and just let go. Just keep writing because I like to write. Keep making things because I like to make them. Do physical activities that I think are fun. Eat food that's both healthy and good, and accept those times when I slip. Even better, accept that I will slip at some point and stop beating myself up because of it.

That means I'm letting go of the abs project, and trying a more modest approach. Instead of thinking I need to eat and train perfectly all the time, plan 2 week "sprints" where I train my ass off and eat as clean as a human possibly can. The rest of the time, simply eat good, train as much as I can fit in, and be happy with whatever body that produces.

Same goes for the other projects. Write as much as possible, preferably everyday, but it doesn't have to be. Keep making Knorbi the way I want it to be and stop worrying about if other people will buy it. And most of all, practice happiness and patience now. 

That's my 30 day update.

Day 58 - All Things To All People

I'm ditching the whole time stamp and location bit. Who cares where I is and what I's doing. I'm either sitting at my boring desk at my boring job or sitting in my boring house on my boring couch. Or I'm in some chain coffee shop sitting among the super consumers, gladly fitting in like a good little boy.


I'm running a failing experiment on Google AdWords for Knorbi. Essentially, I want to see what the market potential is for yet another writing app. I received good response on the first go round where I was simply asking for an email address when the thing launches. This time, I've elaborated a little more, with screen shots and feature lists, and a price tag.

So far, only two clicks on the "Buy Now" button. And I think at least one of those was mine. Or maybe both were. I don't know, but this campaign isn't going so good. I'm thinking I either need to back off and rethink my marketing approach, or I'm not using the right keywords, or I'm not building the right thing. Or maybe people are so spoiled with free apps that they expect something like this to be free? It's frustrating either way.

Initially, I was going to make the thing free. And maybe I should stick with that. I am building it mainly for myself, at least that's what I keep telling myself. The pits I've fallen into during development came when I was trying to cater to everyone, all writers, all genres, all styles. Progress has come when I simply ask myself, "how would I like it to operate." All I want is something simple that makes the process of going from text to e-pub easy. Perhaps that's how I should pitch it?

I've read in books and I've been told by people smarter than me that niching down is the way to go. Trying to be all things to all people isn't going to work unless you have a huge marketing machine, and bookoo dollars to reach everyone. So I guess I need to re-evaluate my keywords as well, focusing on what the app is actually going to do rather than trying to make it fit the most popular keywords.

And thanks to Google, this little experiment is almost free. Now I just have to find the winning formula before my freebie runs out.