0505

Clearing my name

I was reading something about employers using various Internet resources to check up on applicants, and though I've successfully avoided Facebook and Myspace, there is always this here blog for people to find. I'm not sure how I feel about that. Currently, a Google search for my name results in a mention of this site on Greg's, my DFP column and a link to the Pac-Man video among other things. Now of course all of us know that The Adventures of Pac-Man is hilarious, but I'm not sure if prospective employers would feel the same way.

So I've decided that since I have this powerful Internet tool in my hands, I should exploit it. There's this technique called Google Bombing where blogs and other sites try to influence Google's search rank. It's the reason "miserable failure" returns George W. Bush and Michael Moore as numbers one and two respectively despite no mentions of miserable failure on either site. This is clearly what I need to do. So the remainder of the space on this page will be devoted to clearing my name and getting some good things to pop up when people search for my name. Here we go!

chris sartinsky
chris sartinsky
chris sartinsky
chris sartinsky
chris sartinsky
chris sartinsky
chris sartinsky
chris sartinsky
chris sartinsky
chris sartinsky
chris sartinsky
chris sartinsky
chris sartinsky
chris sartinsky
chris sartinsky
chris sartinsky

A bull, being ridden

My life is a farce. An absolute farce. What am I? What the hell am I doing? I'm a circus freak. A sideshow act. Entertainment for these braindead drunken hicks. I'm a fucking show for these people. I am here solely for their amusement. How fucking degrading.

What happened to me? How did I get here? I had such promise. Such amazing promise. I wrote an undergraduate thesis on postmodern satire. And what of it? Where did that bring me? A dusty ring in some backwater dump, saddled up by inbred morons, forced to prance around like an animal. This is disgusting. Don't these people know who I am? Don't they know what I've done? I mean, I'm not famous, but I have an education. Don't they care? No, they don't care. They can barely read, what would they care what I have to say about Pynchon or Heller or Barth. Idiots.

Oh jeez, here we go. This guy's going to ride me now. How exciting! Think this dumbass realizes his sport is nothing more than an absurd crapshoot? I mean, if you can hold on to a bull, there's nothing really separating the guys who can hold on for three seconds and the ones who can do it for six seconds. Yeah, the pinnacle of your sport is six seconds. Real hero, you.

I'm not going to do it this time. I'm not going to do it. I don't care. I don't care what they say or what they do. They can open the gate, they can kick me, they can sell me down to Mexico to slowly bleed to death at the hands of some queer with a cape. I'm not moving. No more. You hear me? I'm done being your little bull-whore. I have my dignity, after all. If nothing else, I have my dignity.

OK, here we go. That's right, buddy. Take a seat. Get nice and comfortable 'cause we're not going anywhere. Little nervous? You're holding on pretty right there, guy. Why? Like I said, we're staying right here. We're gonna be here for a while.

That's right. Open the gate. OPEN THE FUCKING GATE. Oh, what's that? The big dumb bull won't move? Oh, gee! But what will become of the rodeo? Doesn't the bu--

Did this prick just yell "Yee haw?" Holy fucking shit. I'm sending his ass back to the stone age.

Oh, but I'm doing it again. I fell for it. Isn't this just exactly what they wanted? I'm a pathetic sell-out, that's all I really am. Every time, it's the same story. Big bull is gonna make a stand this time! He's not going to put up with it anymore! And then what happens? He folds. Every time. I am a joke.

All right, you're done buddy. I'm through with you. One point eight seconds. Ha. You suck. That's what you get for fooling me into going along with your little game again. Here, take a nice hoof to the head. How do you like that, huh? Now who's in charge? Oh, you're gonna curse at me, are you? Well you know what I think about that? Looks like it's just you and me alone in this ring. Just you and me. I am going to dominate you.

Oh, look at this, they're sending the clown to try to save you. That must make you feel pretty good. Big strong rodeo man! He rides bulls! He hogties cattle! He's a cowboy! And yet, he needs a man in a rainbow wig and makeup to save his ass. A clown! Is there anything lower than a clown? Perhaps a small impoverished child can help you next time! Or a butterfly! Or a daisy! Forget it, I'm not going to be distracted. You are mine. Let's go.

Look at that clown, bouncing around. What a moron. Sure, this bullrider is sad for needing a clown to save him, but at least it isn't his job to dress like an asshole and absorb blows from dangerous animals. I bet your parents are real proud. Do you need a degree to land that job, clown? Do you have connections? Is there a waiting list? Do you have to intern first and then work your way up to rodeo clown? What are you getting paid for this? You making six figures? Ha. You are pathetic.

No, no. Don't lose focus here. Forget about the clown. He's probably an alcoholic anyway. His liver will give out or he'll crash into a telephone pole or something soon enough. Don't waste your energy. This is about Cowboy Bill over here. Destroy him. Skewer him like a marshmallow. Hear me buddy? You know what it means when I scrape my hoof in the dust like this? Yeah, that's right. That means it's OVER. IT'S ALL OVER. YOU ARE MINE. I AM GOING TO--

Look at that fucking clown. Is that seltzer? Oh my God, tell me he did not just spray seltzer at me. I am going to crush that clown.