How Not to Market Yourself 101

It’s been quite a while since I did anything to alter the layout or aesthetics of this website, and for good reason — I subscribe to the philosophy of “if it ain’t broke, don’t fuck with it.” Updates and plugins and new apps always seem to cause a host of issues, so I keep things here simple.

But one thing I did change several years back was my homepage. I updated the text to reflect the “wee” bit of rage I was feeling during the fake-virus-propaganda-campaign-lockdown-horseshit era.

But I kinda like the ring of it now, so it stays.

The reason I bring this up is because I used to have a little blurb about the meaning and motivation behind the (now tragic) name “BonerFruit.”

Lemme explain…

Oldey Timey English was way more fun. Words like gay, diddle, boner, etc. used to be commonplace, and were quite innocuous. The Flintstones used to have a gay ol’ time, musicians used to diddle all night long on under the stars, and every once in a while people regretted their boners. No big whoop.

Today, there are people out there who’ll lose their fucking minds if you use words like “woman, mother, or breastmilk” in a sentence. And that’s no embellishment. The mental sickness enveloping our society is on an exponential curve to reach a full-blown meltdown before this decade ends, and I don’t foresee any miracle vaccine popping up on the horizon any time soon to alleviate the politically correct psychopathy plaguing our media-driven culture.

But back to BonerFruit…

bōn·er  noun

Meaning:
1. An embarrassing mistake.
Example: “When I kissed my boss’s hand to greet her, she immediately pointed out my boner.”
2. One who bones food.
Example: “I caught a mermaid once fishing, and I spent all evening boning it.”

I had to do a search on the good ol’ Wayback Machine to track down my original introductory greeting, and here it is:

A strange name you may say? Perhaps some background…

No one is given a manual to guide them through this strange reality. Perhaps the fun of the game is going into it blindly. I dunno. One thing I do know for certain – mistakes will be made. Each and every new thing we delve into becomes a learning curve molding the being we are constantly becoming. Each boner we make teaches us something invaluable about ourselves. And, hopefully, sooner or later, each boner will bring to our efforts the fruit of our labours. BonerFruit is the exploration of those journeys. Always remember – To Err is Human, to Boner, Divine…

What I’m ultimately getting at here is that the BonerFruit moniker is actually far more profound than it is vulgar. Sadly though, the marketing community doesn’t see it that way. Most of my writing is blacklisted on search engines, and book distributors outright ban me from any extracurricular advertising.

Of course it doesn’t help that I chose a cucumber as my mascot, and it definitely doesn’t help that the serifs in my logo might be described as “phallic-like, in varying degrees of rigidity,” and the endless Daily Bread jokes about midgets fucking donkeys doesn’t really endear anyone to consider I’m any more mature than the average 6-year old making fart noises.

Such is life. But I don’t regret my marketing boners in the least. In fact, I’m moving forward, and happy to announce that audiobook versions of my library are finally in the works! As much as I’d love people to enjoy the feel, the smell, and the meticulous formatting of a real, physical book, the writing’s on the wall when it comes to print material, and I accept it.

I tried my hardest to get Morgan Freeman to narrate at least ONE of my chapters, but the fucker won’t even return my calls anymore. New daily freckles are clearly fucking up his judgment, so sad.

Ultimately I know I’m gonna end up completing the audio myself, despite hating the sound of my whiny voice, but I do have a few feelers still out there for a professional narrator with the right accent…

I considered a dry British tone as the perfect ironic complement to my writing, but this is the dude I really want to read my shit…

Text-to-speech AI is definitely not the way to go, but I found a website with some varying accents that gave me a feel for what I was looking for. After I stopped fucking laughing my ass off, I managed to download a sample. It ain’t quite right, but you’ll get the idea:

That was the start of a chapter in God Has a Plan For You that I picked at random to test out, but, in the spirit of being offensive and unmarketable, here’s the rest of the chapter (in print) as a perfect ending to this post.

Enjoy!

 

PC Used To Be My Bank 

Remember back in the good ol’ days when politically correct talk was called faggoty, retarded, gay-speech?

Yeah, I know, you can’t write shit like that anymore. Why? Because self-righteous motherfuckers get extremely offended by words — regardless of context, and regardless of whether or not you truly harbour hatred or resentment toward others “different” from you. 

They’re just words. And, to me, funny fucking words.

I have no issues with homosexuality. I don’t hate cripples. Skin colour doesn’t trigger me. Cultures different from the one I grew up in don’t offend me in the least. So why should any so-called “derogatory” words be banned from my vocabulary?

They shouldn’t.

You wanna know what brings out the hate in me?

Stupidity. Closed-mindedness. Holier-than-thou bullshit. Self-imposed mediocrity. Simply put — idiots.

Let’s pull up a quote from good ol’ George Carlin:

“There’s a different group to get pissed off at you in this country for everything your not supposed to say. Can’t say Nigger, Boogie, Jig, Jigaboo, Skinhead, Moolimoolinyon, Schvatzit, Junglebunny. Greaser, Greaseball, Dago, Guinea, Whop, Ginzo, Kike, Zebe, Heeb, Yid, Mocky, Himie, Mick, Donkey, Turkey, Limey, Frog, Zip, Zipperhead, Squarehead, Crout, Hiney, Jerry, Hun, Slope, Slopehead, Chink, Gook. There is absolutely nothing wrong with any of those words in and of themselves. They’re only words. It’s the context that counts. It’s the user. It’s the intention behind the words that makes them good or bad. The words are completely neutral. The words are innocent. I get tired of people talking about bad words and bad language. Bullshit! It’s the context that makes them good or bad. The context that makes them good or bad.”

Brilliant insight. But, in our politically correct times, context doesn’t mean shit anymore. We’re now living in a world of full-blown censorship. Racial slurs are the least of our concerns. We’ve gotten to the point you can’t even share a dissenting opinion on social media if it goes against the “government-approved” narrative. A doctor promoting a safe, effective medical treatment — one that doesn’t conform with what the latest “science” dictates — is quickly labeled a quack or whacko, then unceremoniously blacklisted from participating in future reindeer games. If a virologist with 20 years of experience  voices concerns regarding overreaction to the latest fake plague de-jour, his expertise is scoffed at as “misinformation.” Expertise is now only valid when it agrees with whatever bullshit the media is currently spouting.

And what the fuck is a “racial” slur anyways? I always thought we were all part of the Human Race. When did a word denoting a category of creatures also become the same word to describe their differences? I’ve never heard anyone ask me: “Hey dude, what race is your dog?” They’re all fucking dogs. Just because humans breed them into different shapes and sizes to suit their whims, doesn’t mean they’re not all still dogs, fully capable of inseminating one another no matter how pure-bred or muttified they may be.

Exactly like humans.

Just because you grew up eating rice on the Pacific coast doesn’t mean your gash can’t be filled with my European-derived jizz to produce a slanted-eyed communist. We’ve always been part of the same group. It’s the fucking media that wants to tell us otherwise. “Racial” division is just one more psy-op in the Divide and Conquer strategy our psycho overlords love implementing.

North American media looooves creating division among “ethnicities.” Whatever PC terms they’re using these days, whether it’s African American vs. Black, or Mexican vs. Latino, the agenda’s always been the same — keep reporting the predilections of people who grew up within a specific “culture,” to foster an Us vs. Them mentality, as if we weren’t all living in the same fucking cage. Keep the inmates at each other’s throats, and they’ll be less likely to turn on the guards and warden. Simple. And psychopathically brilliant.

There’s nothing wrong with propagating cultural traditions. Nor is there anything evil about choosing to marry a girl steeped in similar upbringings. Preferences aren’t profane. If Muhammed Ali wants to fuck black chicks exclusively cuz white bitches don’t know how to cook grits, more power to him. His predilection doesn’t make him evil or racist, it simply denotes the greatest power humans have — the ability to choose.

So if you feel offended anytime I write fag or homo, or feel the need to write an Amazon review that I’m a racist misogynist, might I suggest you get the fuck over yourself. I love cock-suckers. My girlfriend is wonderful at it. Doesn’t even matter she has a bigger dick than I do.

I guess I shouldn’t have said cocksuckers. I meant phallically exuberant hedonists. Or maybe proponents of penile savoury delights. How about long-shlong-mongers? Nah, too many Jewish overtones. Sayin’ that might get you put in jail in Europe if they suspect for any reason you have doubts over the veracity of a genocide contained in history books. Yeah, there are far more stories about indigenous massacres that don’t get the traction of a country that’s fine with raining white phosphorous on people building underground tunnels to smuggle water and razor blades into their pen, but let’s not go there. Well maybe later, I haven’t yet finished this bit about queers…

You can’t have a non-offensive discussion with anyone these days unless you keep up with the minutia of ever-morphing PC bullshit.

It used to be gay. Then homosexual. Then queer. And then cock-hoover dam collapsed, and a tsunami of insanity flooded into our once pristine neighbourhoods, filling our basements with far too much raw sewage for our sump pumps to handle…

Now it’s LBGTQ FM XL 304 SS THX 1138. I can’t keep track of the politically correct designation because a new letter seems to get added every day. I wouldn’t be surprised if our alphabet gets amended in the near future to add new letters and symbols to cater to the “oppressed.” 

So why exactly is the media so obsessed with providing a platform for lifestyles that represent less than 5% of “normal” society, while telling me I’m evil because my skin is pale?

You tell me, dude.

Oh shit, I shouldn’t have said dude. Oh shit, I shouldn’t have said shit! Fuck!

So now you get scenarios like this…

If you identify with “female,” despite your dangly, 6-inch cock that may make holistic women question otherwise, you can demand rights to walk into the women’s locker room at the gym with your semi-rigid member on full display for all the girls who just wanna drop a couple pounds off their ass in a comfortable space. You now have government complicity to put a business out of commission if they don’t cater to your “rights,” like building a separate LBGTQFM-blah-blah venue to cater to your needs. 

The cripples pioneered this shit…

I’m in a wheelchair, but I want to go indoor rock climbing. Build me an accessible ramp and gear, or I’ll sue your asses for discrimination.

Decades-run family businesses have been ruined because some tard in a chair didn’t have a special handrail, or a big enough shitting stall to make him feel like not having four functioning limbs was somehow the fault of the rest of humanity.

Why does a dance studio need a fucking wheelchair ramp to be legally compliant? Have we lost our fucking minds?

The restaurant I’ve worked in for the last two years has a wheelchair ramp, wheelchair washroom stall, a handicapped parking space, and a fold-out diaper changing station in the men’s room. Do you know how many men have changed diapers in there? FUCKING ZERO! (it’s essentially a coke-snorting platform) Do you know how many wheelchairs I’ve seen in the building? FUCKING ZERO! And there are only two types of people who park in the handicap spot out front:

  1. The losers doing it mistakenly cuz they’re loaded (drunk that is, not rich. No one with a healthy bank account comes to Chuck’s)
  2. The assholes who are perfectly capable of walking, but they have a legal tag from their doctor, because they have a pin in their spine, or they’re slightly deaf in their driver’s side ear, or some other made-up bullshit.

Me me me me me is the fucking cry of society. I say, Fuck these self-centred pieces of shit! If I decide to travel to a country that doesn’t speak English, or doesn’t allow me to carry a pocket knife or machete I was comfortable with back home, I don’t rock the boat. I adapt to their rules. I’m the fucking stranger, I’m the humble fucking guest. To demand turbans, burkas or scimitars be adopted into the rule-set of a profession in the country you’ve emigrated to is the height of self-serving hubris. If you’re unwilling to conform to the prescribed uniform, fuck you. Go find another job.

It’s the same bullshit over and over. If you’re a chick, and wanna be a firefighter, fine, just prove you can do the job. If you wanna drive the truck or work the hose, I’m cool with that. But if you love manicured nails, and have the muscle tone of an anorexic Kenyan runner, I’m guessin’ you ain’t cut out to carry my third-degree burned body down three flights of stairs wearing 60 pounds of air-breathing equipment. It’s not hiring discrimination, it’s common fucking sense. Get the fuck over it. If it makes you feel any better, rub-and-tugs are always desperate for staff these days…

On that note, let’s end this stupidity and move on to greener fields, if you’re still allowed to say green. I’ll leave you with a quote a drunken Indian (native?) said to me once in a bar:

“Hahaha, I like you, you’re fucking retarded.”

What's on your mind?