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Too many men have failed before

by Pstonie (17 October 2005)

A few years ago I was a young kid with a head full of ideas about becoming famous on the internet. My head was a pool of ambition and swimming in the pool were such figures as the goatse man and that guy who made the all your base flash, the heroes of my generation.

I knew so little about the internet that I walked right into the first store I could find, a greengrocer, and asked for a website. The cashier looked up at me and seemed very angry. He demonstrated this by throwing a handful of small change in the general direction of my face.

The cashier grabbed a bottle of purple liquid from under the counter and took a swig from it. I asked him what it was, he responded by describing the questionable nature of my parentage (quite accurately) and told me to mind my own business. He put both hands firmly on the counter and looked me over. He told me that I didn’t have what it takes to run a website. I made a powerful counter-argument that was basically me saying “do too.”

As it turns out, this man, the cashier at the greengrocer, was a retired web success. He told me how he helped build the modern internet when he was a young man. He chuckled, seemed to choke on something briefly and then told me how he used his inside knowledge of the internet to make himself a king on the net. Then he looked at me and told me that he saw in me the kid he once was. He quickly added that the only difference was probably that I had both my testicles.

Over the next few weeks he trained me in the ways of the internet. One half of my training consisted of things like guessing what people wanted and how to deal with disappointment. The other half mostly consisted of him getting drunk and cursing at me. The only thing that would make him return to his old self was when I quickly dashed out to the store and returned with a certain quantity of pornography. He’d then page through the magazine or scan through the movie I’d brought him and tell me more about the old days.

One day I got to his house to continue my training and he was already sitting on his chair. The covered-in-plastic Lay-Z-boy that he called his porn throne. I asked him what was up and he quickly replied that it was in fact my mother’s ass. He laughed and then seemed to choke a bit. As I came closer to him he said how I was almost ready and that it was time for him to leave. I asked him where he was going and he snapped back that he had a date with my mother and told me to stop asking so many questions.

Wheezing, he leaned toward me and said that I should remember that you don’t have to do a lot, but you have to do it with style. He told me that people love tits. He made a valid point, I nodded. He said that I’d know I was a success when people thought of my site when they thought of tits. I thanked him for everything he had taught me and started telling him about the considerable amount of money I’d spent on pornography during my training. He smiled and said that, of course, he’d refund me. He asked that in return I just make one more run to the store for some bondage magazines. The money would be here when I got back, he said. I was very thankful of this guy who had taught me so much and did as he’d asked. When I was coming back I saw some guys in front of his house loading something into the coroner’s van. It was a bag shaped like the cashier who had become my web mentor. After that I never saw him or my money again.