test

Go to Bottom of Page

This
is a test of functionality.

Try
it again.







First time around



Blah Blah

This is the second time

Find
and select advertising campaigns to run on your website(s), newsletters.
• Track
  your statistics in real-time


• Track
  your commissions


• Manage
  your account

This guide will provide you with an overview of how to accomplish
these tasks.

---

Running Campaigns

Before
you can begin earning commissions, you will need to find and select a
campaign (or multiple campaigns) to run on your web site.

GO to Top

The cast of Characters

Oggy-Yankee from New Hampshire. Too Thin. Sick. Likes to sleep.

George-Owner of House. Sick. Gay (or would be if he weren't so sick) Nearly penniless. Loves his four dogs (see below).

Dagmar-Part time housemaid. Lives in an orange chevy van on the street. Pees in a bucket. Takes care of two dogs. Once dated Lee Majors. Presently out of favor for stealing George's watch.

John-One time housemate. Built a Disco in back room. Decorated it with cocaine. Was split up with wife but now back together. Stole Oggy's boogie board when he moved out.

Gary-legally blind man who is in love with Dagmar. Gave her the van to sleep in. Looks like John Denver would look if he got out of his coffin and was set on fire.

Woofy-Mother Dog

Petey-Father dog Pit Bull Boxer. (Genetically bred)

Missy-Sister of Petey. Quietly awaits death.

Jane-Young puppy of Woofy and Petey. A terror. Shits everywhere but outside. Deserves every beating that Oggy gives her.

Masa-Japanese Sushi Chef who replaced John in back room. Replaced cocaine with pot. Surfs. Could be bi-curious.

The Car

A Datsun 200sx
1982
The same year Asia and Hall & Oates were huge.
That was the year Oggy 's car was manufactured.
It is still running.
But where are Asia and Hall & Oates?

Oggy recently went to a Junkyard in Orange County to find an idler pulley for his car.
He found one that was compatible from a 1983 Nissan stationwagon.
HE stripped it out and paid $10 for it.
HE thought about stealing some bolts.
But he didn't steal anything.

Now his car runs good.
For the past three weeks there have been problems.

He imagines there will be more problems in the future.

Editor note:
Sometime in April of 2005 Oggy sold the car for $50 to a guy from compton.
the car is gone. Oggy got a motorcycle.

Something Unusual

Other people were lost too.
There were many sick people in the city.
No one knew what was happening.
Oggy went to the address on the yellow ticket and did what people told him
He often made mistakes.
But he was observant.
He watched.
He listened.
Oggy couldn't help it.
IT was his way.

Workday #22
On The Subject of Relationships
June 20, 2004

The plumbing trenches were dug, the pipe laid, the new standup frozen food refrigerators finally in place. Something had been accomplished, though I still yawned when no one was looking and got distracted by the colorful packages in the toy aisle. The toy aisle was number 5. The frozen foods were in aisle 7 and 8. Now I passed aisle number 5 on my way to fill the holes back up and get them ready for concrete.
"Make sure to stamp the dirt down," Ray told me. "I put a piece of rebar in that last one and the fucker went all the way down. The dirt's gotta be tight, dude."
"Maybe you gotta get a heavier guy to step on it. I don't weigh shit," I answered as I stepped on the dirt in the trench. I could feel the dirt settle a little bit, but decided it was a waste of time...my time...my $6.75 an hour time.
Don't matter a fuck what you weigh, said Ray as he helped pound the dirt down with his feet.
This wasn't the first stupid thing I had heard during my shift, but it irritated me. Of course it mattered what I weighed. How else was the dirt going to be compacted? Just one of the countless reminders that I had not yet found my calling in life.
Ray explained one more time why compacted dirt was important. I had heard this speech earlier and it didn't matter to me now either. I nodded my head and went back outside with the empty wheelbarrow, passing aisle 5 where a plastic helicopter caught my attention. The package showed men jumping out of the helicopter in parachutes. Parachutes? Did they do things like that?
On my way out back I passed the day old bread rack, the sawdust covered water fountains, and the room that would become bathrooms. Several employees sat in the break room watching the NBA playoffs.
Outside, I turned the wheelbarrow around so I could walk it straight back in. Four men were in a trench around the sewage pump. It still needed to be back filled, but I knew I'd be off the ticket before that happened.
I had a girlfriend, the boss was saying, who gave me a blow job that made my toes curl. Just like that. The boss curled his fingers into his palms. I should've married her.
A worker brushed some dirt off of the sewer pump and said, Ah, shit.
But she was sucking everyone else off too, continued the boss.
Hell, I said, she needed practice.
Another worker laughed and said, I was gonna say. How do you think she got so good? Nothing worse than a woman who can't suck dick. I'd pay for my wife to figure out what to do. I wouldn't even mind if she had to suck a hundred guys to get it right. Fuck it.
Well, that's what my girlfriend was doing. But, man My fucking toes.
We laughed again as the boss flexed his fingers. It was two in the morning and there were at least two weeks left on the job. The boss had already told me that he thought his wife was having an affair. I told him that working nights, 9 PM to 6 AM every day just about fucked any time with your family.
I told my wife I knew she was fucking someone. Know what? I didn't even care.
Helluva way to earn a living, I said. Fucking Ralphs.
Ralphs was the supermarket we were renovating. Ralphs would get new refrigerators, I'd make about four hundred dollars, and the boss would lose his wife.
I filled the wheelbarrow up with dirt and pushed it back inside, past the water fountains, and past the day old bread rack. When I got to aisle 5 I took the helicopter package and put it in the wheel barrow and pushed it to the edge of the trench and dumped it all in. Then, just as I stepped in to stamp the dirt down, I heard Ray's voice behind me ask, What the fuck are you doing?

Working

So Oggy went to a labor hall and went to the address on the yellow ticket they gave him.
This was when Oggy 's car was still working.
Before the accident
At the end of the yellow ticket was an ugly place.
Oggy didn't stand a chance.

Workday #30 (Downtown)
By Oggy Bleacher
May 14, 2004

"I was afraid for my life," said the secretary. "I've worked here for twenty years, twenty-one if you count the time I spent on the third floor with The Simmon Group. That was when I was in High School."
She wasn't a receptionist because she was way back in a corner of the twenty-second floor. She would receive no one. But "Secretary" is one of those titles that annoys women who have worked for twenty years behind a desk answering phones and typing reports for a man behind a door. So what was she? My boss, Mo, called everyone a "Partner", which sounded completely contrived to me. I wasn't a partner. I did everything alone and apparently so did everyone else. So why was she a partner?
I went to High School in Pasadena. That was where my mother was born. That's a picture of my mother in the nursing home.
The secretary pointed to a picture. I pretended to look at it, but really I was looking at these two stuffed animals on top of the computer monitor vent and thinking how after a few hours those stuffed animals became fire hazards that could burn the whole building down. Then I remembered the sprinkler system in the ceiling. The fire would be localized and probably wouldn't damage anything important. But everyone would talk about it for years. A memo about stuffed animals on the top of your monitor would probably be circulated. That's what I was thinking about as the secretary talked..
We just didn't have the time to take care of her like we used to. She needed to be hand fed.
Needed a hand? Well, cry me a fucking river. At least there was food to pour down her throat. I didn't have shit.
It was my second day on the twenty-second floor and when I imagined a 747 jumbo jet heading directly at me, cruising at 600 miles an hour into the twenty-second floor, I didn't care at all. I'd always dreamed that I would come prepared to a high rise office building. I'd bring a parachute so I could jump out of the window and not die like the people in New York. That was before I worked in a high rise building. Now when I imagined watching an airplane flying at me I didn't move. I just stood there and watched it destroy everything and after that there was silence and something better. Something without stuffed animals on computer monitors.
"Now, Mr. Williams talked to me like a human, the secretary whispered. I'm a human being. I've worked here for twenty years. Twenty-one if..."
"Is that the light bulb that needs to be replaced?" I asked. I had the ladder and a selection of light bulbs. Lets get this over with, I thought.
"Is that...that's one," said the secretary. "The other one is my desk lamp. I just turned it on this morning and it went out."
"I'll replace it."
"All I did was turn it on and just poof."
The secretary laughed and I found myself laughing even though I had vowed never to validate that type of forced, fake, office laughter. Like the airplane thing, I'd imagined confronting the person who was laughing by saying, "What are you laughing at? There isn't anything funny about this. You just made one pointless comment. What's funny? Why are you laughing?" In the dream vision my integrity would be saved. The laughter would stop. I had a lot of dreams before I worked on the twenty-second floor.
"Well, these things happen," I chuckled, as though I were delivering a punch-line.
"Yes they do," said the secretary. "Are you the one they sent to change the bulb? The last worker they had wasn't very nice. He didn't seem nice. I think his name was Curtis. Helen!"
The secretary called to another secretary, "Helen, remember the last handyman? Was his name Curtis?"
See? No one called me a Partner . I was a handyman . A fucking handyman.
"Tall man with that angry look on his face?" asked Helen.
Both secretaries laughed. I took the bait again and smiled. I pinched my leg through my pants as punishment. Through the office window the Santa Monica Mountains rose from the rooftops of Los Angeles. A haze of pollution hid all the details of the mountains.
"Was his name Curtis? I think it was Curtis because he helped me move files once and he said his name was Kurt or Curtis. I asked him what he was angry about and," she lowered her voice to a level that was barely audible, "and he said..."
I couldn't hear what she said because she had a speech impediment and speaking so softly made it impossible to understand her words. Still, she nodded at me and smiled. I never even considered asking her to repeat herself. My only concern was pretending that I had understood her so she would quit talking. Ten years ago I would have felt sorry for this woman, sorry that she was a shell of pettiness. Now I just hated her for taking up my time, my $6.75/hour time, with her fucking pettiness. So I smiled and looked out of the office window at the downtown skyline. There were no planes in sight.
"So, I'll just change the bulb on your desk first."
Oh Right now?
Or another time, I said hoping I could leave. I looked at my watch and was horrified to see that I had only been on the twenty-second floor for one hour. I tried to think back to a time before the twenty-second floor but my brain could only fixate on some pornographic images from the movie I'd rented the night before. The movie was called Screaming Orgasms. It was solo female masturbation, not a lot of action, but one blonde actress in a light summer dress had really turned me on. I thought, When I get home I'm gonna beat off so hard. Then I'm gonna eat some frozen pizza and go to sleep. God, I hate this fucking job. $6.75 an hour for this shit? A monkey in a cage has a better shot at life. I'm worse off than a monkey in a cage because I don't even have the cage to separate me from the assholes who throw me bananas. I'm just an asshole. If those stuffed animals caught on fire I wouldn't do a thing. I would just watch the flames.
Maybe I could come back in an hour?
There were other jobs I had to do. There was a box of office chairs that had to be assembled. The assembly required a single screw attached to the back rest to be inserted into a hole in the seat and tightened. Obviously, the partners were too busy with their number crunching to be bothered with that screw. The day before, I had assembled a few of the chairs but had been called away on a priority job involving a VIP who needed his office memorabilia wrapped in bubble wrap so it could be shipped to another floor. That job had taken the rest of the day so I had not finished assembling the chairs. I was bothered by the fact that when I went home the day before and after I masturbated watching the blonde actress masturbate on the TV and as I was laying there relaxed and comfortable I remembered the disassembled chairs in the office conference room and I thought, Tomorrow I'm going to assemble those office chairs. That is what tomorrow means. One screw in one hole. Two washers. Twist. The fact that those chairs had taken up space in my brain for more than ten minutes bothered me very much. My brain space was reserved for porn and books and lottery numbers. Not chairs. But the chairs were waiting for me and after the chairs there would be more chairs and more fucking light bulbs.
Could you do it now? I can take a break.
Sure.
Because I can take a break.
Alright.
How long will it take?
How long? The rest of my life, I thought. That's all.
The secretary said something else about her mother or her boss, but I was looking out of the twenty-second floor windows at the orange haze over the Santa Monica mountains. Then I saw a plane take off from LAX and head out over the ocean. I saw it and thought, Come back.

Erotic Nothing

Oggy tried to write for an erotic fiction magazine.

He sent email attachments late at night before he beat off.

The attachments never came back.

No one ever wrote to him.

His savings dwindled.

In the beginning...

...there was a kid with a dream
Work every other day and sleep the other five days.
Then he decided to take the other days off too.
That didn't work at all.
Then Oggy got sick.
Then he remembered that he didn't have any health insurance.
The four dogs shitting in his living room didn't help.
He fought with the rats between 2 and 3:15 every morning
THat was when they came out to feed.
He beat the rats with wood and foam spray.
And newspaper.
And nails
But George (The owner of the house) said the rats should die.
So George Poisoned the rats.
Instead of fighting them, Oggy heard them cry at night.
Oggy slept better anyway.