There are people employed to be at the service of others. These people are supposed to be encouraging of their clients and whilst catering to the needs of their clients, they're also supposed to ensure their clients meet their part of the bargain.

What a dicey situation in which to be.

If these agents were good, I'd live in their offices. But they're not. They walk this intricate web which marks the boundaries between those who use the service on one side, those who use it on the other side and their own needs as an independent business.

In other words, they're pimps.

These pimps dress in business attire and talk the talk of the business type individual.

So, naturally without being offensive you understand, I do my very best to circumvent all this straight lacedness. In short, I swear a lot. I do it in a non-threatening way of course; I wouldn't want to cause any actual offence - or commit one, but there is no way I'm going to allow them to get the better of me in any way, shape or form.

I'm their client. They are my agent. I can take my business elsewhere if I don't like them and they had just better remember that. In short, they have to put up with my shit whether they like it or not. If I do something outlandish, as is fairly often the case, they have to live with it. End of story.

I just got off the phone to my agent and told him of my latest bit of writing, which was pretty much 90% bullshit, but the punter bought it hook, line and sinker. I told my agent it was pretty much all bullshit and if the punter checks it, I'm basically fucked. And with the usage of the words "bullshit" and "fucked" I could hear my agent squirm in his seat with the discomfiture of it.

The sound of someone's unease through the telephone is, I just rediscovered, immensely amusing.

Here's something you might like to try...

Ring someone up and ask them if they want the good news or the bad news. Guage their reaction. Tell me if I'm wrong about this.
If they say they want the good news, just tell them to Google "ChatRat" and let them find out for themselves what the good news is. If they ask for the bad news, tell them you've been reading this blog and have all manner of evil ideas.

It's more fun when you don't care.

No, I mean when you REALLY don't care. :)

Well I'm just too good!

I have just one option for selling a book through CafePress.com and I put out a collection of my internet musings over the last 3 years, designed a front cover, back cover and spine and within two days, one charming individiual had already bought it.

So how good do you think I feel right now!

The Swamp is and has been my pride and joy on the net since May 2001 and all this time later, It has accrued 98 messages in total and ZERO FlyBuys points!

I've been trying to get someone on my side of the International Date Line to buy the thing and snail mail it to me, but no luck so far. I've offered to pay for it, of course and I've even offered to pay for a second copy so some lucky punter with a credit card could order two, send both to me upon receipt of my payment, then I'd autograph one and send it back.

I mean, how good's that?

You get a free book AND it's autographed by the author and all it has cost, basically, is a few bits of clickage from the comfort of your own home.

Go on, be brave...

The Little Shop of Rat's.

And after having quit all my msn groups bar one or two (down from about 13) I finally put my pyreighted version of Photoshop to good use and designed a few t-shirts.

Forty of them in 4 weeks to be precise.

There's a link to the "Ratwears" bit of my e-boggery in the Batcave

Only trouble is, I didn't factor postage into the price of the things too well. I'd thought, yeah, $6.50 for international postage but it ain't. It's $10.50 for the first shirt and $8 per shirt after that.

So basically, I set the price too low and ferked myself in the arse costwise.

I am going to have to come up with something really cunning now or the sale of shirts is going to send me to the wall. So if you're going to go and have a look, just look. Don't buy. At least not until I've had a chance to build up some sort of inventory.

As for the rest of the wonderful world according to The Rat, it's better to be safe and happy in your own home town than visit Rat in his and be forever disatisfied with your own hovel afterwards.

Ah, the joys of living in Melbourne.

It's almost better than chocolate. :)