I am a sick webmaster... I am a spiteful webmaster. I am an unattractive webmaster.



Well, I say "unattractive": I was actually quite good-looking in my youth, but then disillusionment kicked in and it played knickknack on the paddywack of my facial features.


Woof!


Not now, Cato, I'm writing!

I believe my liver is diseased.



I think it's my liver: which side is the liver on, anyway: the left or right?


Woof!


What do you want, Cato? I thought you just WENT out?



Man alive, I bet you anything that Fyodor Dostoyevsky didn't have to put up with this nonsense when he was getting his disaffected groove on back in the 19th century.


Whimper!


Now chill out for a few minutes and then I'll take you for a you-know-what, okay?


Yip!


Now then, where was I? Did I mention that I was spiteful?

Well, I'm sorry, but you'd be spiteful, too, if you'd created dozens of original Web pages that the Great Goddess Google can't be troubled to feature in her index.

Case in point: I created the world's only actual CARBON CAP -- a cap that you put on your head that features the depiction of a Carbon Atom.


Yip!


That's right, I did, too, Cato: Now, how many hits do you think a page about an actual carbon cap might generate -- considering that there are millions of people interested in carbon capping and millions interested in hats and millions interested in humor?

A million, maybe?

100,000?


Whining


How about 10,000?


Whimpering


1,000 even?


Yip!


No, no, no, no, no.

Not even 10, Cato: Actual amount: ZERO.


Woof!


That's right, Cato: Zero visitors to the page in question after two months.

And I'm like, "Thank you very much, Google, can I have another?!"


Woof!


That's why I say Dostoyevsky's Underground Man does not KNOW from Underground.

For that matter, the Invisible Man of H.G. Wells (or even of Ralph Ellison, for that matter, rest in peace, the both of them) haven't SEEN invisibility until they've seen MY invisibility!


Yip!


What do you think, Cato? If a webmaster falls in the forest and Google hasn't indexed some resource in connection with the event, did the webmaster actually FALL!


Woof!


Oh, you're right, Cato: Just writing this UNDERGROUND sequel is depressing the hell out of me.


Yip!


Okay, okay: I'm getting your collar, already.


Yip! Yip!


Dostoyevsky thinks he knows Underground -- humph! He doesn't know JACK about underground!


Woof!



And what about my new record album at Amie Street, Cato: Do you think Google will ever get around to listing that properly?


Whining


No, of course not! They're too busy parlaying their lockdown on Web visibility into billions of easy-peasey advertising dollars!


Whining


Underground! I'll show them underground!


Woof!


That's right, Cato, you tell 'im, boy! You tell 'im!