I've Heard Allen Mention This On More Than One Occasion

10 replies
It didn't stick, until now.

I've only ever offered highly valued solutions to pressing problems. I always cared about every little detail, treating sites with the "my baby" mentality. It has always worked well for me, until now.

I just completed my first article marketing set promoting affiliate products and I can tell from the response that sometimes people don't care about what's right for them. They just want to buy something for their need; a quick, pill pop type of solution.

More like a satisfaction to an emotional need obviously, and possibly with intent on never even using it.

The mantra that was mentioned is to not care about the logistics, only care that they buy. Do not get wrapped up in this or that, the only focus is on those who buy.

I see the importance of this firsthand in my new territory.

So I'm asking you... What is the best way to switch gears if you can see where I'm coming from?
#allen #heard #mention #occasion
  • Profile picture of the author admin
    What part of this did I mention? :-)

    You make me sound horrible. You should take quotes from something I wrote and put them here so people know 'what' I said...things have to be put in context, otherwise it doesn't sound remotely close to the way I meant it.
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    • Profile picture of the author Tom B
      Originally Posted by admin View Post

      What part of this did I mention? :-)

      You make me sound horrible. You should take quotes from something I wrote and put them here so people know 'what' I said...things have to be put in context, otherwise it doesn't sound remotely close to the way I meant it.

      Allen, you sounded like Gordon Gecko from wallstreet in the op. lol
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    • Profile picture of the author flnz400
      Originally Posted by admin View Post

      What part of this did I mention? :-)

      You make me sound horrible. You should take quotes from something I wrote and put them here so people know 'what' I said...things have to be put in context, otherwise it doesn't sound remotely close to the way I meant it.
      lol It wasn't intended that way at all. I have a tendency to get right to the point.

      What I was referencing was the many instances where you have commented on building butt ugly sites, that are geared toward what your industry wants to buy. Nothing else.

      If I'm not mistaken, the point you were trying to make multiple times, was that people care too much about their sites (for this particular purpose) and treat them as if everything has to be perfect.

      When in fact, the whole goal is to keep your eye on the prize and stop being a monkey about it.

      I'm still not illustrating the point properly I bet. I'll try to dig up some quotes later.
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  • Profile picture of the author admin
    In fairness I doubt finz intended for his post to come out that way :-)
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  • Profile picture of the author Jonathon Locke
    I think he was just saying that you often give the solid advice to "sell what people want to buy," and to make sure there is a market for your product. My suggestion for you Flnz400 is to ask your customers/target market what they want. You'll hear this often - get into the forums, find their problems, and then offer a simple solution. Simple doesn't have to mean low quality, it can mean that a complex problem is solved through a complex solution, but the key is to make that complex solution easy to use for your consumer. That's what I mean by simple - provide quality and ease of use, while solving a burning issue in a large target market, and you'll go far.

    If you've already created a product that isn't selling well, use a virtual sales assistant software and actively ask the audience what they would like changed to the product - essentially why they didn't buy. Take those responses, morph your product into something that is needed by many, and re-launch it using sales copy that highlights how your new product solves these burning needs.

    If you haven't already created a product, do as I mentioned in my first paragraph and start your research. Become active in the target community, gain some knowledge, and then create the new product. You'll be much more successful this way rather than stabbing in the dark with a rubber knife by trying to create a product out of thin air . Have a good one!

    All the best,
    Jonathon Locke
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  • Profile picture of the author Mo Goulet
    Jonathon wrote {I think he was just saying that you often give the solid advice to "sell what people want to buy," and to make sure there is a market for your product.}

    OK, this post may be lengthy but I doubt anyone will be able to tear themselves (Pun "read the post") away. The point of this reply is here is someone is in desperate need and he is only one of "Millions" with a similar problem. I've eliminated the name for his privacy but here is an example of an untapped market and the opportunity to write a marketable report to help people with this is HUGE.

    Find out what people need and then meet that need.....

    Grab a tissue, you may need it while reading this..."Tears of Laughter"

    Below is a cry for help....

    Hello. I'm a heavy-set male (240 lbs, mid-twenties) and, occasionally, wind up with a pimple on my rear end. I've had one there now (in the same spot) for about six months and it won't go away, no matter what I do. It hurts some days and, other days, is barely there. There is some sort of mass beneath the skin directly under this "pimple". This mass fluxuates in size from day to day. The "pimple" face sometimes bleeds (a rather thin, possibly puss-mixed blood) - that's usually when the mass is at its smallest.

    I have no medical insurance and no one close enough that I might ask about this. It's rather embarrassing and, more to the point, uncomfortable. I've tried applying a hot rag to the area which almost seems to make the mass (swelling?) go down.

    This "thing" is confusing and very frustrating. Yesterday, I began entertaining ideas of numbing the area with ice and cutting it open - but I figured it'd be better to seek medical advice from those more knowledgeable before I go X-acto-knifing my way into my butt flesh. Any help would be great appreciated. I'm at my wit's end with this thing. Thank you.

    So I just got back to the office from my apartment... Earlier today, I went to the pharmacy on my lunch break. Like I mentioned this morning, I went to some medical website and posted in their forum about the huge growth on my eastern-most gluteal hemisphere. Someone there suggested it might be a boil, so I went to ask the pharmacist if there was anything I could put on it to get rid of it.

    The first time I went to CVS, the girl in the pharmacy - after I'd explained everything to her - finally told me that the pharmacist wouldn't be back for another 15 minutes. But before that, she managed to take me down the Preparation-H aisle and blankly suggest I rub hemorrhoid cream on my ass-pimple. This was immediately following her question, "Is it [the boil] on your foot?" to which I replied an emphatically discreet "No."

    Holding the bright yellow box of Preparation-H in my hand, I felt I needed to clarify the situation and explain to her that "this thing" wasn't in or near my anus, rather it was on the cheek. That's when she decided to let me know that she wasn't actually the pharmacist and I could come back in 15 minutes.

    A quick trip Walgreen's where their pharmacist was also out to lunch burned enough time for me to go back to CVS.

    Upon arrival back at CVS, I made a limping bee-line for the pharmacy (Murphy's Law says that if you have a huge boil-pimple on your ass that hurts when you so much as make a heavy sigh, the place where you're most likely to seek accurate medical advice will be at the furthest opposite point of entry to that facility).

    Finally getting to the pharmacist, I explain to her that I have what I think is a boil and request her knowledge on any products I might be able to purchase that could eliminate this derriere nuisance. We proceed back to the Preparation-H aisle where I tell her, "In case you're wondering, it's not on my foot". She giggled which, for me, was relieving. I was dealing with someone who was intelligent and wasn't going to be a stick in the mud about the situation. After all, this was embarrassing enough as it is.

    She points out some "boil pain soother" cream but says that's only for pain. Then she sees the "Draw Out Salve", which is some sort of cream that you're to put on a gauze bandage and apply to the area once or twice daily. Now a salve is something to ease the "situation", while the draw out, I assume, is supposed to draw out whatever's replicating Stone Mountain on my butt.

    So I buy the salve and some big band-aids - I'm not buying gauze and surgical tape, just to have to cut it up and put it on then rip it off once or twice a day. A band-aid will do the job - and enough damage to any hairy parts of the crack of my ass - well enough. So I try not to limp back to my car, or the rest of the day in the office. Because my butt zit is in such a place that sitting isn't so bad, but standing up and walking around irritate the **** out of it.

    So the close of business finally comes and I decide to go home and get an early jump on (hopefully) remedying this annoying little dermis herpe. I get home, run the water in the shower and strip down. With one foot up on the bed, I look like I'm trying out for a naked version of those new Captain Morgan's Rum commercials. I'm feeling around my butt cheek, ever-so-lightly running the tip of my index finger over the infectious war zone that is the beginning of the crack of my ass. Things feel pretty hectic back there. There's no bleeding, no pussing, the face of the pimple is glazed over with a thin skin. I'm pretty sure this needs to be an "open wound" for the salve to do anything - at least that's what makes the most sense - so I know what I have to do. I eyeball the safety pin on the bureau. Hell no, I'm not trying that **** again. So I get in the shower.

    My shower is steamy and I use this hot water as a sort of compress against the area in question, hoping the "swelling" will go down. My attention to the area agitates whatever's under the skin and I can feel the pimple face bubble up tautly, as if pressurized. With a heavy sigh (ouch!), I continue to wash and finally get out. My towel is, at the same time, my worst enemy but my only salvation.

    I dry off and save the crack of my ass for last. I hold one end of the towel in my right hand, in front of my legs and grab the other end of the towel with my left hand, behind my legs. The towel is between my legs and can be used as a sort of 'floss' to dry my taint and surrounding creviced areas. I do so and finally, slowly, gently; delicately get to the ass-pimple. The slightest rub of the towel hurts enough to make me yelp like a burning cat. Still, I know what must be done. I bring the towel farther up between my legs and use it to apply more pressure to the butt-acne. And with the courage only a desperate man can muster, I yank the towel through my legs.

    The course, wet fabric of the towel combined with the applied pressure is enough to rip open the skin of the pimple and a milky, pink, puss-flooded version of blood begins running from this unsightly hole in my cheek. A nice reddish stripe is left on the towel after I grand-prixed it through my taint.

    I nakedly limp over to the pantry and grab a roll of paper towels. Ripping one off, I told up and apply it to the bleeding butt pimple. I remove it and find that it's soaked with a running, puss-filled, light-colored blood. I repeat this process until my nerves are so shot, I could smoke a cigarette without having to light it.

    Finally, I open the salve and the band-aids and begin preparation. Not being able to see the area in question will make this challenging. The box of salve warns not to rub or massage the ointment in the area, but rather apply to a bandage and place the bandage over the area. So I de-cap the salve and squeeze some ointment onto the bandage. The ingredients on the back of the tube are mostly unpronounceable save one or two things - namely salt (ouch!) and some sort of "food" coloring, to make the salve white. But when I squeeze this stuff on the band-aid, it's black as night.

    Let's hope this works. I squeeze the salve onto the outer most edge of the gauze part of the band-aid, which I then tried my best to align with the bleeding, pussing ****-pimple that had me in this position in the first place. I think I got it on there, but I won't know for sure. Since my little butt-friend bled out most of my bodily fluid, I feel a little better as there's not such a huge, painful problem back there. I'm looking forward to some positive results from all this, but what I'm also looking forward to, is going home tonight and ripping that band-aid off my hairy ass - part of which is directly in the crack, so it will undoubtedly pull out a good number of hairs from an otherwise sensitive area. I hope you're having a good day.

    Today I put the salve and the band-aid onto my gluteal "area 51", I went back to work and then later went out to dinner. The band-aid took a little getting used to, but sitting down, standing up and walking around was cause for very little if any pain at all; so, at the moment, I'm pretty relieved.

    This wasn't the first time I've used my towel to rip open my butt-boil - I have a whole set of white towels that all have brown streaks on them from dried blood stains. And when I've done it before, the pimple leaked and the pressure was gone. So at this stage of the game, I don't know if the salve has had any real effect at all.

    I ripped it open for two reasons: One, to relieve some of the pressure, which would, in turn, ease some of the pain. And two, because I figured a "draw out" salve would work a lot better on an "open" area. I'm assuming I need to play this out for at least a few more days if not a week before I'll know if it's working or not.

    When I got home from dinner last night, I busied myself with trivialities, trying to forget the inevitable. Slowly, subconsciously, I found myself removing my clothes in between lighting a cigarette, turning on the television and grabbing a soda. Eventually, I was naked except for my socks and a big band-aid. Wanting to get it over with, I once again assumed the Captain Morgan's rum commercial position and put one foot on the bed and felt around my backside for an edge of the band-aid. Even after several hours of being in a warm place, dealing with my constant motion, the band-aid was living up to its adhering qualities.

    After a few tries on a few different sides - all unsuccessful - I finally pinched the middle of the band-aid and pulled until one of the sides came loose. After that, I slid my finger under so I could get a grip on it. I tugged at it slowly and gently - which is the dumbest thing you can do. I felt each hair being yanked out individually. I tug a bit more and my heart goes out to all women who tweeze and wax merely for the sake of beauty.

    My thumb and index finger get a firm grip on the band-aid and I decide to just go for it, once again mustering the courage only a desperate idiot with no health insurance can muster. I yank the band-aid off and open my mouth to scream but nothing comes out. It was a silent cry. A lone tear escaped my eye as I brought the band-aid around from my ass to have a look see. The bandage part of the band-aid looked like a crime scene. There was a big smudge of black from the ointment, which faded into an equally large smudge of red from the bleed-out. The adhesive part of the band-aid looked like it was in desperate need of a shave. My poor ass.

    I threw the band-aid away and immediately prepped another one. I figured the puss-geyser on my ass cheek could use as much ointment attention as possible. My aim was not so good this time and the adhesive part of the band-aid wound up on my boil. I attempted to peal the band-aid off with the intention of reapplying it, but the second I pulled out just one more ass hair, I decided I could wait until the morning.

    Well, I have a new found respect for women who wear thongs and g-strings for the viewing pleasure of their significant others. This band-aid stuck in my crack feels like a disturbing session of gratuitous analingus.

    My bowels are telling me to consider a trip to the little boys' room at some point in the near future - and I need to make room for lunch - but if I go to the bathroom, I'm going to have take this band-aid off. And that just doesn't seem like an altogether fun idea here at work. I'm thinking I'll just skip lunch today and have hair-ripping pain for dinner tonight when I get home.
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  • Profile picture of the author Glenn Grundberg
    So THAT'S what that thing on my ass is...

    Oh god, I'm rolling on my office floor- that poor ******* needs more help that YOU can give 'em!


    I'm Baaaaaack...
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  • Profile picture of the author Dennis Wagoner
    If that story is true, there is a good chance the gentleman who wrote it actually has MRSA, and not a pimple.

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  • Profile picture of the author Mo Goulet
    Oh it's true, I've been developing holistic formulas for healing for 30 years. I just wish HEMP OIL was legal. It's amazing stuff...

    Here is another situation with humor attached to it...

    If you'll find it to graphic please except my apology and we'll delete it but it's along the same line...a cry for help with a humorous story...

    "Hell Hath No Fury Like an Ass Pimple"

    So a week or so ago, I developed some sort of pimple. Not a big deal, right? I mean, eat enough chocolate or garlic knots and anyone will develop an extra superficial oil repository. However, this time the pimple appeared on my ass.

    I have to confess, it's been years since I've eaten anything through my ass, so I was perplexed when I discovered the large, tender bump on my posterior. Where did it come from? Who put it there? Why my ass? These questions took a back seat once I discovered that sitting down caused volts of pain to shatter through my meaty insides.

    This was no mere whitehead nor blackhead. No. This pimple was a goddamn, bona fide, Purple Heart war wound. For an entire week, it changed the way I walked, sat, and even talked. It's as if the thing developed its own brain, for when I said things like, "Gosh, I hate ass pimples," it would throb all the more.

    Playing with a pimple, of course, lengthens its visit upon your skin. That's why I never touch or play with them if and when they appear. I ask you, however, with an ass pimple, how can you avoid sitting down? You can't! Naturally, this was no perimeter nor periphery pimple. No, this miniature knob of assflesh was situated smack dab by the crack, in prime sitting real estate.

    I discovered it by sitting in my chair and letting out a yelp, "Ow, my ass!" Upon ass self-inspection (as I often do), I found that a little red dot had punctuated my rear in mighty fashion. What was to be done?

    For the first half of the week, I sat uni-cheek on most sitting appliances. This is to say, I sat with one cheek on a seat while the offending lobe hung free in the breeze. Of course, later in the week, the pimple (who I will henceforth refer to as, "Floyd") grew to such an extent that even sitting on one cheek stretched the skin of the other cheek in such a way as to incite Floyd's pulsing anger.

    What horror. Lo, what monstrous beast! Floyd plagued me in my sleep. Floyd plagued me while walking. How could things become any worse?

    My friend (and occasional flirt) Cathy called me up. "Say, how about we go see a movie? How about Sideways? I've heard good things about it."

    Forgetting the passion of the Floyd for a moment, I gave Cathy a resounding affirmation and slipped into "Ready-self-for-date-and-possible-hookup" mode. It wasn't until I pulled on my super-suave "hookup" boxers that Floyd screamed at me.

    "Hey! Watch it with that waistband, bitch! I'll cut you!"

    Rolling my eyes, I tried fruitlessly to make eye contact with the horror on my rump. "Hey, no shenanigans tonight," I warned, "Cathy's hot so you need to power down for the evening. If she goes reaching around the corner to feel the goods, I can't go yelping like a bitch, can I?"

    At this, Floyd paused. "She's hot? You think she'd want some Floyd action?"

    "I'm not going to **** her with my pimple. The only action you're nabbing tonight is quiet contemplation on how best to transcend your mortal coil. Understand?"

    "If Floyd nabs no ass, you nab no ass," he admonished.

    "You've nabbed plenty of my ass for the past week. It's time for you to go."

    "Your ass is a man ass. I was supposed to be on Carmen Electra's ass, but there was a mix-up in the paperwork downtown. There's a six-year waiting list for supermodel ass, and now I'm pissed about it."

    He chose that moment to twist my nerves so tightly that my eyes popped out of their sockets.

    "Damn it!" I shouted, pulling on khakis, "Don't screw this up for me! Cathy's lonely and I'm a guy rearing to take advantage of a lonely girl! I'm only two moves from checkmate, and you're not messing it up. I can take whatever you dish out at me."

    Floyd's muffled voice slowly whispered, "We'll see."

    Cathy showed up at the theater wearing dark jeans and a snug, black, low-necked, zipper-down top. At once, the blood vessels between my legs began their flow. A mighty knob awoke, imagining itself between her fine, c-cup titties. Her mane of dark hair and fluttering, doe eyes framed the ovalesque, soft face of a post-modern Mona Lisa. Her lips begged to be kissed, and also to have a penis slid firmly betwixt them.

    Ooh, heaven is a place on Earth.

    "Hi!" she smiled and hugged me close, pressing all twelve inches of tube steak against her Venus mound. I hugged her tight, then we parted, to engage in awkward, post-"you-just-felt-my-boner" discussion.

    "Hey!" Floyd burned with curiosity, "What's going on up there?"

    Ignoring him, I held the theater door open for my lady friend, bought her the frozen cola she requested, and entered theater 5.

    "Where would you like to sit?" I asked, slowing up considerably in the back row.

    She replied, "I like sitting in the back. You can see everything that way."

    Jackpot. Oh, you'll be seeing everything, all right. If by "everything," you really mean, "me naked!"

    The theater filled up and the movie started. The Christopher Lowell look-alike bald guy began whining about wine or a car or something, and his friend had this voice that sounded like he had personally eaten a thousand or so cigarette butts and enjoyed it. Whatever. Anyway, my hand had slowly migrated to the tandem armrest and dropped down such that my fingertips could barely scratch at her upper right thigh.

    "Mmmf, gragh! I'm suffocating down here!" Floyd hadn't forgotten to be a pain in the ass. Wincing, I continued puttin' the moves on.

    Cathy's eyes remained fixed to the screen, but as I full-on caressed her leg, she leaned back snugly into her seat and the corners of her mouth turned up.

    After a few teasing moments of massage, I slid my hand gingerly over her holiest of holies. She inhaled sharply through her nose and her entire body tensed, quivering with waves of silently laughing delight. She slid her lower half forward a bit in the seat, as to allow me easier access.

    Rubbing, teasing with my fingertips, Cathy breathed shakily as her shoulders shuddered and her eyes fluttered with the long, slow descent into foreplay.

    As I unbuttoned her pants, her own arm snaked around and her hand found its way (easily enough. I'm huge.) to my love totem. Let me tell you that this girl knew exactly what to do. Her fingers curled around and tightened in just the right places, like her hand was made especially to do this to me.

    "Hot damn! This girl's fine!" Floyd pulsated with excitement, "Tell her to lick your ass!"

    I shifted in my seat, taking some of the weight off of Floyd's domain. Cathy continued working me as I found my way into her pants.

    The guy on the screen said, "I hate Merlot!" as I curled my finger easily into Cathy's moist love canal. Her stomach tensed, her eyes shut, and she bit her lower lip. Her grip on my member tightened considerably, and I figured that I must've been doing something right as I slid in and out, deep and shallow, deep and deep, deep, deep.

    She let out a short, passionate cry, and the folks in front of us made like to turn their heads around, but they opted to continue watching some naked guy doing something or other onscreen.

    Her fingers extended, her whole body shuddered, and her eyes rolled back into her head. Finally, she squirmed pleasantly in her seat and I removed myself from her nether regions, zipping her back up as I went.

    "Ohh," she sighed into my ear, just before she began flicking it with her tongue and licking her way down to my neck.

    "The ass! The ass!" Floyd screamed, "Tell her you want it in the ass! Ass ass ass!"

    Floyd stabbed like an icepick. I tensed my neck and groaned in pain. Cathy stopped.

    "What's wrong?" she asked.

    "Nothing, just a leg cramp."

    "Okay," she whispered, returning to business.

    "A leg cramp?" Floyd was furious, "A leg cramp? I'll give you a leg cramp, mother****er!"

    Like the bite of a horny midget, Floyd wreaked havoc, the pain shattering through my body like a negative orgasm. A "norgasm," so to speak.

    Biting my tongue to prevent the cry of pain I so wanted to let loose, I remained silent as tears poured into my eyes and Cathy was at work undoing my khakis.

    "Yes," I thought, "The pleasure of Cathy's doings will counteract anything Floyd can dish out. Yes! Love is truly greater than pain!"

    Cathy silently slid out of her seat and kneeled on the theater floor. She uncoiled my man-beast and licked her lips.

    Rapidly uncoiling itself, my one-eyed trouser snake stood at full attention, eclipsing the theater in its awesome glory.

    What a trooper Cathy was. You really had to hand it to her. She engulfed the thing like sucking in a strand of spaghetti, only far thicker and harder, or course. It was my turn to moan, groan, and sigh . . .

    "Miss me, bitch?" Floyd pulsated, as if to burst himself free from his epidermal confines, "If Floyd ain't happy, ain't nobody happy!" He cackled and circulated fresh waves of pain.

    "Agh---!" I cried, "Gah---stop it, you ass!"

    "What?" Cathy slid herself off of me. "Your---what?"

    "Nothing, nothing," I breathlessly reassured, "It's---"

    "Were you---were you calling me an ass?"

    "No, I was---er---talking to my ass."

    "Talking to your ass?"

    "Yes. It was---um, falling asleep, and I just spoke to it to you know, wake it up a bit."

    "Smooth," Floyd giggled, then broke into a chorus of, "Smooth Operator."

    Cathy cocked an eyebrow, but shrugged a moment later. "Um, okay."

    She returned to finish me off, working the pipe like a true steamfitter. Yes---yes---! Work it, work it, work---it---aww---Gaaaad---yessssssss---!

    Ahh, yes. After practically blowing through the back of her head, I slumped back into the seat, fully spent. Of course, I had momentarily forgotten about Floyd and as I sat back, my full weighty pressure came down upon him.

    Like sitting on a knife, I shot up in my seat, whacking Cathy in the head with my gigantic piece, knocking her out cold against the sticky theater floor.

    "That does it," sighed Floyd, "Next time I'm coming back as a penis pimple."

    "Not on me," I stuffed myself back into my pants and propped poor Cathy into her seat.

    "Of course not on you," Floyd throbbed weakly, "On Dave Navarro."*

    *Google him if you don't know who he's married to.
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