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Internet Marketing’s Trebuchet

Atlantic BT 3rd Pumpkin Chunkin

How Internet Marketing Is Like A Trebuchet
You almost see it. Deep inside web analytics you smell straw, feel water running down rusty castle walls. You descend rough cut stone stairs heading deeper, always deeper. A strange hushed quiet marks a different World of Warcraft. Knights, dragons, wizards, goblins, heroes and villains live here simultaneously, not always harmoniously, often surprisingly. Your hand lightly traces rough, mossy stones as you walk familiar stairs.

You hear a shout followed by noisy armored men marching. Hearing wooden wheels carrying too much weight you think, “Trebuchet”. You involuntarily snarl picturing the damaging catapult. Hearing the snarl you laugh a short, loud, echoing laugh. Your mind calms. You’ve been here before. How many war cries have you heard? Resigned you stop, turn and climb up toward notched battlements. Battlements you know almost as well as your own body. Your men wait. No one talks. Silently you grasp and hold your sergeant’s shoulder. He lifts his head locking eyes for a knowing moment. “We are here again my friend,” his steady stare says, “be careful.” Your page hands you a freshly cleaned and honed longsword fear evident in his trembling hand. Taking your old, heavy, metal friend you wait hands held out. Your page buckles the large, awkward twice linked snap.

What you do now determines the end. Success or failure rides on courage, tenacity and bold seemingly counter intuitive moves. Trusted knights are close. There is proud Ulric, Lord Crewe, old Sir John and Charles the Bald. Men are packed close waiting, looking, watching. ShadowFax, your favorite Hawk released moments ago, issues a screech. “He knows,” proud Falstaff says loud enough to be heard. Rustling stops. These trusted men, these lucky few, hold, wait. You take the time to watch ShadowFax land gracefully in a tall pine. The moment’s quiet is precious, a gift. Settling you say,

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;

ShadowFax takes to wing with another screech making you pause. Your men laugh a loud tension relieving laugh and then quiet. You continue:

He today that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England sleeping safely a bed
Shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us this day.

Your raised hand joins the loud, clattering roar.

You almost miss the distinct sound of four Trebuchet’s releasing heavy burdens toward your castle, men and life. “Yes,” you think, “it is afoot again.”

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