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The End of an Era of Ersatz Erotica

Blog. It’s what’s for dinner.

Well, I’m not entirely sure what to regale you with today. I’ve got a couple of things brewing up there in the old noggin — some thoughts on advertising, and a story about how I discovered I’d become old, plus some other assorted and aforementioned stuff.

(Well, I’m not gonna tell you what it is; if you’ve been paying attention, you already know, then, don’cha?) But I don’t think I have time at the moment to do any of those topics the justice they so richly deserve, so I’m gonna talk about something else.

I know — I’ll give you a State of the Blog report. That’ll be fun. Or it’ll take up space, at least. And I’ll take what I can get at this point.

So, I’m happy to report that my little experiment to inappropriately attract horny pervs was a raging — or should I say throbbing? — success.

(For the backstory on this one, see this post, where I rather inadvertantly created the problem, and this one, where I decided to milk the hell out of it. And yes, that’s a transparent self-promoting ploy to get you to root around in the archives. Don’t hate me because I’m shameless.)

Anyway, I figure that Google picked up the latter of those entries sometime on Monday, June 30th, just as the hubbub that the post describes (said hubbub having been caused by the first post) was dying down. So, after never having even 30 hits in a single day, I then was the oh-so-thrilled recipient of approximately 40 on Monday, then 145, 85, 175, and 35 hits, ending on Friday, July 4th, when Google appears to have re-indexed at just after 5 am local time. The offending (and offensive!) article had by then been shelved into the archives, and it appears that Google doesn’t get around to indexing those. Bastards! Since the post has fallen off of Google’s radar, I’ve had all of six visitors — well, seven, now that you’re here, or eight, maybe — but you folks seem to have been genuinely looking for this site (God help ya), so the six-pack of happy-to-be-here miscreants is much more valuable to me than the gaggle of wank-spankers that was running around here all week.

So, really, I suppose I’m happier to report that the experiment is over, and I don’t see myself repeating it in future. As much as I like jerking around the jack-off crowd… um, so to speak, that is — their constant fevered clickings makes it pretty tough to figure out who’s really reading this crap, and which crap they’re reading. Or to put it another way, the ‘signal to nookie’ ratio becomes vanishingly low. I suppose I’d hoped that a few of the winkie-whackers might appreciate what’s here… you know, wrap up their searches, and clean off, and then come back to see what this place is all about.

(Or, as J-Lo likes to put it: ‘Come for the ass, but stay for the sass!‘)

And maybe that’s happened — we’ll see. If you fit into that category yourself, then welcome! Look around, make yourself at home. Glad to have you! Just keep your pants on and your hands on the mouse while you’re here, and we’ll be fine. I have to wash the slip covers on the couches often enough as it is, thank you very much.

Let’s see… what else? Oh, I did come up with the title I wish I’d called the blog in the first place. I’m too lazy to change it now, and of course wouldn’t want to confuse all of my loyal fans… they’d both be very upset, I’m certain. Anyway, if I’d been thinking clearly on the morning I started this thing, I’d have called it ‘Verbal Obscenities‘. Back in college, we had the following sign posted just inside the basketball gym:

No Food or Drinks Allowed

No Shouting of Verbal Obscenities

So, of course, our small group of friends was inclined — nay, compelled — to attend as many games as possible, and to scream ‘Verbal obscenities! Booooo! Verbal obscenities!‘ when we felt our team had been slighted. Or during free throws, or timeouts, or tipoffs — constantly, really. It was fun for the first two or three years; really, it was. Ooh, that and taunting the DIII zebras that worked the games. That made us giggle, too.

(‘Hey, ref, we know you! You won’t ref Division Two!‘)

Good times. So, anyway, in retrospect, ‘The Verbal Obscenity Blog’ would’ve been perfect. It’s descriptive, accurate (goddamn it!), and there’s a mildly amusing and highly aggravating backstory. Just like the blog itself! But I missed my chance, I suppose. It’ll just have to find a place on the Pile of Thoroughly Tragic Disappointments with the Menudo autographs I never got, and Fletch 2, and that boob job I’ve been wanting since puberty. (I know, ‘Just like a man’.) Oh, and that, um, cream I bought over the Internet.

(I should’ve known that wasn’t gonna work. As Robert Schimmel once said, ‘Wouldn’t it make your hands bigger, too?’)

That’s pretty much it, I suppose. I’ll still keep bringing you this crap, and if the three of you who read it keep tuning in, then we’ll keep this thing rolling. Oh, but one favor to ask, if you don’t mind: could you check in a couple of times a day apiece? Just for a while… I’d just hate to dip below that six-hit-a-day mark. You know, it’s an ego thing.

CRAP (see this post for the CRAP 411):

I had every intention of writing a post-Fourth of July report today all about my experience at the downtown fireworks gala. I even wrote and deleted a couple of paragraphs, but in the end I decided just to let it go. Just take a deep breath (Ahhhhhh!) and let it go. Trust me, you’re not missing much. I started by talking about the Mormon Tabernacle Choir — you know, making fun of Mormons, and wondering how they cornered the market on ‘tabernacles’, and whether ‘tabernacles’ are somehow related to ‘tallywhackers’; really, it wasn’t all that entertaining, so I just scrapped it. Here’s the only part that I thought about salvaging, about the horde of Bostonians gathered around us for the festivities:

<deleted post snippet>

I haven’t seen so many fat, sweaty people in one place since… well, since… okay, look, I’ve thought of a couple of marginally clever ways to end that sentence, but I don’t want to lie to you. I have never seen so many fat, sweaty people in all my life. Here it is twelve hours later, and the cellulite afterimage is still there every time I blink.

(You think I’m bluffing, don’t you? A’ite, Skippy, I’ll represent. Peep this:

“I haven’t seen so many fat, sweaty people in one place since:”

10. a big rig loaded with pork rinds was left unlocked at a Lynn truck stop last August.
9. Tom Arnold’s Very Special Family Reunion Christmas Extravaganza. On the WB, of course.
8. that strip joint in Texas we hit on our way to Mexico one year. *shudder*
7. the Two Fat Ladies’ book signing / pig roast at the local Barnes and Noble.
6. my gym offered half-off memberships to ‘Oprah Book Club’ members.
5. Jimmy Buffett played the Daytona Beach Bike Week.
4. I happened to walk past Mickey D’s on the day they retired the McRib.
3. Richard Simmons’ picket line when his studio tried to force him to stop wearing those damned crotch-hugger shorts.
2. the last time the cops interrogated the Minnesota Vikings’ offensive line about their night out with Randy Moss.
1. Weight Watchers mixed up the dates for the chili cookoff and the 5K ‘Fun Run’ in their newsletter.

There, ya happy now, punkly?)

</deleted post snippet>

See, now, if that was the best I could come up with for the post, did you really want to read the rest? Nah, I didn’t think so.

(You each owe me a beer now, for not putting you through that, by the way. Self-censorship don’t come free, you know.)