What's that hit counter say on the right there? There are a lot of repeat readers in that veritable hoard of folks (12.86% if you really want to know), and being fully cognizant of the fact that books are considered dinosaurs in this fine day of Internet Instant Gratification Graphics and the fact that there are no, or very few, sexy time pictures in this pile of words... maybe I've simply, by sheer luck, found ALL the readers in the whole world and it'll cap now...
Name me another non-porno site that reflects this kind of growth in the same period of time and has the same volume of original content. And I don't intend that as a challenge to your feedback, Mister Fantasy. I'm genuinely inquiring as an entrepreneur, which is simply a necessary element of the Art Business. Y'know the whole "business" end of things in the term "Art Business".
Yep, we all live in that world where toilet paper and juice cost money, so you really have no need to act like you'd do this much volunteer work to peddle your skills, fellow entrepreneurs aside. Though some of you have jobs to support your businesses, too.
We're all dreaming of the day when "build it and they will come" yields the shiny gold coins that a person can trade for the stuff of life so we can quit our shitty jobs. I'm doing a bit of doing to go along with all that dreaming. What do you think I'm doing here? Why don't you read about it? There's a fuck lot of words to satisfy any curiosities that may still exist. Fuck pile of puns in the mix, too.
I honestly don't know how many different ways I will find to describe this project but they'll all continue to be fairly well composed... and riddled with the word "fuck" at every available opportunity. But for a few shitty typos and formatting fuck-ups, and one paragraph that I just couldn't/can't/haven't been able to work out yet but published anyway, them are good word strings all 'round. Some a little better than others but honestly, it's a bit difficult without the guidelines you'd find on a regular writing project. On the English Faux Pas post, most of the rest of the article is eloquent enough so if you're reading quickly, this one paragraph doesn't seem to stand out as an atrocious attack on the English language. If you're reading quickly.
When you stop to consume the composition of this stomach churning statement, it's a glaringly stunted, awkward and obviously 90% attempt at expression. It scores high because it does take an anal word wizard/ess to catch it. I did. And I left it. To see if anyone would actually point out when obvious errors have been missed... I'm still just the one human being, and I have openly admitted that technology is pretty much a big "fuck you", to me.
Still... Yes Men! All I get are Yes Men. And the only "criticism" comes from men whose feeble attempts at "courtship" are deservedly rebuked by me, simply because Imma Writa, Notta Dater... ya, I was going to use "Data" to carry the repetition through but I've tonnes of data so it would have ceased to be a true statement... True statements will get you accused of all kinds of things. It's ridiculous really. You're gonna try to shit on a bitch for being honest? And I have to work to take value from your feedback? Meh. Sounds like life.
I countered his lame attempt, to knock a bitch down for choosing her suitors more wisely, with hyper focus on Vagina Rights, tweeting merrily into the Twittersphere "Vagina this", "Vagina that" and "Vagina the other" and I must say that if you want to generate quality interactions on Twitter, "Vagina Rights" is the way to go. Not in all the three and a half months since the "birth" of Imma Writa have I generated so much blog traffic through my Twitter efforts.
Curiously, up until last week, even though there are 1800ish Tweeters following me, approximately 36 times more than my 50 or so Facebook Friends, Facebook would often generate as much as 600% more blog traffic... Not true on We Heart Vagina Day! I increased my overall (3.6 months) Twitter traffic by at least 50% in about 36 ish hours of spouting off about M-312.
BUT as the M312 buzz dies down... 40 Days For Accosting People Who Do Certain Jobs Or Make Certain Life Choices, While They Go About Their Business rages on... Now look, I'm not going to suggest that these ... Orangutans(?) and their quest to shame women who use their pelvic areas, is men's fault. BUT... maybe if they got fucked properly every once in a while, they wouldn't be so ... Orangutan?
I know that's not the inclusive kinda language I insist on from my nineteen children, but the visual of an orangutan flinging poo came to mind and I couldn't shake it. It's apt enough, this is fucking entertainment, get over it.
The moral of the story is learn to fuck, then fuck your woman and she will want more! Exchange she for he as necessary...
Of course, you actually have to talk to a woman and avoid turning her off before you can get to the kissing... That's not news though.
As for this ludicrous and utterly ridiculous fantasy about women being inclined to travel to meet a complete stranger, it takes the sport fucking fantasy to a whole new level. I've been invited to every continent, to almost every country on the planet in fact, all by complete strangers. 98% of whom know nothing about me, and haven't even elected to read this here blog, that I advertise everywhere I go, in an effort to learn about the brain behind the booty. 98% of whom figure I should foot the bill to use up non-existent vacation time to entertain a complete stranger, just because. Isn't that what all ladies do for fun?
I asked Google how much a flight to Cambodia is and how long a bitch would be in transit to get there. Google reported back that it'd average 24 hours to Phnom Penh (who knows where his ass is relative to that) and the airfare seem to range from $1500-3000. Plus whatever shots are needed, accommodations, meals, transportation, entertainment, insurance and etc. Of course, we can always cut out the hotel part of the expenses because staying at a stranger's home, in a strange country, is never ever going to turn into a version of Silence Of The Lambs in the real world. Let's call it $5000, which is probably high but vacationing on a budget is lame, who knows what the panhandling laws are like wherever he is.
Anyway, the clock breaks down like this:
-a day (likely 1.1 or up to 1.3 days) to travel
-a day to recover
-four-ish days (minus sleeping and eating hopefully) to be a stranger's sex object (presumably, as the invitation is based on my profile picture and the fact that I responded)
-a day (likely 1.1 or up to 1.3 days, accounting for the "ish" on the time to actually be engaged in being a sex object) of return travel is a week.
-Plus a day to recover and unpack once I'm back home.
Here's the thing about reality, I'm definitely not getting eight days off anytime soon, so that'd be taken out of the two weeks Canadians are entitled to, when they aren't starving artists who have a bunch of paying jobs to cover the toilet paper and juice luxuries of life while entertaining the masses for free, until they finally
-snag an agent's attention
-get hired for an usual social media campaign
-build a big enough audience to sell enough copies of smutty stories to keep the lights on
-gain a fair reputation as the best fucking resume writer and/or copy editor of all time and generate a fuck of a lot more leads on that end of the "writing jobs"
-score that ghostwriting gig you've been thinking about forever but just haven't met the right writer to pitch it to yet (Yes you, Motherfucker. You know you have a great story and don't have the means to tell it, hire a bitch already!)
-achieve whatever other variation that amounts to our society's standard practice of trading skilled craftsmanship and time for those almighty dollars. You know, just like the accountants and carpenters do. So they can enjoy juice and toilet paper.
|See? Some people do get it!|
It's not an impossible concept to note that there really are only 24 hours in any given day,
and it should be no great leap to understand that most people earn dollars for their time workin'.
I'm really fucking lazy about exerting a whole lot of time and energy to get laid, too. Hence having used the Internet to meet potential suitors for so long. I'm lazy and it works for my purposes. I actually do care, a lot, if someone is literate, books are sexy to me. "Hey, wots up hunny" is not.
Honestly, I'll barely go down the street to a coffee shop to meet a potential suitor, especially if I know I have a sure thing that might only be a few blocks further away. I'm a firm believer in the "work smarter not harder" method in all that I undertake. And unfortunately, I've fucked enough fools to know that way too many people don't know what the fuck they're doing, to risk bumping my fuck numbers into true slut territory by taking chances on randoms just because they notice my booty is super fine.
I also noticed how fucking great it is and I have managed to resist fucking myself for fourteen whole hours. I'm sure you'll live. And now you know that you're not the first person to have noticed it either. We're both winning.
So, quick math: if I'm not inclined to waste $5 and 45 minutes to meet someone I've actually talked to... why would I gamble $5000 and a shit pile more time to chance lame sex and/or becoming a caged animal in some creep's basement? And there ya go: a story is born. Thanks for your help, Mister, sorry I didn't screenshot our conversation, it was funny as fuck to me, and now it's come full circle to a juicy BDSM story with a little Stockholm Syndrome twist... fuck, spoiler alert just a second too late.
|Nothing shuts them up quicker than NOT being a vapid tart who just giggles and flips her hair...|
I don't know what he's talking about unfocused. It's all vagina, all the live long day. I'll work knitting needles into a story if it ever comes up... not as an abortion tool... aw, why'd you have to take it there? Probably because that's where it ends up when abortions are illegal... You don't have to have one if you don't "believe" in them, or if you do believe they exist but they offend you. You can even choose not to have an abortion if they don't offend you, or whatever your circumstances are. That's what choice is all about.
I'm offended by the colour green, the smell of beef, perverts who think about other people's sex lives and then call those other people perverts, people who try to tell me what I should do with my body parts like the million demands I get for nude pics or the thousand invitations to become an international volunteer slut or the suggestion that I'd be best serving the world as a breeder and wife... The sun still rises and sets every damn day and I'm still only giving you the blog, just like I promised.
|We make our own rules in cyberland.|
Apparently it's not real so that's why there are different codes of conduct I s'pose...