I’ve always got one eye on the blog stats. It’s my job. As the author of this blog, my job is to write things that people will want to read, and so I need to know what types of things you as readers read the most, and write more of that type of thing.
After all, writing things that nobody wants to read only has limited usefulness to an author. Unless of course we’re talking about the author of a tax code or something.
This blog is not a tax code. I think we’re all pretty clear on that.
But you have a job, too. Your job is to let me know what you like to read. Tell me what interests you, and why. Partly, you do that involuntarily and indirectly through my stat counters. Partly, you do that through your comments.
And here’s the part that bewilders me.
I get an insanely larger amount of traffic to the eh…. more personal posts. Sometimes it’s an order of magnitude larger than the amount of traffic I get to the posts about current events or my thoughts on this or that topic.
But it’s almost an inversly proportional relationship to the number of comments. The sexier a particular post is, the more traffic it gets, but the fewer comments it gets, too.
I suppose that one possible explanation is that the readers of my more mundane stuff are a bunch of prudes who just don’t read the sexy stuff. But that’s not the case. I know it’s not, and you know it’s not.
Now, I’d never out anyone as to who reads what. I’m like your priest that way, so don’t concern yourself. What happens at UDoJ, stays at UDoJ in that respect.
But geez, people. You guys are reading The Itch like it’s the first time you ever saw a Hustler magazine. Some of you are reading it more than once. A handful of you are reading it over and over and over, and that’s a big compliment to me. Thank you. At least one of you is taking a very long time to read it each time, too. That compliment is the best one. You know who you are (as it happens, I don’t). 😉
But say something, Dreamers. Don’t be embarrassed. I won’t tell your husband or your wife. (You might consider that, though. They’d probably be thrilled to find out that you liked it, too! Yes, your husband/wife/bf/gf has been here and read it already. Several times.)
Look, it’s like Kate always says: If the preacher catches you in the X-rated movie theatre, he can’t really say much to anyone, can he? If he tells anyone he caught you in there, he has to admit that he was in there too, right? So you give him your sexiest “You know you want me” look, right dead in his eye. You run your tongue across your teeth, just for good measure. Give him a great big squeeze on his ass (or wherever else you’ve been dying to squeeze), and blow him a kiss over your shoulder on your way out the door. What’s he gonna do? File a police report? Get up on Sunday and start his sermon “So guess who I saw in the X-rated movie theatre last night while I was watching Debbie do all of Dallas”?
I think not.
Put your other hand back on the keyboard for just a second and speak up. You know you want to.
Kisses to you all, silent or not.