That's not really where I was expecting that sentence to end up. "One of the great things about having a blog is" should end with "all the nubile groupies" or "the millions of dollars in yearly advertising revenue." Or maybe "international fame and an eighteen inch dong." "Having a yacht and a winning smile." Or something like that.
But really, the analytics point out occasionally amusing things. People finding your blog by punching the words "moment of shit" into Google. Or finding out that your blog is mostly hit by drunks at three in the morning who type "things to do with donkeys" into Lycos and are satisfied with the fourth result down the page (you).
In my case, I have an extremely low-traffic blog, as random writing/life-style related blogs tend to be. I'm not writing about sweet tips about raising babies, leaking corporate mysteries, or posting pictures of naked koalas or anything like that. I'm pretty cool with not making many waves across the vast ocean of the Internet. I'm doing this mostly for accountability with my various writing-based resolutions, a little bit of practice and, possibly, a smidgen of narcissism. Mostly I just like blogging for the sake of blogging.
Because my site has such a low amount of traffic, blips in the numbers show up pretty clearly. When the usual number of hits on any given entry range from 0 to 5 per month, mostly from Ukrainian search-engine crawlers, any unusually large amount of traffic tends to stick out, like a death metal front man at a Mormon picnic.
Not counting flash fiction and stuff I deliberately cross-post across multiple sites, things fall into two general categories: posts with profane titles and posts without.
If I throw a shit or a fuck into the title, traffic is (relatively) high. If not, crickets. My story about the UP's only strip club? Crickets. The post entitled "The Power Of Not Giving A Shit"? High.
I suppose this is the part where I'm supposed to bemoan how debased society is. How crudities have replaced habitual formality. Think back to the Golden Days, when I could slide on my monocle and silk gloves, tip my chapeau to the man at the door and go about my daily peregrinations instead of the way it is now, in modern times, where I am required by law to bathe in a fountain of shit fortnightly.
Mostly it makes me want to come up with a constructed language, like Esperanto, made to communicate basic ideas and needs but in a way that causes search bots to flip the fuck out.
It would be a great deal like how they handled jive in Airplane.
Since there's probably a hundred different ways to use the word "fuck" in a sentence, I have high hopes of this working out.
Vulgarities are weirdly flexible things. You can yell across the factory floor: "Fuck! Fucking tell that fucker that this fucker's fucked," and it will make perfect sense to a native speaker.
I have no doubt I can make a language explicitly fine-tuned for swearing, but flexible enough you could use it to engineer a skyscraper. It would probably be a great deal like Cantonese, in those respects. Cantonese is to "words that mean shit" as Eskimo-Aleut is to "words for snow."*
There's a fine science behind cursing and there is a rhythmic pattern to vulgarity that would mesh well with search engine optimizations. Moreover, it would just be a hell of a lot of fun to come up with. It could be a pastiche of all the swear words in the world, from all the more interesting languages.
Going to disappear for a week or two so this will be the last update for a while. Writing is going well enough, but not much of it will get done for the rest of the year, since I'm going to be getting some traveling out of my system--some international, some not. Access to wi-fi will be spotty. Inclination to do responsible things will also be spotty.
Words: 601, 531, 627, 1200, 729, 750 and 647.