The Blogula Hits 10.000; Thanks To Freckled Breasts

Well, here we are at 10,000 hits, and all my problems are over.  I’ve been waiting for this moment.  When everything is redeemed.  When everything is glorious and I stand victorious.

I have conquered, and now reign cloaked in majesty and might.  My enemies lie slain around my golden sandals.

Somehow, I thought it would be better.  Maybe, 100,000 will do it.

It’s not that I am not grateful.  I’m certainly grateful to all the bizarre Eastern European spam that has driven up my numbers.  “You have many interesting points of valid depth.  Your expression is provoking many thoughts.  Your erection problems can be solved with medication from approved international pharmacy.”

I’m grateful to all the perverts and their sick and warped search engine terms that lead them to this place.  Some are understandable: “toothbrush shank,” “sap gloves,” “jack hammer crotch,” “lap dancing strip club manager,” “can a penis get conjunctivitis?”  At least there was some general matching reference to my published work.  But the other ones are rather esoteric and puzzling; “pneumatic penis milking machine,” ” leather gloved sniffing,” and my personal favorite, “fierce vagina factory.”  That must be the name of an all-girl punk band.

How did those search terms lead them to my work?  Do I really want to know what that means about me, and my work?

Hey, whatever, right?  Whatever crooked cyber path leads them to this blog is fine with me.  I’m like a whore that way.  Any search term will do.

However, the all-time champion is “Freckled Breasts.”  Freckled Breasts has brought more hits to this site than ANY other search term.  By far.

The freckled breast thing started when I wrote a piece about this biker chick I knew, and in it, mentioned her freckled breasts.  No big deal.  At least not to me.

Well, apparently freckled breasts are a really big deal to a whole bunch of other dudes.  Ladies, if you happen to have freckled breasts, let me assure you, there is an entire international army of men out there who can’t seem to get enough of them.  You might as well swell them out of your bras proudly.  Start harnessing the power they provide.  There are legions of men out there prepared to do your bidding,  just for a chance to paw at your sun dots.

For awhile, there was a freckled breast frenzy.  I’d get two to three hits every single day from a freckled breast search term.  They couldn’t have been from the same guy, since he would’ve been hip to the fact that all my piece provided was nothing more lurid than a casual mention.  I know that when surfing for your particular sickness, you remember those kinds of disappointments.  You never click on those twice.  No, these hits were coming from a bunch of different dudes.  Internationally too.

It became so common that one night, while sitting at the computer, I announced to my girlfriend, “Hey, no freckled breasts today!”  “You’re kidding,” she says.

It’s died down to just a hit now and then.  However, I imagine that this little cluster bomb, loaded with freckled breast references, will Google me into the big leagues of blogging. (I just re-read that last sentence.  I really am insane)

Anyway, I’m grateful for freckled breasts.  And while freckled breasts may have built this blog, it took many more hits to get this far.

The unwitting stooge clicking on a photo I posted, or a Facebook friend so desperately bored that reading this week’s entry beats re-reading the cereal box for the eleventh time.  I am grateful to you, dear reader.  You have brought me my greatest kick, writing for somebody, anybody.

I’m grateful to have anyone read anything I’ve written, whether by accident or on purpose.  I’m just grateful to be writing again, whether anyone else reads it or not.  So what’s my fucking problem?  Why do I feel so ambiguous?

I think it’s just Milestone Syndrome.  Reaching a point you’ve been waiting for, getting over the thrill, and then wondering “What the fuck now?”

My driver’s license, my first car, losing my virginity, my first handgun, my first legal drink, not having to pay money for sex, a steady job, my own place, my first live-in, beating my first felony rap, having an attorney on speed dial …they were all a big deal.  And then they weren’t.  I thought they’d make my life better, but whether they did is debatable.  They definitely made it different, and in a lot of ways worse.

So I didn’t have any illusions about reaching this momentous and crucial moment in the history of Mankind, when my generic WordPress blog reached an arbitrarily chosen number of clicks.  If I did seize on this moment, I knew the yoke of all human suffering would be hung around my neck.  I already struggle with bad posture.   So that would kind of suck.

Good thing I’m inoculated.  I know how to deal with things that suck.  That was what the first part of my life was all about.  Running and gunning through a booby-trapped obstacle course.  How I managed to not die is a testament to my wisdom and moderation in all things.  Level-headed, clear thinking is the key.

I guess that brings me to the thing I’m most grateful for, being alive in spite of my best efforts not to be.  So yeah, having a blog do semi-okay is pretty amazing.  But so is me being around to drop a piece of toast on the kitchen floor.  It is an absolute miracle that either can happen.  And I did it all without being burdened by things like common sense and reason.

Reason and common sense.  Most people have them, and do just fine.  But, take those inherent abilities and see what magic you can create by stewing them daily in judgement-impairing juice.  Now you’ve created something far more interesting.  This creature is very different.  Operates on an entirely different system.  If this…this thing can survive long enough to stop drinking, you’ve got a mutant on your hands.

The years of hangovers and emotional suffering have tempered it’s threshold pain tolerance.  It isn’t scared of the stuff normal people are.  Losing a job, a family, being sick, broke, in jail, close to madness, close to death.  Been there done that.  It’s all over-rated, but nothing to lose sleep over either.  For a guy like me, every day above ground is a victory of such dizzying intensity, that everything else is just gravy.

The other day, a buddy called me.  He’s like me, dig.  Also off the sauce.  He asks me if I’m going to be at a certain meeting.  I say yeah, and he tells me to be on the lookout for this one dude just coming in.  Fucker actually died his first day of work.  Spent the week-end on a bender, then sobered up one day for work.  He tells the boss he’s feeling dizzy and falls out into a full seizure and dies.  No pulse, no breath.

There’s some ex-military dude there, and he knows CPR and starts revving up his heart with a massage and even pumps some of his air into this guy’s lungs.  He keeps him alive until the paramedics get to him, and take him to the hospital.  He lives.  Now he thinks maybe he should look into getting sober.  Who knows why now?  Anyway, this friend tells me that Lazarus was going to be at the Men’s Wednesday Night Stag.  Or at least he said he was going to be.  Heard that before.

I go the meeting, recognize the dude from my buddy’s description and introduce myself.  I welcome him back among the living and wish him luck.  We sit through a fairly boring meeting.  At the end of it, the dude, splits before I can go over and talk with him.  Whatever.  It’s not like I run around trying to save lives.  I just try to make myself as available as I can.  I’ve had some of my most eloquent speeches fall on deaf ears, and a casually tossed remark change somebody’s life.  So, I don’t get too bent about what get’s heard or not.

The next day, I’m leaving the gym and heading out to my car.  There he is.  Trying to crawl out through the driver’s side from out of the passenger’s while some old woman waits smoking outside the car.  I thought he was drunk, but he wasn’t.  Her passenger door was broken, so that’s why he was crawling and sprawling all over the place.  Man, did I know that one.  The beater with the door that didn’t open.  For me it was always the driver’s side.  Anyway, he finally climbs out.  “Hey, look who’s here!” I say.

The old lady drives off, and we stand around and talk a bit.  He mentions he’s stressed about being homeless.  Not a sissy stress, by any means, totally understandable.  But this guy just died and came back.  I don’t think I would be stressing too much about being homeless at that point.

“Dude,” I tell him, “The way I see it, you just made it into the bonus round.”  Through no work or effort of his own, something saved his sorry ass.  Maybe, he was just lucky, but something about him told me he wasn’t the lucky type.

“By all reasons, you should be dead, and staying that way.  I don’t think you had much to do with that.  Something else was in charge.  Why don’t you let that something stay in charge for a while and see what happens.”  I told him most people live in fear of death, and that he could cross that one off his to-do list.  He could seize this moment and really go with it.  He could approach life fearlessly.  Dude, even death couldn’t kill you.  You need to embrace your mutanthood.

Just get out there, and completely dig everything that’s happening, like the holy madman you’re meant to be.

I don’t know if any of it sunk in, but like I said, I don’t sweat that too much anymore.  Anything that’s supposed to stick, will.

I’ll tell you what though, recounting the little pep talk I gave him has done wonders for me.  Man, I really told it like it was.  Then I hear what I call The Voice That Enlightens And Irritates Me At The Same Time, “What an inspirational message, Marius.  You do realize that little lecture you delivered was really more meant for you, don’t you?”

Now, whether I listen to myself, remains to be seen.  I guess anything that was supposed to stick, will.

Anyway, this randomly designated milestone comes at a fortuitous time.  It coincides with a little vacation I’m going to take.  After 46 or so straight weeks, I’m going to take one off.  I fucking need it.  Take a breath.  I need to see where I want to do with this thing, this blogula creature that seems to have a life of its own.  Should I kill it now, at the pinnacle of its success?  Or make it endure the rest of the course, like I myself have chosen to do?

Greatness is really great.

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31 responses to “The Blogula Hits 10.000; Thanks To Freckled Breasts

    • Oh, Suebob, I don’t quite know you, but I seem to adore you. We have quite a few things in common, I’ve noticed from your comments. And whiskers on kittens—they just about take the cake!!! Have a great day…

  1. Yeah, 10,000. My blog is on pace to hit 10,000…in about five years. So you should be all happy and shit, for real. You have achieved. You have endeavored to persevere, and then you did a kick ass blog too.
    About quitting: Ok, so I’m sitting here with a Rube Goldberg machine rigged up to where when I pull the trigger on this cap gun an elaborate mechanism involving Dominos, live frogs, Hot Wheels cars and a toaster oven will cause the clicker on my mouse to be depressed thereby deleting my own blog. And I’ve got the cap gun, and I’m pointing, and I’m telling you “If you ditch out now, the white kids’ blog gets it.”
    Endure. Endeavor to perservere. Write more cool storys so I have shit to read after work that makes me want to write. Instead of being stuck having to read blogs about dumb shit and cats. No offense to Bugsy and Louie, of course.

    • No offense taken. Thanks dude. No, we have signed an Iron Pact. You can put down the gun. Thanks for being the best corner man a punch drunk keyboard pugilist could hope for. Send me you address so I can mail you something from Alaska. Maybe a photo of Sarah Palin’s front porch, so you can see it from Pennsylvania. Have a good rest on your vacation tambien, Ese carnal. Talk at you tonight after I pack.

  2. yes, endure, persevere! i talk about your blog a lot & look forward to it & love that you post it on a friday evening, where i’m at home instead of out & i get to read it. selfishly, i want you to keep on writing…but you probably deserve a vacation.

    • Selfishly want me all you want. I jump through flaming hoops for that shit. I just need a little time to think about things. Fortunately, there’s so little left of my soul, any soul-searching is quick work. Thanks for reading, and for participating. Stay beautiful.

  3. Awesome. Simply awesome. You’re going places Gustaitis. I sent you a message in FB. “fierce vagina factory.” That must be the name of an all-girl punk band. Freaking LOVE that… welcome to the blog-o-sphere my friend…

    • Thanks my old friend. Once again, I’d like to lay the blame for this blog’s very existence on you. If it hadn’t been for your effective persuasion for me to get off my ass and actually start writing again, none of this would have happened. By the way, I understand The Fierce Vagina Factory actually gives tours to the public and even provides samples afterwards. A highly recommended outing. Hope to see you soon, Frank.

  4. …Dude! has the Internet been invented yet?? It’s about Goddamn time one of us turned the Internet into a useful tool…and I DO mean TOOL.

    • Thanks, Brad. Sorry for the late reply, but I was away. Not in jail, a nut-house or rehab, but on a cruise ship seeing Alaska. The big irony here is that when I quit drinking, I was worried I wouldn’t have anymore fun. One thing that was not such a great deal was Holland America charging 75 cents a minute on a frustratingly slow server so I’m just getting around now to answering. Best wishes right back at you.

  5. As usual, I breathlessly await your next blog. Cobgrats on work well done. And PLEASE, endure–what would it like be without your honesty,humor,wit,introspection.. could go on, but I think u get it. May your getaway refresh your soul . Namaste, my friend.

    • Thanks Judy, I have to endure. I’ve decided. My soul does feel somewhat refreshed, and hopefully it will be reflected in my upcoming writing. One can hope. Still. Thanks for existing in my life, you are one of my treasured jewels in my hoarding chest. Namaste right back at ya.

  6. Marius—Endure, endure, endure. With all that you have. ‘Cause you got a lot of it, freckled breasts notwithstanding…Bravo. You deserve all the love you’re getting, and have been—clearly, you’ve hit a nerve with many of us. Freckled breasts notwithstanding. Have a lovely vaycay, and be well…

    • Ah Mortimus, congratulations on getting back to wielding your quill. I’m VERY glad to hear that. I understand it’s just privately for now. (Sometime wielding my quill privately is just more fun) But, it’s really much more exciting to do it in front of someone, or better yet, a bunch of people, some of them strangers who take offense. “Funk ’em, just to see the look on there face!” Cheers, my fellow recovering trainwreck.

  7. May I join the voice that enlightens and irritates by saying you simply MUST continue. Your voice is distinctly yours and nothing else will fill the gaping hole should you choose to leave us, your readers, bereft. Your eagerly awaited weekly story may even be keeping some folks in the land of the living so it’s your duty to entertain and amaze us, got it?
    I love you Marius, have a brilliant holiday. Omswastiastu.

    • That was really nice, Alexa. Thank you. My holiday was brilliant. I was surrounded by beautiful, smiling souls from Indonesia throughout my voyage, and if furthered my resolve to return, so it’s Ubud or bust. Prepare a bed of palm fronds for me.
      I really appreciate the assertive directive, Alexa. Now, if only you could repeat it while wearing leather hip boots, a barbed wire reinforced bra, and a riding crop on your hip. You know, just to drive the message home. It’s good to be back on-line with my mates. Missed all of you guys. I love you. Love is The Law, Love Under Will.

      • Asserted directives are us, merely returning the favour my friend. Dusting off the sling as we speak but sadly the barbed wire bra has rusted and the boots have sprouted some strange white, furry mould.
        Did you like the Leunig cartoon I sent you, It’s my other response to your angst and thought it was appropriate. Dave and I are now swapping recipes online and during your absence I’ve become the stand in for his hysterical late night rants about undersized cereal boxes.
        It would be brilliant to see you here in Ubud and we can do much better than palm fronds. Just bring earplugs for strange jungle noises and fucking roosters.

      • I loved the Leuning cartoon, and it was very appropriate to our band of literary misfits. Oh, the existential angst of it all! Nobody understands. Nobody cares. We are all going to die alone.

  8. hmm…i have mixed feelings about this…your posts unwittingly arrive on bad days for me & they have been uplifting, but perhaps if you are taking the vacay, it foretells that my bad days will not be arriving as often, too. let’s hope…if not i will cast a nightmare spell & you will wake in the night possessed to write a blog entry from Alaska… have fun mister marius.

    • Hope this Friday found you well, Red. I do believe there is a clear cause and effect going on here. Friday nights always suck for me, and it’s because of trying to finish the blog entry. No blog entry to stress over this last Friday, and it was a good evening. So there is a link. This blog ruins Friday nights, plain and simple. Hang in there, my petite.

  9. Hilarious as always. Rest assured I, however, do not visit your blog for the freckled breast factor. Zero appeal to a big homo like myself. Although even I think Julianne Moore is hot. Anyway, I think you could market the freckled breast thing. “Trudging Through the Fire: Come for the witty alcoholic antics, Stay for the freckled breasts.” Or not. Love ya and congrats on the 10k.

    • Thanks Mahoneyseanpaul, Ha! I’d love to rest, but to do so while assured, as well? Now your crazy talking to this neurotic. Ah well.
      Totally understand how being a big homo would make you neutral to freckled breasts, and perhaps other kinds as well. Personally, freckled breasts are like any ice cream flavor besides chocolate, not my favorite flavor, but any flavor of ice cream is good in its own way. Any ice cream being better than say, a kick in the nuts or a court appearance. Now, I’m not saying that chocolate breasts are my favorite flavor either. Although I can tell you they are awesome. Nothing wrong with a little soulful satisfaction. Not at all.
      Love your marketing idea. Your an ideas man, Mahone, a fucking brainstorm. One of the many things I love about you. Right now, I’m hoping they’ll come for the freckled breasts and stay for the witty alcoholic antics. I love your new blog format. It rocks, So do you, my friend.

  10. Can I simply say what a relief to search out someone who truly is aware of what theyre speaking about on the internet. You definitely know the way to convey an issue to gentle and make it important. More people must read this and understand this aspect of the story. I cant believe youre not more popular since you definitely have the gift. car partsd pick a part

    • Can I simply say what a relief it was to find out you were spam? But, you’re so fucking right. I so know how to convey an issue gentle and make it important. I like to at least start out gentle, but definitely want to make it important, or at least make it feel that way for her. You know, so she doesn’t feel like she’s all cheap. And yes, this aspect of the story simply must be understood. I couldn’t stand it if it wasn’t stood under. However, I must insist in deference, that the real puzzler here is that I’m not less popular given this gift I bring, of car parts.

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