Enough about me, what do you think about me?

I’ve recently hit 1,000 viewers, meaning the same three people who read this blog must have been REALLY bored these last two-and-a-half months.  I get excited when I hit three viewers a day, so you can imagine this is a pretty big achievement for me.

I was talking to someone who admittedly knows nothing about blogs (I’m the one admitting it, not him) to get some ideas for how to boost my numbers. One of those ideas was to write about things to which people can relate.  His suggestion? Shitting your pants.  This wasn’t my first thought but I’ll run with it.  In my friend’s estimation–and having done so I’m inclined to agree–is that almost everyone on this earth has shit their pants as an adult.  Men and women alike, although the latter is far more likely to deny it than the former.  In fact, women will almost never admit it unless they are doing it anonymously over a blog like I am.  But to be fair, I’m honest in real life about my “incident” which occurred in the back seat of a Pontiac while driving through Wyoming.  I left the evidence in a McDonald’s restroom and blamed the whole thing on “lady issues” until years later when it suddenly because trendy to admit you’ve shit your pants.  Long story short, almost everyone has done it, especially, and almost certainly, if you drink alcohol.  There is an old saying that you should never trust a fart, and this is never more true if you’re hungover.  (And why would you be in the back seat of a Pontiac driving through Wyoming if you weren’t?)  By the way gentlemen, skid marks count–just because it was a slow shit in your pants doesn’t make it any less of a shit in your pants.

Another idea (mine this time) to drive blog traffic was to better engage readers, and encourage comments.  Apparently “if I cared about what other people had to say I wouldn’t have started a one-sided blog” isn’t an appropriate mindset in the blogging industry.  Neither is “at the risk of not wanting to hear it, what are your thoughts” which I just used, quite unsuccessfully, in my post about the Presidential Debate.  Look, I’ve never been accused of being a people person, but all that is changing, at least for the limited purposes of this post, because I want to hear from you, readers–and I actually mean it.

Let’s see if my friend’s theory is right on: Tell me about that awesome, embarrassing, and/or awesomely embarrassing moment when you shit your pants as an adult.  Where was it?  When was it?  Who was it on?! Or, are you in denial?  Are you a pants-shitting unicorn–i.e., a lady who doesn’t drink, and probably hasn’t shit her pants before?  I know one of those, although after this weekend she may have lost her streak …  Anyway, I want to know!  America wants to know!  The whole world wants to know, because God knows we’re sick of hearing about the deficit and Big Bird.


6 thoughts on “Enough about me, what do you think about me?

  1. Can’t believe you’ve made me do this… I foolishly told a doctor that I had to get up at least 3 times a night to pee on my last visit (which was over a year ago for reasons that will soon become obvious), and was promptly directed to remove my trews* and pants* and mount the examination table so that he could do a prostate check. Having no concept of how one’s prostate is checked, I was only slightly concerned at this point, right up until I received the instruction “knees to chest please” and an unexpected entry where the sun doesn’t shine. I literally had to carry spare pants* for the following 5 days or so due to the shitty after-effects. Apologies if this is too much detail.

    * trews = trousers (aka pants I believe if you are of an American persuasion)
    * pants = underpants (aka I don’t actually know what you call pants over there)

    It occurs to me that I’d rather not know if you are about to tell me that the above is not actually how prostates are checked, and would prefer to live on in ignorance, thanks.

    1. That sounds horrible, but thank you for sharing. I asked for it. Also, thank you for the definitions, without which I would have been very confused by “trews.” What do you call short trousers over there (what would here be “shorts,” for lack of imaginative descriptions)? I’m thinking “trewshorts” but that just reminds me of the rapper Too-Short and I’m sure is wrong anyway.

      Back to your shitty situation, not having a prostate, I’m not entirely sure how they are checked but I have never been more happy to not have one.

      1. Shorts are shorts thankfully. Regretting my previous comment already 😀 Genuinely interested to know what underpants are called over there though as it might come in handy sometime.

      2. As tempted as I am to set you up for some potentially embarrassing moments in the future, they are just called underwear. Americans are boring and literal, unless we’re talking politics and then we speak using terms no one can understand and that don’t make any sense, like “bipartisan.”

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