A short interlude, blessed reader, from the mythologically proportioned pornography. Honestly, it's been cock, cock, cock, cock, cock this week, wall to wall. And that's just chapter one. In fact, I'm not entirely sure I actually want to start *writing* the thing now if this any indication as to the groundwork that's going to be involved, but needs must, I suppose. Besides, as I'm reliably and continuously informed as I wind my wary way through the delightful world of publishing - invariably by men, most of those single - sex sells. You could have fooled me last weekend. There was precious little commercial activity in cubicle number three of the public conveniences outside the new Asda just off the high street, I can tell you. But, heck, what do I know? I thought Marcel Proust was a mute Formula 1 racing driver.
But to be serious for a fleeting freekin' second. Straits being as dire as they currently are, I started doing a little research the other day into how to boost readership, publicise one's wares and generally start turning all that random computer generated 'traffic' into cold, hard, filthy lucre. Well, without taking recourse to spreadsheets, pie-charts, powerpoint presentations and all the other bullshit marketing paraphernalia my research pointed to, the basic upshoot of it all is actually quite simple: *know* *your* *readers*. Wowee. Thanks for diddly. Part of the problem over the last 11 years - OMG, 11 years? That's crazy! Do I get soem sort of medal or something, just for putting in the hours? - is precisely that: *I* *know* *my* *readers*. (And I sincerely hope you're both having a lovely day and haven't strated on the gin and it just yet....or the methadone for that matter.)
The shock having subsided somewhat, I began slowly to pick myself back up off the floor again and compose myself. A stiff drink or three later and I began to see some light at the end of the tunnel. Going back to my research, I realised I had to be a little more forensic and, delving a little deeper, I started to see a pattern emerging, barely discernible at first, but slowly growing clearer until, finally there in front of me like a 10 foot high flashing signpost of the bleeding obvious, was the plain and simple truth. Sex may not sell, but *smut* abso-bloody-lutely does!
If you don't believe me, take a look at the cold, hard facts. Last week's numbers: top search terms in ascending order:
10. Marigolds - 452 hits
9. Zoe Telford - 466 hits
8. Crotchless - 489 hits
7. Garter-chafe - 512 hits
6. Tanya Beckett - 553 hits
5. Ridged - 554 hits
4. Underdrip - 798 hits
3. Butane-minge - 12,467 hits
2. Sophie Raworth - 13,584 hits
1. Pantyhose - 15, 404 hits
Well, I don't really need to spell it out to you, do I? It's just bloody genius, isn't it? I mean, these things will virtually write themselves. So, it's with renewed vigour that I return to the fray, eager to give my adoring public - yep, that's you Ms. Sandvik, Vasstra Gotoland (7 min, 23 seconds, 01:46, 21/06/2015) - boy, have we got some threats in store for you, lady!! And as for Mllle. Pacific Palisades, CA (1 min, 45 seconds, 03:47, 20/06/2015 - boy, you don't hang around, huh? Go for it girl...), well, those cold and lonely three a.m.s just got that teeny-weeny bit brighter. No really, it's all part of the service....just remember to click on the ad at the bottom on your way out....
xxx
'Berta
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