Why They Came

I don't get many visitors, a notorious deterrent to consistent updating. And of the ones I do get, even less have come to stay and read.

But fear not, my imagined reader, this is not about to become some boo-hoo-where-are-you-I-quit shit, this is some "how the fuck did these people get here?" shit, brought to you by sitemeter.


1. "nemesis black stone"; Kilkenny, Ireland — I picture a leprechaun, concerned by rumors of an Irish kryptonite. Rest well leprechaun, your concerns are unfounded.

2. "dirty projectors rise above"; various — I get a lot of people from this search, but they're rarely inclined to read the review they're brought to, leading me to believe these people are assholes.

3. "sad beauty.png"; various — Who googles pictures of sad beautiful women and still isn't satisfied by the results some 30 pages in? Has this image satiated their desires?

4. "signs of mammon"; various — A great sum of folk worried their wealthy neighbor may be greed incarnate has greatly inflated my stats. Little do they know my nom de plume is a benign reference to [redacted].


I expected this list to be...longer. But of the 190+ visitors since August, these strings represent approximately 90% of why they came. Hopefully having blogged about them, I will have exorcised them for good.

Some Days (You Just Feel Like a Sex Offender)

I had been growing a fierce beard for the past month, as can be roughly discerned in the image you see to the left. (The profile one.)

This was because my facial hair is an indomitable force that I thought I had best represent in my photograph sent to Meanwhile, lest a clean-shaven or Miami Vice-stubble version of myself render me to too obviously pretentious when viewed in relation to my accompanying piece of short fiction.

Burly Wild Men are never pretentious.

Today I went in to teach and was immediately stopped upon entering the school. The principal, who I'd yet to meet in the month and half working there, asked if I needed assistance. I replied with a simple "no". The question was rhetorical. Who was I? I filled him in on the pertinent details of my non-paedophile existence, referencing the various faculty that I'm familiar with, including the Vice-Principal who I had met.

I was told that I needed to check in and get my badge.

My badge?

Yeah, my badge. My "Blatantly-Suspicious-Can't-Be-Trusted-Pervert" Visitor Badge.

Technically, this isn't a problem, as I fully understand the fears that run rampant in modern society. I'm also secure in my not being being one of these things that parents should be afraid of. But I'm also not really a visitor, am I? I'm a consistently-appearing educator of kids with special needs.

Alas, I am now sans-beard.

I miss you beard.

See you next month.