It’s not that I pay all that much attention to my blog’s stats or anything. I mean, they are what they are, you know what I’m saying? And like every other blogger out there, I don’t blog for the stats. Or so we all claim. (Wink wink, nudge nudge.)
Still, when I see a precipitous drop off in the number of daily views over a four day span, it is a bit disconcerting to me. Have I lost my touch? Too many uncaught typos? Is my sense of humor failing? Are my opinions too extreme? Am I being too political? Or not political enough?
Are my posts too short? Too long? Too serious? Not serious enough? Do I need more pictures? Fewer pictures? Am I using too many curse words? Am I being too risqué?
Oh wait. I just checked my stats again.Never mind.
I can’t believe that that goddam monkey, you know, the one that escaped from the zoo back at the end of April, just picked up a goddam brick and threw it right through my car’s goddam windshield.
What did I ever do to that goddam, crazy monkey to deserve that?
This piece of microfiction was written for Teresa’s Three Things Challenge, where the three things are monkey, April, and brick.
The sound of the rifle blast disturbed the otherwise peaceful morning. The gulls took flight, the squirrels and gophers scurried. The dogs started barking, the crows started cawing.
One deer, the large male, fell to the ground with a thud, while the three others scattered into the shelter of the woods. The shooter approached his prey and congratulated himself on the accuracy of his shot. This deer was a four-pointer and it’s head with antlers would make yet another fine trophy for his cabin’s wall.
He could never understand those who claimed that deer hunting isn’t a sport. Of course it is, he reasoned. It takes patience and skill. It’s not something just anybody can do. Just because the other team doesn’t know they’re playing the game doesn’t mean it’s not a sport.
Besides, it’s sanctioned by the state as a means to control overpopulation and to improve the herd.
So screw those who think it’s cruel. They’re just a bunch of libtard snowflakes.
Written for Priceless Joy’s Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer. Photo credit: wildverbs.
By the way, I am one of those libtard snowflakes.
Last night at midnight my time, I published today’s FOWC with Fandango One-Word Challenge. The word for today was “lessen.” But as several bloggers pointed out to me when I woke up this morning, the wording in my posted FOWC prompt read “Today’s word is ‘lesson.’ Not to be confused with yesterday’s word, “lesson.’”
What the hell, Fandango? Is the word for today “lessen” or “lesson”?
Let me assure you, it’s “lessen.” Or at least it was supposed to be, since yesterday’s word was “lesson.”
Oh how clever I thought I was being to create homophone prompts on consecutive days. But maybe too clever for my own good, perhaps.
In the end, though, I did learn several lessons from this experience.
- Never publish a post when I’m just about to fall asleep
- Always proofread my post at least two or three times, including reading it aloud at least once, before hitting “Schedule” or “Publish”
- Lessen my dependence on autocorrect to catch my errors. Apparently autocorrect isn’t good with many homophones
Let that be a lesson for all of us.
Me: What are those little red and white striped huts on the beach?
She: Those are personal beach cabanas.
Me: What are they for?
She: To sit in to get out of the sun, to store things in, to change into bathing suits in, and a place for some privacy.
She winked and smiled.
Written for Kat Myrman’s Twittering Tales prompt. Photo credit: katermikesch at Pixabay.com.