In case you give a shit, this web site crossed half a million views today. Per the above map, it has been viewed in basically every country that a) has a computer and b) doesn’t tie you up and hook a car battery to your nuts for looking at the internet.
This brings me happiness. Thank you all for reading. Especially you, Swaziland. New Guinea– take a break from customizing your penis gourd and please take a look.
Now on to a sobering economic reality. If I had been running ads on this site, assuming a CPM of 1– the most generous estimate possible for a site whose number one search term is “horse fucking–” I would have netted $500 before taxes. About 50 cents an hour. I know this seems like a king’s ransom to some of you folks on the map, but to the rest of you: it is virtually impossible to make money with a “creative” blog and it’s only gonna get worse. So if it’s your dream to make a living doing this, let me piss all over that for you. Also, your mom did not actually send your dog to a farm where there are lots of other dogs and endless room to run around. She killed him. Probably shot him right in the face. Then she stood over his twitching, tortured carcass and laughed thinking of your bitter tears. Maybe she even shat in his wound, I don’t know. Seems like the kind of thing your mom would do.
It won’t make you money, but it can get you laid. Shocking amounts of laid with shockingly little effort, as long as you don’t count hundreds of hours coming up with hundreds of thousands of words as “effort.” And as long as like five girls counts as “shocking amounts of laid.” But it does for me– I mean, I write about stealing girl’s sweaty panties and sniffing them while I jerk it at the end of a coke binge. Strange women email me saying “let’s fuck,” and I send them my address, and they show up nice and musky and they leave their salty chonies behind knowing I will be wearing them as a Bane mask that weekend. I hadn’t expected that to happen once, much less several times. The world is a darker, weirder place than you’ve been led to believe.
Anyway. Onward and downward.
Ha! You said chonies.
Think he got that one from Sylvia. Whatever happened to Sylvia, by the way? She hasn’t posted on here in awhile. Hope she’s not dead. Or maybe you hurt her feelings suggesting that she was gonna stalk and kill you,.
Congo thanks you.
Man. I probably shouldn’t write so much about STDs and chronic anxiety then.
Congrats! I guess? I know your blog has turned into one of my faves and I’m completely totally out of the demographic that probably tunes in here. I’m kind of proud of that.
Congratulations, playboy. Powder and tecates on you this weekend.
Keep up the good work, bro. And keep using drugs? I guess?
You could always monetise through the sale of ebooks – a guy called English Teacher X runs a creative blog and makes $2k per month through fiction and non-fiction ebooks
Damn right, those ads were for products from other people, we don’t have trust in them, we trust you, DT.
if roosh can support his-self writing those i.am.a.robot.look.at.my.penis ebooks (not knocking robots, just pointing to over-there) … i dunno, maybe there is the opposite demographic, for your stuffs. jaded guys, guys who already had sex, whatnot. amusement for those with dark bits in their lives, or at least in wishful-thinking distance.
Writing gets you laid with the exposure. Doesn’t matter if you’re writing love poems or about intentionally giving chicks STDs by ramming your greedy unprotected cock into them. Women will lap it up, figuratively and literally.
Woah woah woah – before you go popping champagne bottles just know that nobody in fucking Swaziland or The Congo is reading your fucking blog. Those hits are probably some spambots randomly crawling the web. Then you got about 100,000 hits from Sylvia before she disappeared. Then you got another 300,000 from people who stumbled across your blog looking for horse porn and taco recipes, and quickly hit the back button. Then you got the dullards who come through to rip off your shit and send it to chicks on OKCupid as their own. Which leaves you with about ten regular readers.
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