I Know You're Out There. I Can Hear You Bleeding.

Now and then most bloggers indulge in a review of their blog stats in a tragic moment of self consciousness just to see if they are indeed reaching the masses.

This blog reaches very few masses. But to those of you keeping the faith ... and I mean both of you ... I say I'm in it for the long haul if you are.

These stats also tell you where people are visiting from. To my readers in Finland and Egypt ... and I mean both of you ... I say welcome. And I apologize. If it makes you feel better, this doesn't make much more sense to Americans, either.

But what I'm really here for is to share my alarm ... consternation ... worry ... and let's face it ... downright shameless amusement ... not to mention an alarming ability to improperly and frequently use ellipses ... about how people reach my blog somewhat unsuspectingly.

A few months ago, I wrote an open letter to a woman who got here by Googling "emotionally unavailable men." I hope she's doing well and has embraced her faghagness as a badge of honor rather than as a shield of self loathing.

My concern now turns to the person ... I'm guessing it's a man given the word choice ... who crept into this dark little corner after searching for "bleeding while taking a shit."

Jesus. I was so surprised, I had to Google that myself. And there I am. The third link down.

For the record, I have never blogged about bleeding while taking a shit. Well. Until now, that is. But apparently the Google pieced together one of my Ann Coulter rants with some other ... uh ... shit ... and voila. Mysterious are the ways of the boolean search.

But I also noticed that there've been multiple visits off of that search. So now my conscience ... and let's face it, that's a small, cold little nugget ... is forcing me to respond out of concern for my fellow man. And so to you, sir, I say:

Honey. Get some help with that. Chances are it's just a hemorrhoid problem and will clear itself up. Especially if it's blood red and not black in the bowl. But. Still. There's only one exit for this business, and you can't take that too lightly.

Certainly we haven't reached the point where the internets can be used to cure us of all our ills with any degree of certainty. Just searching for a solution to get skunk spray off of my dog once proved that much.

I can only imagine what kind of a horror show you faced when you just had a crimson crap and your shame and embarrassment drove you to search the internet only to be lead to a discussion of ... whatever the hell I've been spouting off about.

It certainly isn't hemorrhoids, I can tell you that much.

Well. Until now.