Who will it be, who will it be...
That's how you whore for traffic, people. Set up some meaningless something or other where people click the lever like a Rhesus Monkey trying to get another cocaine pellet.
I know there are people who get 300K hits in an hour, but I never imagined I would ever get this many when I put up the site meter(s). And yes, it tickles me. And no, it does not make my panties wet. Unless all 300,000 of you want to drop a dollar off to celebrate. Heh...
Why couldn't all of you A-Holes have done this yesterday? Might have been significant.
The wife is downstairs with Nattie, doing something women don't usually do: reading a technical manual. She and Nat are trying to figure out how to attack Johnny's cars and trains with the robot I mentioned he got yesterday. I've been able to get it to bend down and pick up a couple of things, but the grip ain't so great. I'm thinking of cutting up some of that special rubbery tape we use for Johnny's CPAP mask, and using the pieces to give the robot a better grip.
I was having trouble with them, especially Nattie, being a little too rough with the thing, so I told them it was their new little brother, and oh, you should have seen Nattie bond. Like hearing a can of Pringles open, Thwoop!
If I'm not careful, that little bitch is going to get herself knocked up as soon as her ovaries drop, just to have a baby to play with. I shudder.
Sometimes it's fun being a Dad, sometimes, not so much.