Stats Don't Lie

No, Prometheus ain't seeing Shakira (though that wouldn't be such a bad thing). Proof of the fact, dear readers, that Content is King, lies in those nifty little things called stat counters.

The blog of Prometheus was an ornery place till it hit big time when he relocated to Here. Then he kept shuttling between Here and There. Now, he was born and raised There but he also loves it Here. One major difference betwixt Here and There is that Here gives him ample time to blog since there is no work. So, here, Prometheus is blogistically happier than there. Sadly, no work also means the only green stuff he gets is the moss that grows on his ears.

There, on the other appendage, Prometheus has to work his posterior off thereby resulting in blabsence (defined as absence from blogging). Further, the rather mundane and sapping work blinds him to all things bloggable, thereby resulting in blogstipation (as if he would've had time to blog even if he had something bloggable).

Statistical evidence of the theory above is furnished herewith:

Moral of the picture: Content is King. And this blog, if it has to stay alive, must provide exactly that; failing which, all Prometheus' friends (and his horses and other ornery critturs) can't put the blog together again.

He is now artistically torn and origamically folded into The Thing That He Wants To Do and The Thing That He Ought To Do. The stakes are heavily loaded in favor of the latter, unless someone comes up with a great 'Get Paid Obscene Amounts for Blogging' scheme.

The soundtrack for today is Bob Marley's 'No Woman No Cry'.

Why? Because Prometheus wants to:

• Tell Shakira that he can put her music on this blog if she goes out with him (not that he went out with Bob). And
  
  
• Get nostalgic to
  'Said - said - said: I remember when we used to sit
  In the government yard in trenchtown,
  Oba - obaserving the ypocrites
  As they would mingle with the good people we meet.
  Good friends we have, oh, good friends weve lost
  Along the way.
  In this great future, you cant forget your past;
  So dry your tears, I seh.
  
  No, woman, no cry;
  No, woman, no cry.
  ere, little darlin, dont shed no tears:
  No, woman, no cry.
  
  Said - said - said: I remember when-a we used to sit
  In the government yard in trenchtown.
  And then georgie would make the fire lights,
  As it was logwood burnin through the nights.
  Then we would cook cornmeal porridge,
  Of which Ill share with you;
  My feet is my only carriage,
  So Ive got to push on through.
  But while Im gone, I mean:
  Everythings gonna be all right!
  Everythings gonna be all right!
  Everythings gonna be all right!
  Everythings gonna be all right!
  I said, everythings gonna be all right-a!
  Everythings gonna be all right!
  Everythings gonna be all right, now!
  Everythings gonna be all right!
  
  So, woman, no cry;

Poingnant, eh?

Technorati tags: Mumbai, Dubai, Blogstipation, Back to Blogging, Bob Marley, No Woman No Cry.