If you were a potential advertiser, I'd start this post with the colorful attention-getting headline:
TheWordWire.com Grows Subscribers By 72%!

I might even consider adding a graph that sources my own research to illustrate it. But that's not necessary. If you've opted-in to this feed, it means you're too smart to fall for any glib self-promotion calculated in percentages. Plus, you probably know me. No, this message isn't targeted at anyone who might pay me to send you this kind of non-substance flash. It's a thank you to bona fide subscribers!

I feel some deserved pressure now to entertain... as if I had the floor at a cocktail party. I'm searching my repertoire of anecdotes I might tell right now to keep your attention. Let's see....

• Drunk Midget at the Doorstep  — No, that's a Christmas Story.
• Socking it to Alabama — I'd really have to tell about Stinkfoot the Critter first.
• Big Moron in a Canyon — Updated!
• Six-Toed Girl Gets Gyped — Hmmm... That belongs in a series of New Orleans taxi tales.
• Smoke Break with a Guy on a Gurney — Good prospect. Maybe after a few drinks.
• Backstage at a Hip-Hop Concert with D.C. Bureaucrat  — Updated!
• Request From the Official State MILF — Updated!
• An Orange Gatorade and a Roll of Toilet Paper —  I can hold this one.
• Me Guts're Bleedin': A Comedy — Yes, it's a real town. What do you think, I'm crass?
• Blogger Indulges in Shameless Self-Promotion — Duh, that's the one you're reading now.

Right now I'm imagining this cocktail party taking place at a unique bar I was once invited to. I was visiting a dear friend in Denver, and she'd heard through the grapevine about this great place in the mountains — a secret spot in the wilderness that was rumored to attract an odd assortment of people to gather for a good night of fun. From cowboys to ski bums to in-town professionals alike, the only thing folks in this place had in common was that they were in the know.

We took the beaten path from the city into the mountains, and exited the freeway on a very desolate-looking road. I don't know how far we traveled, but it seemed like forever. Sure we couldn't possibly be be going the right way and beginning to fear what we were getting ourselves into, the leader of this expedition insisted that we press on. We did. After miles of darkness, we came to a remote town with a handful of houses and the infamous bar. To our astonishment, it was crowded and alive! We entered to find a band on stage singing a cover of an Allman Brothers tune. After the song, the front man shouted, "new people!" and passed the tambourine our way. I'm still touched by that kind of welcome. So with sincere thanks for reading, I pass the tambourine to you. If the stories teased above sound like your kind of music, please return.