Number 1 Fan Quotes

Number 1. If I say we're number 5, people will just feel sorry for us. I'd rather say we're number 1, even if fans criticize us.

Chapter 1: Fan Number One Chapter 2: A Portrait of the Author as a Young Girl Chapter 3: Mystery Man Chapter 4: City Kid Chapter 5: The Plot Thickens Chapter 6: Reality Attack Chapter 7: Business Lesson Chapter 8: A Portrait of the Bulldog as a Young Girl Chapter 9: The Agent Chapter 10: The Chosen Grown-Up Chapter 11: Welcome to the Club Chapter 12: In or Out? Chapter 13: Open for Business Chapter 14: Judgment Day Chapter 15: A New Island Chapter 16: Poker, Anyone? Chapter 17: High Stakes, Aces Wild Chapter 18: The Long Arm of the Law Chapter 19: The Red Pencil Blues

H1B visas, and who ludicrously brings alarmingly large numbers of Turkish “teachers” into the United States to teach English. Fethullah Gulen, a CIA asset, came into the U.S under the

Every year or so I like to take a step back and look at a few key advertising, marketing, and media facts just to gauge how far removed from reality we advertising experts have gotten. These data represent the latest numbers I could find. I have listed the sources below. So here we go -- 10 facts, direct from the real world: E-commerce in 2014 accounted for 6.5 percent of total retail sales. 96% of video viewing is currently done on a television. 4% is done on a web device. In Europe and the US, people would not care if 92% of brands disappeared. The rate of engagement among a brand's fans with a Facebook post is 7 in 10,000. For Twitter it is 3 in 10,000. Fewer than one standard banner ad in a thousand is clicked on. Over half the display ads paid for by marketers are unviewable. Less than 1% of retail buying is done on a mobile device. Only 44% of traffic on the web is human. One bot-net can generate 1 billion fraudulent digital ad impressions a day. Half of all U.S online advertising - $10 billion a year - may be lost to fraud. As regular readers know, one of our favorite sayings around The Ad Contrarian Social Club is a quote from Noble Prize winning physicist Richard Feynman, who wonderfully declared that “Science is the belief in the ignorance of experts.” I think these facts do a pretty good job of vindicating Feynman.

She turns in the doorway. “Oh, and Galen?” “Yes, ma’am?” “Have your mother call me so I can get her number programmed into my phone.” “Yes, ma’am.” “You kids have a good time. I won’t be home until late, Emma. But you’ll be home by nine, sweetie. Won’t she, Galen?” “Yes, ma’am.” Neither Emma nor Galen say anything until they hear the car pull out of the driveway. Even then, they wait a few more seconds. Emma leans against the fridge. Galen is growing fond of hiding his hands in his pockets. “So, what did you two chitchat about?” she asks as if uninterested. “You first.” She shakes her head. “Uh-uh. I don’t want to talk about it.” He nods. “Good. Me neither.” For a few seconds, they look at everything in the room but each other. Finally, Galen says, “So, did you want to go change-“ “That idea is fan-flipping-tastic. Be right down.” She almost breaks into a run to get to the stairs.

You’re really nice,” I slur. We’re waiting for the valet to bring Gavin’s truck around, and it feels like the fresh Colorado air has increased my alcohol level from drunk to trashed . . . and I still haven’t cracked open my wine.   “You’re pretty nice too.” He’s watching me closely, and I’m trying to watch him closely. His eyes are crinkled with amusement; mine are struggling to focus.   “I really wish you were an investment banker.”   Oh no. The loose lips part of the night has arrived.   “Besides my mom, you’re probably the only person in the world who does.”   “Because everyone else would miss their superstar quarterback in his super-hot pants throwing the ball every Sunday?” Sober me hates drunk me so hard right now.   “Because I’m terrible with numbers. I had three different tutors trying to get me to pass my math courses in college. And I’m not sure most of the fans focus on my pants, but I’m glad you do.” His body is shaking with laughter as he nudges me with his shoulder.

Vim?” “Sweetheart?” The whispered endearment spoken with sleepy sensuality had Sophie’s insides fluttering. Was this what married people did? Cuddled and talked in shadowed rooms, gave each other bodily warmth as they exchanged confidences? “What troubles you about going home?” He was quiet for a long moment, his breath fanning across her neck. Sophie felt him considering his words, weighing what to tell her, if anything. “I’m not sure exactly what’s amiss, and that’s part of the problem, but my associations with the place are not at all pleasant, either.” Was that…? His lips? The glancing caress to her nape made Sophie shiver despite the cocoon of blankets. “What do you think is wrong there?” Another kiss, more definite this time. “My aunt and uncle are quite elderly, though Uncle Bert and Aunt Essie seem the type to live forever. I’ve counted on them living forever. You even taste like flowers.” Ah, God, his tongue… a slow, warm, wet swipe of his tongue below her ear, like a cat, but smoother than a cat, more deliberate. “Nobody lives forever.” The nuzzling stopped. “This is lamentably so. My aunt writes to me that a number of family heirlooms have gone missing, some valuable in terms of coin, some in terms of sentiment.” His teeth closed gently on the curve of her ear. What was this? He wasn’t kissing her, exactly, nor fondling the parts other men had tried to grope in dark corners—though Sophie wished he might try some fondling. “Do you think you might have a thief among the servants?” He slipped her earlobe into his mouth and drew on it briefly. “Perhaps, though the staff generally dates back to before the Flood. We pay excellent wages; we pension those who seek retirement, those few who seek retirement.” “Is some sneak thief in the neighborhood preying on your relations, then?” It was becoming nearly impossible to remain passively lying on her side. She wanted to be on her back, kissing him, touching his hair, his face, his chest… “Or has some doughty old retainer merely misplaced some of the silver?” Vim muttered right next to her ear. “You’ll sort it out.

The number 1,000 is not absolute. Its significance is in its rough order of magnitude—3 orders less than a million. The actual number has to be adjusted for each person. If you are able to only earn $50 per year per true fan, then you need 2,000. (Likewise, if you can sell $200 per year, you need only 500 true fans.) Or you may need only $75K per year to live on, so you adjust downward. Or if you are a duet, or have a partner, then you need to multiply by 2 to get 2,000 fans, etc. Another way to calculate the support of a true fan is to aim to get one day of their wages per year. Can you excite or please them sufficiently to earn what they make from one day’s labor? That’s a high bar, but not impossible for 1,000 people worldwide.

They were joined by an increasing number of Mets fans heading for the same train, who all shared the same thought: there was nothing more fun than staying up all night making fun of Phillies fans on their home turf the night before a good shellacking.

Sidney had a soft blush across her cheeks as she took a small piece of paper from Mia. I gave her an encouraging smile as she read. Her voice started soft but grew with confidence with each word. “With all my heart, I, Sidney King, take you, Jaxton Ryder, to be my husband. I promise to cherish and love you, Your partner in parenthood, Your ally in conflict, Your greatest fan, I will be your sidekick adventure, Your comfort in sorrow, Your accomplice in mischief, Your strength when you need. I want to play this game with you all the days of my life.” I leaned in and captured her mouth in a deep but quick kiss. “Sorry, I had to do that.

AliensRReal? Sound familiar? Yeah… that’s me. I’ve been your number one fan since the day you started, and that’s never going to change.

When she didn’t protest, Anthony kissed her again, this time using his tongue to taste her skin as he held her by the waist.

hurt was evident in his eyes and walked all the way up on her, backing her against the wall. I feel like choking this bitch, he thought.