Time again for SEARCH TERM BINGO, little babies. If you don’t know how this works, here it is: people discover this website via some of the strangest search terms one could imagine. I pluck these search terms out of obscurity and dissect them for gits and shiggles.
Let us begin.
This is my favorite new Hipster Beard Ironic PBR Shop Teacher Eyeglasses band out of Portland.
dont do that, chuck
*pops thumb out of the lion’s butt*
*douses flaming hatchet in pail of angel spit*
*wheels the stripper cake back into the moving truck*
Fine. Fine. I won’t do that. Now you’ve ruined everything. I had something really great planned. Now nobody gets to see it. This is why we can’t have nice things.
ghost story amish melonhead
Oh! The tale of the spirit of the Amish Melonhead! Young Ezekiel Stolzfus, with his head the size of a rain-swelled cantaloupe, was out playing one day with an unadorned wooden block as his toy, a block he named “Old Esau Blockface,” and so rapt was he in his playing with his lump of wood that he failed to notice the horse and buggy rocketing toward him at a clip of five, maybe six miles-per-hour. The horse hooves clomped over Ezekial’s body and the buggy wheel ran over his face but still he did not die. Nay, what killed him was that his favorite toy, Old Esau Blockface, bounced away and fell into a rain gully and was swept away. Young Ezekiel then died of a broken heart, and now it’s said he haunts the old Creamery Road. You know his ghost is coming when you hear the sound of stomping horse feet.
Some folks say they see a glowing shape in the darkness. A shape holding an unadorned block of wood.
*crash of thunder*
how did ancient babies sleep
Ah. Yes. The ancient babies. The “olde babbies,” as it were. The ancient babies slept inside the coal-warmed corpses of white stags, sucking on river pebbles, their fists clenched around the puffy gloved fingers of the alien astronauts who founded the first civilization in Catal Hayuk. The ancient babies were protected by dire wolves. They dreamed of spearing pterodactyls. They slept well, the ancient babies. We’ve lost that, I think. We’ve really lost something special. I blame Phineas and Ferb. Whatever they are.
foreign fucking vowels!
Yeah! You damn foreign vowels! Stealing jobs from American vowels! With your goddamned Nazi umlauts! I saw a good old-fashioned American ‘u’ on the side of the highway the other day. Not just panhandling, ohhh no. Offering to suck dicks for money. I mean, he’s got the right shape for it, I’ll grant him this, but there’s no dignity in that. This is the end of the American Empire. Or should I say, ÃmërÎcæn Èmpírę?
i have lice
Well don’t bring that shit around here, pal. I got enough problems without inviting lice up in this place. I’m having a hard time getting rid of the bedbugs and the chlamydia. Now I gotta worry about lice?
many people die from frozen feces
Great, now you’ve given me something new to worry about. How many people? HOW MANY? I’m going to be walking around all day thinking my feces is going to freeze inside my body. Or that someone’s going to make a bullet out of frozen feces and shoot it into my tender doughy body! (If I don’t die from the trauma, I will die from some kind of out-of-control poop amoebas.) People everywhere! Dying from frozen feces!
It’s not worth going outside the house anymore.
things to know as a writter
The first thing would be how to spell “writer.”
a big dick should suck itself
I’ve said this many a time. A guy’s gonna have a big bullhorn, a super schwanz, a mega-magic-wand, a muscled baby’s arm, then that thing should be like a snake biting its own tail — it should jolly well suck itself. Get that on some t-shirts. On bumper stickers. On dasher, on dancer, on thrasher and prancer! … no, I don’t know what I’m talking about. Just go along with it. Don’t ask questions. Shut it.
cant get my dick inside a pussy so is castration a good idea?
Yes. If you can’t get your manhood inside a lady’s baby-maker, then your only recourse is to pop that bad-boy onto the tree stump and take a camping hatchet to it. Or you could go the chemical castration route. Don’t pay an expert, by the way. Chemical castration is like social media — any self-proclaimed “experts” are just Snake Oil salesmen. You want to chemically castrate youself? A can of Raid wasp-killer spray. Hose your big dog down with that for about, ohhh, seven cans or so. Done. Boom. No more swimmers. Your balls as dry and inert as the Salton Sea.
Crowdsourcing is plainly the future. It takes a village, and all that.
Here’s what I propose: a bunch of you people come over — say, a dozen of you — and each of you will form your hands into a giant bowl, and you shall then place this hand-woven bowl beneath my child’s pooper, and so when he makes yellow rain or squeezes out some newborn “caramel sauce,” you all catch it in your hands. Boom. Crowdsourced diapers. The future is here. High-five, Internet!
harmless animals that can crawl into your genitals
Any animal that crawls into my genitals is not harmless. Let’s get that straight right now. An animal that crawls around my genitals — like, say, a fuzzy koala, a sloth baby, or a slow loris — is a whole other story.
how long will my new beard hurt?
UNTIL YOU STOP RESISTING IT.
i am seeing dead birds
Then you should take them off your desk. They’ve been there for, what, a week now?
i have made an alien what could i make for a body (creativly)
Wh… uhhh. Eh? I don’t… ennh?
Seriously, no idea what you’re asking. Just make the whole thing out of mashed potatoes.
what is i love you in baby language?
The baby says GOO-ga, then pees in your eye. That’s “I love you.” Note, however, if the eye-pee is accompanied by goo-GA, instead — that means, “I will destroy you, giant human.” With babies, it’s all about intonation. And the target of their spraying urine stream. You might need to find a baby whisperer to help you. You can hire one on CraigsList. Or so I’ve heard.
i really wanna be with you, love ponies
This is my favorite Judy Blume book.
ima forage for an orange while i look at the corpse of a whore
This is my favorite e.e. cummings poem.
it only hurts when i laugh fire gas
*fire jets from mouth*
OW GODDAMNIT OW
Yes, one imagines it would hurt when you laugh “fire gas.”
How’d you know what my next novel is going to be about? GET OUT OF MY MIND, INTERNET.
kodiak bear reading poems
This would be the best single-serving Tumblr site ever. Someone get on this. The Kodiak bear should begin by reading, “To An Athlete Dying Young,” by A.E. Housman. Then, he should follow-up with e.e. cumming’s “forage for an orange.” Poetry is so beautiful, especially when read by a man-eating bear.
monkey DNA flowers
Ahh, the sophomore album by the Ejaculation Corduroys. If I’m being honest: disappointing.
tits on a lawn mower
Once again the Internet turns me on to the hot new lingo paraded about by youths in America. “Tits on a lawn mower, dude! I just did a gnarly 360-degree wallaby pube-laser on my hover-board!”
Of course, it also reminds me that the world would be a better place if lawn-mowers did have big, luscious breasts dangling there. Men would never not mow the lawn. They’d be out there all day, just mowing and mowing. “Nancy, what’s Dave doing out there?” “He said he thinks he ‘missed a spot,’ but you ask me, he’s just out there fondling the tittles on that there Husqvarna.”
we’re gonna smoke that motherfuckin christmas tree
Every year in this country, more and more kids get hooked on smoking these motherfucking Christmas trees. Huffing pine-tar. Crumbling up delicate ornaments into their candy cane pipes and cooking it down with a candle that smells like egg-nog or mulled cider. “Chasing the Reindeer,” they call it. That first high, you catch the reindeer and just bang the jingle right out of that reindeer’s bells — but after that, the reindeer is ever elusive, running faster and further with every high. That’s not a metaphor, either. Every time you smoke a motherfucking Christmas tree, you get to pork one of Santa’s reindeers. True story.
what celebrities say about emu meat
Brad Pitt says, “It’s emu-licious!”
Meg Ryan says, “Emu meat destroyed my lips but I don’t care because I will shank a motherfucker for some emu meat!”
Jim Varney says nothing. BECAUSE JIM VARNEY IS DEAD.
Let’s all have a moment of silence.
Of course, I joke, but soon I’ll find out that a rash of American celebrities are doing Japenese “emu meat” commercials or something. Goddamn celebrities. Goddamn Japan. Ruining the fun.
what to do when your body produces too much turmeric or cumin
I harvest the turmeric from my nipples and scrape the cumin as it accumulates like pollen on my thighs. Then I make some kick-ass emu-meat tacos. Why? What the hell do you do with all those bodily spices?
what do a witch’s tittys look like?
why do murder mysteries cause women to masturbate?
You find out, you let me know. Every time I’m at the airport, though, whoo-dang. Ladies sitting at the gates reading some sweet-ass murder mysteries, sitting there and doing the old “murdering the little man in the canoe,” if you know what I mean. Something about the delicate combination of death and mystery just gets the women-folk all juicy-goosey.
In other news: what the fuck are you talking about?
my wife will not listen to my advice about the baby
That’s because your advice is terrible. C’mon, seriously? “Swaddle him with bungee cord. Let him nurse on the nose of this dead possum I found — he needs the bacteria to strengthen his physio… bio… babylogical system. If he gets cold at night we’ll just kill a pony and let him sleep inside the animal’s warm guts. What? Han Solo did it with a Taun-Taun. It’s how the ancient babies slept. That shit works, hombre!” And also, why are you calling your wife ‘hombre?’ You might want to think long and hard about that.
sometimes you just have to fuck the demons out
Please don’t touch me.