Search Term Bingopocalypse
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.
invisible porn ambush
That’s the name of my new techno-mustache Harry Connick Jr. tribute band! Or something.
Okay, though, let’s — reluctantly — remove the word “ambush” from the equation for a minute. Invisible porn. Is that a thing? Can it even be a thing? Like, you have that saying — “if a tree falls in the forest and nobody’s around to see it, does it still turn into seven cats who determine the fate of the universe?” I think that’s the saying. Whatever. Point being, if the porn is invisible, does it remain pornographic?
If I cannot see the porn, how can it be porn?
Man, this really bakes my noodle. Invisible porn ambush.
It’s probably something Grant Morrison does to people.
is nathan fillion into bdsm
I don’t know, but I’m sure there’s a healthy contingent of fangirls and fanboys who pray to all the heretic gods that he is. Though, to be clear, Nathan Fillion has too strong a jaw to be concealed by a mere gimp mask. You’d probably need like, a welder’s helmet or something.
i am a monkey and you can be so awesome
NO, you-who-are-a-monkey, it’s you who’s awesome. High-five, monkey!
exposition about tigers getting effed
Tiger-effing? Can we all just be adult here and call it “tiger-fucking?”
The act of tiger-fucking is present and active — that’s not exposition. And, as such, I now feel that all popular novels should contain at least some portion — between 10 and 57% of the total manuscript — devoted to the very act of fucking tigers. Though, one supposes you could write exposition based on the act. Like, say, the history of tiger-fucking? Or a dull and listless explanation of the mechanics behind tiger-fucking? (“After you remove the tranquilizer dart from behind the tiger’s ear, lift up the big cat’s tail and…”) Ennh. See? This is why exposition sucks. It takes all the magic out of tiger-fucking.
do you want more eggs you greedy murderer
I just want to go up and yell this at people. “DO YOU WANT MORE EGGS, YOU GREEDY MURDERER?”
I’m sure I’ll discover in the days to come that this is some new tagline for a PETA ad campaign where they equate “People who eat chicken eggs” with serial killers like Ted Bundy. Because if ever there’s a bastion of people with a steady-handed grip on the handlebars of rationality, it’s PETA. Hey, sidenote, did you know that PETA kills dogs? Good times!
why don’t you go ahead and go die movie
Yeah, MOVIE. Why don’t you go ahead and die? With your dumb opening credits? And your stupid ending credits? And your producer! C’mon! PSHH PFFT. Why can’t you just be a book already? You better just suck it, movie. You better go and eat a bag of shit and take a big ol’ dirty dirt-nap. You goddamn movie. With your CGI robosaurs. Your sad devotion to that ancient three-act religion has — *glurk! choking!*
the latest way of fucking
The latest? Like, the really latest-latest? Okay, here it is — hot off the FAX machine. I haven’t tried this out yet, so I don’t know if it works, but hey — you asked for it, pal.
This should work for fuckers and fuckees of all sexual orientations.
The latest way of fucking is to take your sexual partner, right? You lay him or her down on a bed of warm fettuccine noodles. Butter them up with duck fat. Then you cast a magical spell over both of your hands until they become psychic hell-squid. Then you lay down upon your partner and let the squid’s psychic tentacles invade all orifices — this should hyper-charge all of your gnostic particles and trigger a universal synaptic orgasm in the both of you.
This sexual move is called “Tentacles Steal The Happy Gonads.”
Though, on the street I think they just call it “Squidfucking, With Fettuccine.”
hound riders of penney’s pubic hair
Uhhh. Wh… Wha…
See, every time I do a Search Term Bingo, I get one entry that just… leaves me flummoxed. I don’t have a joke. I don’t have a comment. I got nothing. I just look at it and it’s like a hungry abyss, it keeps pulling at me and pulling at me, daring me to try to understand why the fuck anyone would enter that into a search engine. I have to imagine some very intense hallucinogens were involved. Just an educated guess.
Count me among their number. And our number is legion.
This Christmas, on ABC Family.
cures for lung butter
You need some lung toast. That’ll give the lung butter something to do.
*crunch crunch crunch*
*cough cough cough*
*crunch crunch crunch*
lady gaga flashes her lady bits
I wanted to include this because this has been the #1 search term here at li’l ol’ terribleminds on and off for weeks. I for one am happy to live in a world where Lady Gaga can show off all her weird womanly portions.
ass sex ass
This is a palindrome.
That is, if the definition of a palindrome is the word “sex” sandwiched by “ass” and “ass.”
Which it’s probably not.
But it should be.
It should be.
slef published books are terrible
Yes, slef-published books are uniformly awful. But that’s to be expected. The Slef are a horrible race — sludgy, grotesque beings. All of them, made of boogers and dog hair. Now, self-publishing — well, okay, that has some hits and some misses, I’ll grant you. But Slef-publishing, ugh. Their books are made of ants. Their poems sung through throats filled with septic run-off. Horrible horrible beings, the Slef.
what wines do writers drink
Ones pressed from the grapes of shame.
blackbirds by chunk wendig
GODDAMN YOU CHUNK WENDIG. That fuckin’ guy is always beating me to the punch with books. Double Dead by — yep, you guessed it, CHUNK WENDIG. Confessions of a Freelance Penmonkey by — uh-huh, uh-huh, CHUNK WENDIG. 250 Things You Should Know About Masturbating On Public Transit by — oh, wait, that’s by some guy named Richard Wipe? Never mind. Point is, Chunk Wendig is always out there. Cock-blocking my every literary effort. He’s my otherworldly doppelganger. One day he and I shall do battle for dominance over the Wendig literary empire.
you look really good today
Aww, thanks! How sweet of you to say.
I’ve been working out. My skin has a healthy shine from the bacon grease applique I put on every morning. And my clothes have that mottled “a baby just vomited on them” look. All the rage in Prague!
motherfucking breakfast slush
New, from Nabisco! “Hey, man, what are you eating?” “MOTHERFUCKING BREAKFAST SLUSH, SON.”
Contains 11 nonessential toxic metals and 47 pieces of pulverized plastic packaging. Now comes in new autumn flavors: “Moldering fungi.” “Catshit In A Pumpkin.” And don’t forget, “MAPLE SADNESS.”
how do you know if your a writer
You know how to differentiate “your” from “you’re,” dipshit. That’s how.
virgin riding horse pony of orgasm
This needs to be a velvet black light panting hanging on my office wall. I don’t know what a “horse pony of orgasm” is, truthfully, and I don’t care. Whatever it is, it must be sublime.
Somebody out there? One of you artmonkeys? Draw this. Now. Please? Please.
Actually, I probably need an artist to illustrate a number of STB entries.
im a fucking unicorn no im a table
Well, make up your mind, shapeshifter. Shit or get off the pot. Unicorn? Or table? I mean, sheesh.
behave like a screenwriter
Pro-tip: it involves lots of crying, tons of whisky, and an inflatable narwhal.
Don’t ask about the narwhal.
If you join the Writer’s Guild, you’ll see.
They will make you see.
return of the vagina turtle scorpion
Ehh, this one was pretty good, but not as good as the first one. The original Vagina Turtle Scorpion, from 1974, was a fucking classic, man. A classic. None of that CGI shit. They made the Vagina Turtle Scorpion out of a scale model. Ben Burtt did the sound effects for the creature’s Doom Scream by throwing a bunch of hamsters into a garbage disposal. Controversial at the time. Do you remember the scene where the Vagina Turtle Scorpion — who by now you think is totally dead after his battle with the Screeching Dong Mongrel — rises up out of the desert sands and like, flies up and grapples that dirigible and punctures it with his hell-stinger? It was all, FLOOSH BOOM KAFOOZLE, and all the fiery shitty bits rained down on the ground. That was incredible. It affected a generation of nerds and cinephiles.
The new one just isn’t as good.
And the third one — The Vagina Turtle’s Lament In 3-D — totally sucks super-dick.
iam afraid of seeing someone on webcams
Like, anyone? Or someone in particular?
Maybe that little girl from THE RING. I’m scared to see her pretty much anywhere.
loosen your sfinkter
Holy crap-bunnies, that is the best spelling of “sphincter” I have ever seen. HERE COMES SFINKTER! *accompanied by wicked guitar lick* I want that to be a seriously non-rad late 1980’s hair-metal band.
strain all urine
All the urine? Human? Mammal? Avian? What are you hoping to achieve? The world’s largest collection of kidney stones? I guess that’s an admirable goal. Weirdo.
dingo with umlauts
Isn’t this the lead single by that new band, Sfinkter?