It’s been a while since I did a proper Search Term Bingo, huh? WELL THAT CHANGES NOW. Here, again, another installment, where I gaze at those strangest of search terms — the ones that brought hapless web wanderers to this very blog.
Oh ho ho. Someone found this old small business project of mine. Funny how the Internet never really forgets anything, huh? Gosh. The idea was this: you’d to go a website and order a tent, and then the tent would come pre-constructed, right? And I’d be in it. I’d be in every tent. And I could be doing whatever you wanted. Like, we had a series of pre-designed packages: The Swiss Meter-Maid, the Forgetful Proctologist, the Glitter Donkey, the Pickled-and-Tickled Lumberjack. But I was intending to take special requests, too, you know? Keep it fun for everybody. Unfortunately, even before we got off the ground Amazon bought us out for like, four bucks.
Goddamn you, Amazon.
i am an egg
I hope it’s okay that I eat you, then.
i cannot think of a name for my protagonist
I got this covered. Here is a series of twenty protagonist names. These are free to use!
- Scooby McClatchett
- Hard-Nipples Hartigan
- DJ Detective MC Syrena Minx, Esquire
- Monsieur Fatbutter
- Rhonda Pankowicz, the Crimson Veterinarian of Prague
- Chunk Wending
- Luke Skywalker
- Duke Cloudprancer
- Captain Sally Slamdance of the USS Rumblebottom
- Doctor Spunk Funkins
- Taco Bell
- Number 43
- Little Pistachio
- Jeb Bush
- Princess Plops, the Apocalypse Pony
- Fuck Jamz
- Old Man Baby
- Jenny Spleenteeth
- Nigel Salmontrousers
can i hypnotize my wife with just my voice?
As long as you master Tuvan throat-singing, sure.
Pretty sure that’s just blood.
hvordan skrive grøsser
THE DREADED HVORDAN STRIVE GRØSSER:
MEDIUM WASTELAND SLINKER (LIEUTENANT)
STR 14 / DEX 12 / WIS 16 / CON 18 / LINT 4 / LOL 17
INITIATIVE +3 / PERCEPTION +9
HP 194 / AC 8 / REFLEX 5 / WILLPOWER 78
SAVING THROWS + 3 AGAINST TUPPERWARE
POWERS: AURA OF PUDDING / SCUMFORGED / THUNDEROUS WARTS
WEAPONS: MANRIKI GUSARI MADE OF HOT SAUSAGES
LANGUAGES: MOISTURE VAPORATORS
EQUIPMENT: SATANIC CALCULATOR WATCH
how to fuck a bisquick pancake
Well. Jinkies. That is something of a puzzle. My initial response was that you’d just make a Bisquick pancake according to the directions on the box, and then you’d cut a hole in it and — well, you’d do your business. Long as it wasn’t still scalding hot and dripping with sticky syrup, I think you’d be pretty safe — plus, pillowy! Warm! Pancakey! Mmmm. But that assumes you’re a man, and that’s very prejudiced of me. And it also demonstrates a lack of creativity on my part. So, I’d actually suggest instead making a sophisticated mold of whatever SEX PARTS you want to FAKE MATE WITH and then pour the batter into that, and then you can use your new Bisquick pancake sex toy however you like. Though at that point: is it still a pancake? That, my friends, is a question left to the great philosophers.
if somebody hurt my friend settings for rent how can i put your fear of a werewolf in him
The eternal question, right there. What if somebody hurts your friends settings for rent? And if they do, how do you put my fear of a werewolf in him? And if you do manage to put my fear of werewolf in him, how will he then fuck a Bisquick pancake? BOOM. It just — it just boggles the mind. Somebody call Neil DeGrasse Tyson. Get him on the case. He’s a detective, right? I’m pretty sure he’s a detective. Him and Ice-T. Now that’s a cop show I’d watch.
sexting a pdf
Ooh! Zing! Nothing more sexy (sexty) than a PDF file!
*nasally monotone voice over a Skyped conference call*
“Janice. It’s me, Steven. Yes. I would very much like to copulate with you. My parts with your parts. Yes. Right. Uh-huh. Here, I’ll send you all the sextings in PDF format. I look forward to our sextual meeting later. Please return all sextual sextings to me in an Excel spreadsheet. I cannot wait to pivot your tables. If you know what I mean. Va-va-voom.”
ent blood in semen over 60 years old concern
Holy shit, what? That must be from a really weird episode of CSI: MIDDLE EARTH. “This ent blood has been in the semen for over 60 years, since the fall of Sauron when that little guy threw that jewelry into the volcano. The real concern is, who killed Nigel Salmontrousers?” Right now, Tolkien is spinning in his grave like the top from Inception.
how do I describe something that’s bad?
Go with “poopy.”
i want to become a proffectinal writer
I’d say you’re good to go.
Uhhh. Whhhh. Brrruhhh? I don’t… I… I got nothing.
^^^ The name of Scalzi’s new band.
a long hot sexy uncle
Here’s what you do. When someone asks you what you’re up to or where you’re going, say, “I’m gonna go take a long, hot, sexy uncle.” But mumble it a little. Face away from them, say it into your hand. And then when they ask what you just said, stare at them and say: “I didn’t say anything.” Then throw sand in their eyes and run out of the building. That’s how you make yourself more mysterious and interesting. And who doesn’t want that?
someone bit my butt is that a metaphor?
I think you’ve probably been attacked by the serial butt-biter that’s been plaguing these realms. But maybe for the butt-biter, the biting-of-butts is somehow metaphorical. Maybe he’s saying, Hey, you know that thing called ‘life?’ Life is just a series of strangers sneaking up when you least expecting it, and biting you on the ass. You know what I mean?
And we’re all like, yeah, yeah, I feel that. Life is just an ass-bite. A parade of ass-bites.
But still, if you see that guy, you should probably Taser him in the balls and call 911.
*adds to list of protagonist names above: number 21. Raspy Macaroni*
the paris metro is considering digging anti-suicide ditches
This is actually a thing. Which is pretty fucking interesting — the very concept of an “anti-suicide” anything is pretty fascinating. My question is: how the hell did that get you to this blog?! What strange Internet alchemy took that search term and plunged you down the digital chute to reach my website?
why does a metaphor have to compare two unlike things
Gee, I dunno. Maybe because comparing two entirely-samey-samey things is dull as paint? “The Dachsund was like a Corgi.” “The knife cut him like a sword, you know, in that both of them are sharp and made of metal except one is just smaller than the other.” “The sun was like a star, except specifically a star that wasn’t the sun, like, not our sun specifically, but in fact a whole different sun? In another galaxy? Just exactly but inexactly that.”
how many books don’t get published
Given the advent of self-publishing, this number is fast approaching zero! You can publish anything you want, now. AND YOU PROBABLY WILL. Geriatric mailman erotica! Science-fiction about sentient boner pills. Literary fiction that consists somehow only of Oxford commas. Zombie twerking pamphlets. The possibilities are endless and soon we will have the day where NO BOOKS ARE NEVER NOT PUBLISHED. The e-book singularity approacheth.
You know what? Yeah. Yeah.
Fucking Methodists, man. Methodists are always fucking with my shit. It’s late at night. And I’m sleeping. And then what happens? Fucking Methodists are all up in the house. They’re at the windows. They’re at the edge of my bed. Just standing there. Then they’re kidnapping me, taking me out of my bed, and I’m hovering like I’m Han Solo in Carbonite, and next thing I know these fucking Methodists are all up in my behind with their space probes —
Oh. Ohhhh. Yeah, that’s probably accurate. Sorry! Sorry. I mean “aliens,” not “Methodists.”
The ancient Welsh sport of “nipple chucking” is finally getting its day. I hear they’re considering it for the Olympics next go-around, and some of the international leagues are finally getting ESPN time. Time to get back into practice, get ready for my comeback.
*rubs bone dust on hands*
*huffs huge sack of dried Druid nipples over shoulder*
*hurls sack of nipples into swamp water*
PUT ME IN THE GAME, COACH
sausage mike and cheese
^^^ My nickname in home-ec class back in high school. “YO, SAUSAGE MIKE AND CHEESE,” the home-ec teacher would say when I came in the room. “YO, MISSUS SPLEENTEETH,” I’d say back. She’d high-five me and be all like, “LET’S MAKE SOME MOTHERFUCKING APPLE BUTTER.” And we would. We really would. Those were special days. And now they’re gone.
Hold onto the time you have, is the moral of this story.
Appreciate every second.
how many words do you have to type if you have 30 days and 50,000 words
*does some calculations*
*runs it through Excel*
*runs it through a graphic calculator*
*runs it through the bowels of a spry, young civet cat*
*confirms with NASA*
The number is “55.”
why does elmo always ask babies
That’s a good question, Googler. I echo your query! Why does Elmo always ask babies? What the hell is that about? Elmo, as I understand it, is meant to represent a toddler. He acts like one, has the rough mental capacity of one, and appeals to the toddlerian mind. So why in the name of Sweet Saint Fuck does he ask babies anything? That’s a segment on his show-within-a-show, right? ASK A BABY. He goes and asks some dumb baby about some dumb question and the baby’s like — *urp, spits up* — and that apparently satisfies Elmo, who possesses the keenly incisive mind of a grapefruit. I have a toddler and at no point does my toddler turn to children younger than him for wisdom. Because babies can’t teach you jack shit. Even babies know that. Even babies know that babies are too dumb to be reliable sources of information to other babies.
Elmo, you’re a bad role model. Just terrible. Especially talking to that weird guy next door, Mister Noodle. Who probably has his whole house build on a foundation of child bones. OH YOU KNOW IT’S TRUE. Something is not right with that dude.
crate any broblem while kicking in asshole
What the genuine fuck.
lee majors penis
I have mentioned this search term before, but I’m bringing it back up for a reason:
Not a day goes by that someone does not get to this website by searching for the phrase: “Lee Majors penis” in some combination. Every. Day. Lee Majors’ penis is a gateway — magical, perhaps, like Narnian furniture — to this blog.
Which means that every day, someone is searching online for Lee Majors’ penis. They are interested enough in the subject, or in pursuing images of said subject, to Google this daily. Maybe it’s just one person. Just some guy out there who is a super-fan of that particular wang. Or maybe he’s writing a paper. A doctorate thesis or a memoir about his life in relation to the dong of Colonel Steve Austin. Or could be there’s a whole group of people out there. Maybe a cult, or a bona fide subculture. A secret underground fascination with Lee Majors’ penis. I bet John Waters is involved. This seems like his wheelhouse.
And the great thing is, I am only further confirming that if you search for Lee Majors’ penis online, this website will be the preeminent authority on that subject. An Ouroboros of search terms — the more I talk about it, the likelier it is that any searches for it will deposit you here, which means I will talk about it more, and more, and more. Until it is all I talk about. Until this is all that there is. All of it. Lee Majors’ penis. Everywhere. All around us. Like the Force. Like the Force.
Let that sink in for a minute.
Yeah. Yeah. Exactly.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go take a long, hot, sexy uncle.