Search Term Bingo Is Not The Droids You’re Looking For

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.

tent-wendig.com

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.

Goddamn you.

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!

  1. Scooby McClatchett
  2. Hard-Nipples Hartigan
  3. DJ Detective MC Syrena Minx, Esquire
  4. Monsieur Fatbutter
  5. Dave
  6. Rhonda Pankowicz, the Crimson Veterinarian of Prague
  7. Chunk Wending
  8. Luke Skywalker
  9. Duke Cloudprancer
  10. Captain Sally Slamdance of the USS Rumblebottom
  11. Doctor Spunk Funkins
  12. Taco Bell
  13. Number 43
  14. Little Pistachio
  15. Jeb Bush
  16. Princess Plops, the Apocalypse Pony
  17. Fuck Jamz
  18. Old Man Baby
  19. Jenny Spleenteeth
  20. Nigel Salmontrousers

can i hypnotize my wife with just my voice?

As long as you master Tuvan throat-singing, sure.

vampire lube

Pretty sure that’s just blood.

hvordan skrive grøsser

THE DREADED HVORDAN STRIVE GRØSSER:

XP 2500

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

SPEED 12

POWERS: AURA OF PUDDING / SCUMFORGED / THUNDEROUS WARTS

WEAPONS: MANRIKI GUSARI MADE OF HOT SAUSAGES

ALIGNMENT: REPUBLICAN

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.

asswriter pee

Uhhh. Whhhh. Brrruhhh? I don’t… I… I got nothing.

hard-drinking vampires

^^^ 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.

raspy macaroni

*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.

fucking methodists

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 —

*receives note*

Oh. Ohhhh. Yeah, that’s probably accurate. Sorry! Sorry. I mean “aliens,” not “Methodists.”

nipple chucking

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*

*grunts*

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*

*calls accountant*

*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.

53 comments

  • I’m pleased to know someone in the world has levelled up to f-ing a Bisquick pancake. I’m a bit surprised it’s different than f-ing any other kind of pancake, but I think that’s my inexperience talking.

  • I just did a google search for “the paris metro is considering digging anti-suicide ditches”, and got this blog. This entry actually. It was the very top hit.

    No other hits on the first or second page for terribleminds…

    So obviously, google searches now predict the future and create paradoxes.

    *disappears into time-vortex*

  • I for one would love to meet the person who can never remember the name of your blog, but for some reason “Lee Major’s Penis” sticks in their mind. So they type that and viola they arrive at Chuck Windig’s blog.

    Or maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it is not one person, but thousands, millions of people who wake up after a shared dream experience (let’s not get into details and it involves body parts on people that I don’t want to speculate) and they rush to their web browsers to get the secret cult message. And they wind up at Chuck Windig’s blog. The cult message has something to do with tasers and secret mystery boxes.

    So many possibilities. So fun to speculate.

  • Mwah hahargh! I so love these. Mine are so boring these days. They’re all looking for my blog.

    “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.”

    It wouldn’t be a Pancake sex toy then though, it would be a Yorkshire Pudding sex toy and that’s a whole new kettle of fish.

  • Oh dear Goddess I think I just laughed myself into a sprung rib. So, thanks. (I’m going to remember these at random intervals for the next three days and make sudden inexplicable snorting noises in front of strangers. Just so you know.)

  • I’m not all that surprised that someone out there wants to know how to fuck a Bisquick pancake. What does surprise me is that their search led them here. Perhaps I missed all the posts on fucking food.

  • I had no idea what search term bingo was, but I enjoyed this post so much I had to go into your archives and read the old ones. My husband and kids all stared at me while I convulsed on the couch, laughing so hard I was crying. I’m pretty sure if you ever get tired of writing, the standup comedy circuit would welcome you with open arms.

    Beard the fuck on, good sir.

  • Dearest Chuck – I KNEW, just knew I shouldn’t have clicked on the reference to Mr. NOODLE. It took me 10 minutes to stop laughing long enough to wipe my eyes and try to breathe normally. Helpless with hilarity. I was vulnerable to all manner of potential threat, including the Steve Austin / Lee Majors penis. Shame on you, sir. Shame for provoking unbridled mirth. Next time, a warning would do nicely. Good day, Sir. I said, “Good day.”

  • “Geriatric mailman erotica!”

    Speaking as a geriatric (retired) mailman, I fully approve of this new sub-genre!

    As for “nipple chucking”, I suspect it may have to do with the chuck found on a power drill, and be an extreme variation on nipple clamps. (Yikes!)

  • While I’m reading this post, a male coworker is telling one after another female coworker about his troubles. All I’m thinking is, man, this guy needs a good laugh, this guy needs to read this!
    I’ve just started following your blog, Chuck, and I love it!

  • Okay, so “hvordan skrive grøsser” I think is Norwegian. The first two words could also be Danish (my native language) but the third word is not. And grøsser seems to be the Norwegian word for horror fiction. (Thank you, Norwegian Wikipedia.) So if someone Googles “How to write horror fiction” in Norwegian they get sent to your page rather than any Norwegian sites. That’s how awesome you are.

  • Lets just say, I’ve always questioned Elmo. No one is just that darn happy, ALL, the time. The biscuits thing is just gross. Ugh! Ent blood?! Hilarious. Poopy? Who doesn’t love that word. Asswriter??? Lol the best one yet. Sausage Mike and Cheese? Good story. This was funny. Good job Chuck.

  • Love it all!

    And yet…

    If the gentleman searching “apparENT blood in semen, over 60 years old, concern” ever comes back here–

    Please see a doctor. Please.

  • I just read this whole thing out loud to my husband and now I’m hoarse from laughing and i’m having heart palpitations. Curse you Chuck Wendig and your long, hot, sexy uncle.

  • January 15, 2015 at 11:11 AM // Reply

    I’m thinking that Google just defaults all weird searches to Wendig’s blog. Makes sense to me.

    And I, too, want to know how you find this search term info!

  • Ahahahaha, Chuck, thank you for this. I’ve had a really really shit day and this was the perfect ending: laughing ’til I cry. I might read this a second time and see if it’s any less funny.



    yep, still hilarious.

  • Purely for the sake of Science (the sacrifices we make in the pursuit of knowledge…) I googled ‘Lee Major’s Penis’ (not an Image search, Thank Austin) and here’s the thing: this here blog doesn’t show up until the 4th page of results. The FOURTH! Somebody would have had to plow (if you’ll excuse the pun… or even you don’t) through three and a half pages of search results on the Fall Guy’s Willie to get to this blog with that search term. Now ask yourself, who is that exacting? Who’s standards for Bionic Boners are so high that they cannot find the Six Million Dollar Schlong they are looking for after the first thirty or forty results and just give up and go ‘Ah, what the hell, no Majors Dick for me tonight… might as well read up on the craft and art of writing’?

    It’s you, isn’t it, Wendig? You’re doing this to yourself. And Us. I knew it!

  • I got “How to hug someone like a friend” once. I’m like, I don’t hug people like friends! I hug everyone in a huge RAAAAH BEAR HUG TRY NOT TO FALL OVER way.

    So, you know. No help for you, person searching for appropriate hugging!

  • Sweet Jesus on a freakin’ pony, I knew there was something dodgy about Mr. Noodles. The guy’s a mute, yet nobody screams, “I’m the dingo who ate your baby!” harder than he does.

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