I don’t really know what happened, but for a long time, my site stats had a gaping hole where all the weird-ass search terms used to be. Suddenly people were finding this site using mostly-respectable search terms (though still quite a few seeking Dolly Parton’s boobs and Kenny Rogers’ penis). It of course saddened me greatly — and then, suddenly, a hot fresh lunatic spike of totally whacked-out search terms!
So, I’ve been collecting them for yet another…
SEARCH TERM BINGO.
Please to enjoy.
why are you an antagonistic person?
BECAUSE FUCK YOU THAT’S WHY *flails*
harry potter is bullshit
Man, I know, right? I was watching that and I was all like, “Yo, this is a fascinating documentary,” and I told my wife, “I think I want to send our son to Hogwarts, that seems like a pretty cool school and plus it’s like, in England and everybody in England is smart. And oh, they can all do magic and shit.” And my wife looked at me and said, “I want a divorce,” and I was like, WUT. Turns out, Harry Potter is total bullshit. FML.
i serve you in business metaphors
And I serve you in motivational platitudes. YOUR MOVE, INTERNET.
all writers have horrible lives
Entirely true. For instance, my every day:
I write my fingers to the bone, literally, as a sweaty man in a wife-beater who stinks of cigars and hoagie oil lashes me with a thistle branch. Then I get my lunch break, where I scoop protein-gruel into my mouth using a dirty piece of cardboard. By night, my body aches and is covered in suppurating pustules, and I am forced to lick the deodorant deposits dangling from the sweaty man’s armpit hairs. Then I cry myself to sleep on a plywood shipping pallet.
ALL LIES. Being a writer is awesome. Don’t buy all that tortured boo-hoo nonsense. That’s just to elicit sympathy. Here’s what we get to do all day: make shit up. If I want, I can spend my writing hours telling stories about leprechaun soldiers fighting a war against orangutans riding mechanized pterosaurs. I can write a story about a sentient salt shaker who goes on adventures with his praying mantis buddy, Steve. I can write about rainbows and puppies, or buzzsawed heads and looping coils of eviscerated bowel. And I do all of this from the comfort of my own home, where I lounge about sans pants, drinking coffee or liquor or munching on bath salts or whatever. IT IS THE MONKEY’S MAMMARIES, or whatever the kids say these days.
my wife got fucked by a ghost
Are you sure it wasn’t an albino? That’s a thing, now. There’s a whole porn site dedicated to this trend — mywifebangstrendyalbinos-dot-net.
But, okay, let’s say it’s true: your wife has had carnal relations with a specter of death.
First: you need to make sure she’s not preggers with Ghost Babies. Ghost babies are real jerks. They cry all the time. They barf up this hellacious… well, I don’t know what it is, but it’ll strip the flesh off a kitten. Which is perhaps appropriate, since they also eat the souls of kittens.
Second: check to see if you got that on video. YOUTUBE MONEY. That’s all I’m saying.
Third: you should see if she’ll acquiesce to a little quid pro quo and allow you to also have spectral sex with some randy apparition. It’s only fair. She gets to wraithbang. You get to wraithbang. This is just good manners.
Fourth, and finally, call an exorcist.
how do i know if something is a metaphor?
Press a burning match-tip to a petri dish filled with its blood: if the thing is truly a metaphor, it’ll screech and grow spider-limbs and try to eat your face. Or I guess you could just ask it.
people say i should write a book
People say all kinds of nonsense. People are really quite stupid and frequently wrong.
Besides, haven’t you heard about how awful a writer’s life is? Sheesh.
different methods of fuck
Ahh, yes, the different methods of fuck. North-fuck, South-fuck, wet-fuck, dry-fuck, thunder-fuck, corkscrew-fuck, unicorn-fuck, cake-fuck. Really so many to choose from. The ancient Sumerians had 72,000 methods of fuck, which is significantly higher than the 450 methods of fuck allowed by our founding fathers in the American Bill of Fuck (aka, “The Cockstitution,” or, “The Decockleration of Vagipendence”).
does Santa have a big cock?
Big as an elf. Curved like a candy cane. Smells oddly of “reindeer.”
why do writers like whiskey?
Because it numbs the pain of our horrible lives.
Why do you think we like whiskey? Because it fuels our fingers with the warm amber heat of potential. Because in every drop of whiskey is a story swirling. Because it’s what our authorial forebears drank. AND BECAUSE IT IS DELICIOUS.
chinese 5 spice in my penis
Here’s what just happened: I read this, and my penis left my body. It detached itself from its Velcro harness (who knew?), packed a hobo bindle, and hopped a southbound train. I guess he thought I was going to insert Chinese Five-Spice into his one good eye? Can’t ask him now, he’s gone. On the plus-side, I now sing in a very lovely castrati choir!
voodoo doll karate
Perhaps my favorite “method of fuck.”
what does cockwaffle mean?
I DUNNO ASK YOUR MOM
BOOM HAHAHA YOUR MOM
IT’S A YOUR MOM JOKE
THOSE ARE STILL COOL RIGHT
YOUR MOM SEEMS VERY NICE
I DIDN’T MEAN TO HURT HER FEELINGS
I LIKE HER COOKIES
WAIT THAT’S NOT A METAPHOR FOR ANYTHING
COCKWAFFLE IS REALLY JUST A METAPHOR
OH GOD IT JUST GREW SPIDER LIMBS AND NOW IT’S TRYING TO EAT MY FACE
TELL YOUR MOM I LOVE HER
Take two, they’re small.
Also, the full saying is, “Have cloacas, will travel.”
Ahh, yes, the land of the ghost babies. A town on the edge of forever. An undead babysburg of wailing, gray-cheeked wraith children. Led by their infernal mayor, Earlesque Plasmodium, Esquire. You don’t want to pay a visit to Immortal Babytown. Though, they have a very nice croissant shop at the corner of Phantasm and Eidolon Avenues.
i have very large balls
Everybody on the Internet does.
how to become a proffectinal author
Sounds like you’re already good to go.
spam in my time of dying
This is my most favorite Gabriel Garcia Marquez novel.
is the “i got your nose” game mental cruelty?
It totally is. I still have PTSD from when adults constantly stole my nose when I was but a wee-child. These days if anyone reaches for me with a pinching thumb and forefinger, I lose my fucking marbles. I spin around in circles. I pee. I cry. I clutch at my face to protect my nose which always somehow ends up returned to my face as if there’s some kind of nose-returning fairy working on behalf of tortured children worldwide.
So, maybe stop tormenting children with that game, huh?
Though, I suppose it’s better than the “I got your whole face” game.
That one is really traumatic.
cool ways to introduce a monster into the story
Here’s ten quick cool-ass ways to introduce a monster into your story:
- Have him drive up in a bass-thumping Geo Tracker.
- The monster pops out of a cake, nude.
- Give him a clever catchphrase. Like, “Hello, I am a monster, it’s nice to EAT you.”
- FOOMP — he explodes out of a t-shirt cannon.
- One of the main characters is about to have a baby but it’s not really a human baby but rather a monster baby (ghost baby) and it’s all like, “Holy crap! A monster just came out of my uterus! Ha ha ha, you pulled a fast one on us, you crazy monster.” And then everybody has a laugh and goes to Arby’s.
- He surfs on a comet! BOOSH, SUCK MY COMET DUST, HUMANS.
- The monster is working the coffee counter at the cafe the protagonist frequents.
- The protagonist’s ex- is like, totally dating the monster. “His name is VORSHAK THE EMASCULATOR, and we’re in love, Jim.” Then the protagonist has to race against the clock and against his own selfish instincts to stop the wedding before she marries Vorshak! Dramedy gold!
- Friend request on Facebook.
- He eats everybody then spends the rest of the story feeling bad about it.
YOU’RE WELCOME. I’ll send you an invoice.
i’m going to enjoy this online porn
And I’m going to enjoy you enjoying that online porn as I hide in your shrubs.