THIS POST IS NOT FOR CHILDREN.

So, here’s how it goes. This is where I respond to some actual searches people have typed into their search bar only to find my site. It’s supposed to be funny, but I’m all sardonic and lethargic today, so I’ll make no promises.

Actual search words are underlined. My responses follow.

How to be a crackwhore

Maybe you imagine that you are way ahead of other potential crackwhores, because you are taking the time to research the ins and outs of the job here on the internet. Well, you’re wrong. The other potential crackwhores are out there right now giving blowjobs for coke. Get movin’, girly. All you need to know is that you’ll do anything for crack. Don’t over-think this thing.

George Bush wants to put a man on the sun

Well, no, I don’t think he’s admitted to that. But, he’d probably like to. Especially if we’re talking about a gay man.

horrors committed in the name of god

Well, isn’t that special? Which search engine sent this person here?

Yeah, it’s a crappy website. I don’t update it as much as I should, and it looks atrocious, but I never claimed God had anything to do with it.

Aside to God: I never tried to shift the blame for for this onto you. It’s all a big misunderstanding. Please don’t smite me with a thousand thunderbolts. Thanks. Uh, we cool now, right?

photos evil

I’m not sure I agree. All photos, or just the ones taken at the DMV? ‘Cause you know the debil crawled into the camera there and they can’t git ‘im out.

So, there you have it. Another weird searches post. Or, if you prefer, another “horror committed in the name of God.”

As usual, I’ll end this with a general thank you to all the porn fans who make this web site popular by doing these searches:

claire redfield porn

snow white and the seven dwarfs porn

wil wheaton naked pics porn

To the person who did that last search I listed, please go ask Uncle Willy himself to supply you with such things. He already told me no.

The first thing I learned while researching sports-creme products on-line is that you should not eat the stuff. Good to know.

You probably shouldn’t put it in your eyeballs either. I don’t know why you would do that, but you’d never be judged for it here. I’m the person who admitted to eating Easy Cheese that was over a year old. I lost all my judgmental privileges when I took that step. I’m just sayin’ it’s gonna sting. That’s all.

Next important thing I found out regards Ben Gay. It contains urea.

I have no problem at all with Ben’s sexuality, but he needs to keep his urea to himself. Ewww! It’s not even an active ingredient. He just puts it in there to be mean. Ben was always a practical jokester, but this time he’s gone too far.

It’s not funny, Mr. Ben Gay, and it’s time to grow up.

Aspercreme contains no urea. Yay! They should put a big red label on the box:

Contains no urea!

Or maybe:

Now with 100% less urea than Ben Gay!

Be loud and be proud, baby.

So, the good news is that we can all happily and confidently use Urea Free Aspercreme. The bad news is that the sports-cremes that contain stinky menthol list it as an active – not an inactive – ingredient.

So, ideally, your sports-creme should contain both menthol and methyl salicylate, which is a topical analgesic. Some of them also contain camphor as an active ingredient. So, you might want some of that thrown in there for good measure. Camphor, FYI, is also stinky.

Only thing I found that contains all three ingredients is Banalg. I haven’t yet found a site that lists Banalg’s inactive ingredients. I’m hoping that Banalg is not an Italian cousin of Ben Gay. Does Banalg sound Italian to you?

Anyway, damn that Ben Gay and his urea!

What do we want?!

NOW!

Oh, sorry. Got sidetracked again.

It’s seems to me that if you wanna feel better, you gotta smell bad. Oh, hey, let me know if you’ve tried Banalg, and if you have, is it all I dream it could be?

Regarding my next post:

I am happy to announce that I can offer you a guarantee that it will be completely urea free! However, it may inadvertently come in contact with peanuts during processing. Therefore, those with extreme allergies to peanuts are warned not to lick their monitors while visiting my site. I apologize in advance for any inconvenience this may cause.

Today I have a V.C. Andrews headache.

I haven’t picked up one of Andrews’ books for about fifteen years. (If you are doing the math on how old that makes me, you can stop right now dammit.) Well, if you want to be technical, I have picked her books up but always quickly put them back down before I am spotted with any of them. It’s my husband, you see. He’d laugh at me until tears rolled down his face, and after that he wouldn’t have to pretend to respect me anymore. Pretending to respect each other is what keeps our marriage strong and healthy. This is why I have to keep certain urges for cheesy goodness secret from him.

But, today I had the house all to myself, and wouldn’t ya know it, a movie adaptation of Andrews’ Flowers in the Attic came on television. Woo hoo! I was all over it. I got me a soda pop and settled in. Only thing better would be maybe a Little House on the Prairie marathon on TBS.

Anyhow, the movie wouldn’t have been bad except that the director felt the need to convey how haunting the subject matter was by playing, well, haunting music throughout. You know, for melodramatic effect. That would be fine and all, but this was done in such a way that it detracted from the drama itself.

Case in point. The story is about four kids locked in an attic. Dramatic subject matter, right? Well, when I actually find myself concerned about the soprano they got to do the arias straining her voice or breaking my soda glass instead of worrying about the starving kids on the screen, maybe they’ve overdone it just a bit on the background vocals.

I swear I kept thinking, “For the love of God, someone get that woman a lozenge. That had to hurt.”

It’s like a the whole laugh track concept, I guess. Bad sitcom? Make sure the audience knows it’s supposed to be funny by having other people laugh. Bad drama? Have an opera singer howl every time the audience should feel anxious.

So, anyway, I guess their plan worked on me . I’m going to take a couple aspirin and go watch the end of it, if only to find out the name of the soprano they got. She had a tough gig, and she screeched through it like a trooper.

*Never fear. My Aspercreme post is still in the works, but this isn’t it.

I have a trick knee, and a trick shoulder. My body is the David Copperfield of anatomy, but it’s not smug, just tricky.

That’s the reason I’m researching why odorless Aspercreme doesn’t seem to work as well as the stinky menthol stuff. I’ll share my findings with you when I find them. Unless I lose my findings before I show them to you, in which case I’ll have to find my findings all over again…

If by some miracle you have the vaguest curiosity about why I haven’t been posting, here’s the short answer:

I’m still anxious. I hope this is satisfying. But, I fear it won’t be. It’s too short, and it’s about Pac Man. Sigh…

I’ve finally resigned myself to a sad truth. I really suck at Pac Man. I played it last night on our PS2. I’d like to use the fact that I’m out of practice as an excuse. But, please don’t let me do that. I’d be lying to you and to myself. In all honesty, I can’t imagine that I was ever any good at it, or that I ever will be.

Even on the first level of the game, the ghosts usually catch my little guy before he can pop all the pills. Even when I try to get myself into Rush Limbaugh mode so that I’ll have a better chance at accomplishment, it’s no use.

The red ghost named Blinky, he’s a baddie, ain’t he? He’s on my round ass before I can eat even four Oxycontin.

I’d tell you my high score, but it’s much too shameful. I don’t want to embarrass any future grandchildren I may have.

So, there you have it. One more thing I’m unredeemably bad at. And, while I’d like to be more hopeful about this whole predicament, I can’t be.

Fact is, I thought about ending this post with a Star Trek: Wrath Of Khan quote, in which I’d swear my vengeance at that mean little ghost and go out shaking my fist.

You know, something along these lines:

“Blinky, from hell’s heart, I stab at thee…For hate’s sake I spit my last breath at thee.”

But, I’m not going to end it like that, because in my heart I know that Blinky and his friends have already won, and there’s no need for me to go all space seed over it. Those ghosts are simply protecting their prescription drugs from the likes of Rush and me.

I can’t and won’t begrudge them that.