August/September Search Terms

It looks like I forgot to do this last month. And the month before. My life has been in upheaval! But I am going to make up for it now because they really do amuse me.


Sexy cartoons: This has been the single biggest search term for my blog since that post. I’m glad the internet knows me as the perv that wants to bang cartoon characters.


Handsome hairy men: This is the second biggest search term in some variation. Also something I am proud of. I need more handsome hairy men in my life and blog.


Cross stitch “I’d call you a cunt”: I am very surprised to see this (more than once). The quote you are looking for is “I’d call you a cunt but you lack both the depth and warmth.” You’re welcome.


Sexvideo.taco: There seems to be some underground subset of Mexican food related porn that I am not aware of. And they keep getting directed to my blog.


Fucking bizarre inanimate objects porn: Is that like when I have my stapler make out with my letter opener?


Penis through the wreath: This is like that dick in the box thing, right? Christmas themed penis pranks are the best.


Tiny banana bikes: I’d like one of those, please.


I put a bag of maggots in my pussy: Um…okay…why?


A roach bite my vagnia: Alright. You’ve gone too far. I want to sleep again someday.


Would a cracked tooth smell like poop: Wow. Just. Wow.


Invento Robotico Octopus 2014: I smell a sci-fi movie coming.


Take my bra out conversations: I don’t take my bra out. I take it off. I think taking it out implies showing it to people. Though I guess I did in that one post.


Fuck Okeechobee Florida: Hey! It’s not that bad down there. Too many love bugs, though.


Strawberry Shortcake Banana Seat Bike: I want this!

Fucked up mottos: My mottos aren’t fucked up. Your mottos are fucked up.

Is my tooth hollow: Maybe. And it might also have a tiny world living inside it like in Journey to the Center of the Earth.

I’m starting to just feel sorry for all the people innocently looking for porn and are instead directed to my inane profanity. I bet it really spoils the mood.

July Search Terms

I know I am a few days late with this one. And my last post was a bit of a cop out too. I promise I am writing wondrous things and working on my weird crafty little projects. But here it is. This months search terms:


You fucking my sister: I am imagining this as being said by a young Robert De Niro. YOU fucking MY sister?!


The shit roach killer: Well, I don’t know if I am the shit, but let me tell you guys a quick and terrible story. It was 1am on my birthday morning. I had stayed up till midnight to be the first person to wish myself happy birthday. I woke up and felt something tickling my neck. I brushed it away, thinking it was a stray hair. I shed like a golden retriever. But it was still tickling. Moving even. I jumped up and brushed it away even harder. In the dim light I could make out a black shape crawling across my sheet. Now I was wide the fuck awake! I jumped to my lamp and grabbed my glasses. I knew it had been a giant roach on me. And I would not rest until it was found. I go looking for it and the fucker ran right at me. I freak out and grab a shoe to kill it and it magically disappears. So then, I am looking around, trying to find this thing. And I cant. So I am hunting around, frantically, when I notice something out of the corner of my eye. The roach is on the ceiling now. I try to smack it down with the shoe and it flies right at my face. I try to smack it away and knock my glasses off my face. Then I hastily put them back on and it is gone again. So I am losing it now, thinking it is on me. I start mussing up my hair and it isn’t there. So I grab the front of my shirt and shake it. The roach was on my shirt! ON my shirt! Ugh. It was like a horror movie. So I crush it with the shoe (grinding it’s guts into my quilt). And all the while I am whispering “Fuck you. You fucking roach fucker.” And then I couldn’t sleep because I was so full of adrenaline and fear. And I had to take a shower and wash my sheets and my glasses. I stayed up till 6am. It wasn’t the best beginning to my birthday.


Cockblock perish, Venice FL: There’s a Cockblock Parish in Venice FL? Between that and the giant rats, I think I need to visit this place.

Hollow tooth from under: From under what? The stairs? The ground? It’s like the title of a Goosebumps novel.


Animal Zoo Vegina (sic) xray: Okay, I have to admit, this made me curious too. It is a thing.

Is it just me or does this look a lot like the ghost trap in Ghostbusters?


A sugar mummy fucked by his real brother: This is just, intriguing. Is it like a sugar mummy like a sugar skull from the Day of the Dead celebration? Or are you looking for porn about rich mummies?


I had sex with him, in an orange grove: Internet high five!


Apartment maggots Maine: Can you please email me this story, search term searcher? I love maggot stories!


Ken doll genitalia: I think Ken’s genital bump really confused a lot of little girls. And probably some boys too. What the hell Mattel?


An xray skeletons that spells happy birthday: You know me all too well.


I feel like I’m in a Twilight Zone blackside trash song: You know what, I don’t even know exactly what this mean, but me too. Me too.


Why men mastermate (sic) with Barbie dolls: Men; #1 Do you guys ‘mastermate’ with Barbie dolls? #2 Why?


“search my vagina”: I don’t know why this is in quotes, but I feel so tempted to use this at some point in the very near future.


Co-worker: Why would anyone put mustard on spaghetti? (A Co-worker did this recently and I was baffled.)

Me: Search my vagina.


June Search Terms


A new month is upon us and don’t think I’ve forgotten what that means. More search terms! There were plenty of horrifying, incestuous porn search terms once again this month.


This is also the month of my birth and I am going to be 30 on the 20th. I can’t wait! I know some people freak out when they turn 30. But for me, it is something to celebrate. There was a time when I wasn’t sure I’d make it to 27. I always say getting older is better than the alternative.


Some people came across my blog by specifically looking for me. Or nude pics of me. Either way, I’ve come a long way baby.  Also, let me know if you find any nudes of me. I want to make sure I make a good showing.


Now, on to those search terms:


Life Lesson in a Blow Pop: I’m pretty sure the lesson is that it only takes three licks to get to the center of anything. Oh, wait, that’s Tootsie Roll Pops. Nobody is in a rush to get to the center of a Blow Pop because that gum sucks.


Barbie Drag King: Did you guys know that my official Drag King name is Maurice?


Exchange student doesn’t love me back: It happens to the best of us. I hope my story about losing my virginity eased your pain.


Zoo vagina: I feel like I should be offended. While I do talk about my vagina a lot, I never talk about zoos. Oh wait, I did that one time. Carry on.


Gushers eat each other commercial: They really aren’t using cannibalism enough in advertising.


Horror movie about a woman who goes crazy in a zoo: I feel like this is a little harsh, Google. I didn’t go crazy, I just realized I never wanted children.


awesome nude pics (a little bit safe) that are cartoons: What an oddly specific request. Why bother looking at nude pics if they are a little bit safe?


Are teeth hollow: No, rest assured, only mine are hollow.


Fucking worlds most prettiest elder sister: I am going to just take this and run. Thank you, Google. That totally made up for the going crazy search term earlier.


My dog came inside and puked a bunch of maggots: Hahaha! Now THAT should be in a horror movie!


When a woman eats cabbages and potatoes so much can her pussy have a bad smell: Um, I hadn’t heard that. But I wonder exactly how much cabbages and potatoes you are eating that this is a concern.


Fucking vomiting on the beach: That’s one place I have not vomited. Yet.


Who had a crush on Li Shang: I’m pretty sure the answer to that is everyone.


Cosmic Owl dream: Dude, those things are real. I’m telling you.
Sex tape in Taco Bell restroom: I really don’t want to perpetuate the pervy search terms on this blog. But I would totally watch this. Now I must find it. Of course, it will only lead me to my own blog and create some kind of wormhole that will destroy the entire universe. And that’s how the world ends, with Taco Bell porn.


Rotten Potato Smell

While working in Miami I spent a considerable amount of time house sitting for my boss. Nearly every weekend he and his wife flew (their own plane) down to their condo in the Bahamas. They left their three Rottweilers at home.

I know we all know what they look like but, puppies!


I had always been afraid of Rottweilers until I met these three dogs. They were sweet and friendly and extremely loving. Besides, my boss’ home was immeasurably nicer than my crappy apartment.


So when my boss’ in-laws went on a month long vacation, it was only natural that they ask me to house sit for them. Their house was hidden away on a shady plot in a quiet neighborhood. But inside, their collection was more impressive than some museums I’ve been in.

Exactly like this.

Exactly like this.


The place was overflowing with history. But more than that, they were collectors. They had a wall of military helmets from every major US war. They had antique glass on every surface and original artwork covering every inch of space on every wall. It was a pleasure to spend time in their home.


And also a huge responsibility. I had only met this sweet older couple one time. They had no idea the kind of destruction I was capable of.


Somehow I made it through the entire month without a single incident. I was ready to breathe a sigh of relief. I drove home in a kind of last minute panic that evening. I had one day to pack for a week long road trip to Maine.


When I stepped inside my apartment, the first thing I noticed was the smell. It smelled like spoiled fish. I assumed it was originating in my uncle’s room. He was an avid fisher and had pole after pole propped against the walls in his room. Not mention all the tackle boxes.


I stepped into his room and took a deep, long sniff. But the smell was not coming from the bedroom. I turned and headed into the kitchen and took another deep inhale. This time I was rewarded with burning nose hairs and lungs.


As my eyes watered I opened the door to the refrigerator and searched for the offending odor. But it wasn’t in there. Next, I tried the freezer. But it wasn’t coming from there either.


I turned and my eyes fell on the pantry door. It’s white slats were impossible to read. The door was innocently closed with no hint of the horror that lay beyond it.


I gingerly reached out and slid the door open slowly, as though I were expecting a body to fall out on me. The smell was stronger now, my lungs filling with acrid stench every time I inhaled. I searched the shelves.


The smell was now unreal. Like nothing I can even describe. It still smelled slightly of rotting fish mixed with human corpse, mold, and maybe a hint of gym socks. It was pungent and burning. I needed an oxygen mask. This could have served as a training module for firefighters.


Where could it be coming from?


I tried holding my breath for as long as I could to minimize my breaths.  But this only caused each breath I did take to be deeper and more painful. And then, I saw it. It was something that could only have come from a child’s nightmare. I blinked my eyes, willing it to not be real.


This was years before my heart surgeries. I was still squeamish at this point in my life.


I had left several potatoes on a phone booth before house sitting for my boss’ in-laws. They had putrefied beyond any hope of recognition. They were now a liquified mass that had soaked into the phone book.


And they appeared to be moving.


I moved closer, trying to discern what I was seeing in the dim recess of that pantry shelf. It was maggots. Thousands and thousands of maggots squirming en masse.


I recoiled in horror. I was not prepared to handle this. Not mentally, not physically, not emotionally. And the smell. I could not believe such a smell could come from a plant. I began to gag from the smell. But I did not vomit.


I searched the room frantically for some means of containing this. But my only choice was to take it off the shelf and put it in a trash bag. And I had no gloves.


I briefly contemplated going to the store to buy a pair. But I knew if I got into the car at that moment, I would drive away and never come back. I would drive away until I got the horror of what I had seen out of my mind and start a new life somewhere far far away.


I considered my new life for a moment. I would move to Belize and live in a treehouse with Sergio, my sexy imaginary boyfriend. We would drink fresh squeezed juice and make love for hours during the tropical downpours. I sighed.


And then I turned and faced my hellish reality.


I positioned a trash bag under the shelf and reached out with a metal spatula, trying to slide it off the shelf and into the bag as quickly and neatly as possible. But it was not meant to be.


The phone book was glued in place by rotten potato juices. I pulled harder, using the spatula as leverage, willing it to break free. Half of the phone book suddenly ripped away.


It hit me in the chest and trailed the entire length of my body. I saw, to my disgust, that there were no longer pages inside the phone book. It was a phone book cover surrounding a mass of maggots.


Maggots that were now wriggling on my clothes.


I walked away and I steeled myself, taking a deep breath, and went back in. I picked the phone book off the ground and tossed it into the trash bag. Then I reached into the pantry and dug my fingers behind the second half and began wiggling it, trying to free it.


The maggots took this opportunity to begin squirming their way slowly up my wrist. As long as I live, I will never be able to forget the feeling of reaching into a mass of live maggots and feeling them twitching their way up my arm.


I finally broke the phone book free and tossed it into the trash can. Then, ignoring the maggots all over me, I began cleaning the shelf. Trying to rid it of all evidence of this abhorrent experience.


I used an entire roll of paper towels scrubbing that shelf. I bagged up all the trash and walked outside grateful for the comforting smells of car exhaust and ethnic food. As I turned the corner to our building, I saw my uncle approaching.


I warned him. “Don’t go into our apartment yet. It smells awful and there were maggots.” I imagine how I must have looked to. Sweating, hair crazed and frizzy. My tone and expression the dull numbness that can only come from shell shock.




“Yes.” I didn’t have the wherewithal to explain. “I haven’t puked yet. And if you go in there, you will. And if you puke then I’ll puke. So don’t go in there, please.”


He waited outside while I made sure there was no longer a hint of stink or maggots.


I washed my hands up to my elbows. And then I did it again. And then I washed my face. And then I washed my hands and face. And I stared back into my own eyes in the mirror.


I didn’t recognize myself anymore. I was a stranger. I was someone that could be up to my elbows in maggots and not vomit. I once vomited from eating beets.


I felt something on my bicep. A weird tickling. I looked. It was a maggot. I picked it off and casually washed my hands again.


My uncle came into the room and stood looking at me for a second. “Are you okay?”


“Yes.” And the thing is, I really was.


“Want to go eat something?”


I looked at him. Despite everything, I was somehow hungry. “Yes, I do.”


And you know what? That night, less than and hour later, I even ate some potatoes.


PS: If you type ‘rotten potato smell’ into Google you will read some fucking hilarious stories. Seriously, I’m crying from laughing so hard.