Ruth Tobias

Realizing full well that whomever arrived at my blog by Googling “seafood muscles poop” probably meant “mussels,” I still couldn’t help but

A) snicker;
B) try to envision that trio of referents in my mind’s eye & snicker;
C) do my own Google search for “mussel poop” & snicker at this (as well as get a kick out of this blogpost re a fashion shoot-turned-trek through le merde des moules);
D) poll pals about the oddest routes to their own blogs & full-on guffaw.

Take Rebecca Ballenger of Mom-a-Tron (whom you may have met here or here). Her blog is about being

1) a family girl,
2) a serious gardener & sustainability expert/advocate,
3) a fine photographer,
4) a close observer of language.

It’s not about her being 5) preternaturally hot (see for yourself) & 6) a hoot, but it comes to that too. I had a crush on her even before she gave me the lowdown on the wackiest search terms she’s seen in her viewer stats, which she prefaced by admitting, “I’m not surprised by a lot of them. Lots of trons, & pooping on head, & holy water, penny pinching, cleaning, cookies & so forth.”

They include:

I’m superior (undoubtedly a fellow greenie, sans her self-deprecating sense of humor)
Suck my bird (well, she keeps chickens…Maybe old Ozzy was doing a bit of research for the next tour?)
& my personal favorite, which needs no analysis: Pooping into oblivion

(Anyway, Rebecca herself has expounded upon it in typically wry fashion here.)

Or take MC Slim JB, an acclaimed Boston-based food & drink writer who has graced these webpages a number of times. Slim (a dear friend on whom I also have a little crush) being known for his powers of cool, close observation, his sharp focus on the subject matter at hand, I find it especially awesome that so much googly-eyed riffraff arrives at his blog in search of boobies. Either that or evidence that he regularly dines out disguised as a porn princess.

Slim back, big rack
Big boob JB
Lacy boobs (what the hell are those? Are they anything like this?)
Candid boobs (& those? I wish I had me some. I could use some straight talk from my flab)

Beth Partin of Living the Mile-High Life may take the cake when it comes to mammary glands, however, insofar as, for a time at least, “I was ranking in the 1st page of Google for ‘tit cakes’ and ‘titty cakes.’” The pertinent post takes a glimpse inside Le Bakery Sensual (where I myself picked up a birthday cake for The Director & a friend last year based on a photo of them pretending to be in a knife fight. Their likeness in frosting is not at all striking, but it was tasty nonetheless).

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LATE-BREAKING ROUNDTABLE BONUS! Colonel Hector Bravado of your favorite virtual den of iniquity & mine, Denver Six Shooter, sent a whole Xmas list of XXX search terms that I’ll mostly spare you—this is a family blog, however dysfunctional & torn apart by a pack of wild dogs! But I’d give anything to know who was looking for “cocks bigger than people.” That’d be one jolly green giant.

As for who was looking for “easy coke Boulder“—every other resident, I imagine.

While it makes eventual sense—salt on a wound & all that—something about

Seeing that someone arrived at Dispatches from My Couch via a search for the above phrase, I had a sudden horrifying premonition-slash-flashback to the sloth scene in Se7en.

Seeing, too, as how that guy, forcibly bedridden for a year, chews his own tongue out before the cops find him, I sure hope whatever delivery guy answers the call of the incapacitated soul that visited Denveater discovers him in one upright piece. Let us know you’re okay, soul, yeah? (And also how your food was.)

You know those posters on the ceiling at the dentist’s office, where the kitten’s hanging from a tree branch & the caption reads “Ever Have One of Those Days?” Add a rope, & you’ve pretty much got my week.

But in the dark, greasy thick of all those sleepless, showerless pre-deadline nights, I got a tiny little kick out of the fact that someone arrived at my post about Locanda del Borgo, which I’d contrasted with some swingin’ seniors’ pit stop—favorably, natch—by Googling ”old tart granny get light.” I Googled it back; no exact matches.

What in the name of all that’s Pandoran is that? Is a homemaker in Warsaw trying to cut the fat out of the family babka recipe & practice her English in one fell swoop? Is an elderly rapper looking to lay down some mad lyrics Flo-Rida style? “Granny got lite, lite, lite, lite, lite, lite, lite, lite…”

If you’ve got any wise ideas, do tell. Meanwhile, I need an eve to recoup & then it’s back to the chow, pronto.

Oh, wow. Stat analytics are the new found poetry. Or Mad Libs, or Rorschach test, or something. Someone came to Denveater via an image search for the title phrase, which in the searcher’s twisted, lonely mind apparently had something, though I can’t & won’t try too hard to fathom what, with

Heaven Star’s chicken feet (of which more here).

Have I ever mentioned virtual travelers from round the world land here in search I believe of a little Full Metal Jacket–type action?

In short I think I’d better make this here Google Search Laffy Time a semiregular feature. It’s just too big a window onto the soul not to open it wide, yes?

Someone arrived at Denveater via a search for that alarming string.

Googling right back, I learned that there’s not only actually such a thing as a shingle urchin but that it’s really kind of a looker.

Still, how does 1 go about eating it? Perhaps in some sort of chowder with hemorrhoid oysters & cold-sore clams?

Someone arrived at this here blog earlier today via a Google search for just that.

Some words sure do paint 1000 pictures plus.