I know how you guys are getting here…

8 12 2009

… and I like it.

My favorite thing about WordPress is that they tell you the search engine terms that lead people to your website. First of all, genius. Second of all, hilarious. Most importantly, ridiculous.

Here’s a breakdown of how, exactly, my dear readers have been getting to me in recent days:

1. Searches for “Lady Gaga Marilyn Manson same person” or something along those very specific lines have netted a total of 24 visitors. Twenty four! So not only was this not as original of a thought as I previously expected (if you had been inside of my mind the first time I thought it whilst at a random party, you too would have thought I was geenz) but it is apparently not as far-fetched as expected either. We all kind of think Lady Gaga and Marilyn Manson are the same person. I’d put a good three dollars on at least one of those visits being from Lady Gaga and/or Marilyn Manson. And three dollars to me is like, six million dollars to real people.

2. Searches for things involving the words “upside down” have netted 3 visitors. And not just any old search for “upside down”, but the following, very specific “upside down” things:

  • “Upside Down Puke”
  • “Upside Down Aquarium Secret”
  • “Why Can’t Humans Survive Upside Down?”

I’d really like to search these myself, because why can’t humans survive upside down? Or can they? I hope so. More specifically, I hope it’s a super rare chromosomal abnormality that makes it so certain humans can survive upside down, and these humans are going to do well for themselves when the gravity on Earth goes laffy taffy and people will literally have to survive upside down. Or in the future when people fall out of their spaceship cars and have to survive upside down until the spaceship tow truck comes along and with all the traffic that’s going to be up there, geez, it could take a while.

Also upside down aquarium secret? I’ll assume this is from some sort of video game. Otherwise my goldfish has some explaining to do.

3. Three separate searches for the Half Ton Teen or the 650 Pound Virgin have led here. I remember mentioning these guys several times on Twitter, and so I can only assume my interest in TLC shows has wound up on this blog through osmosis. Also, having a tag called “obpleasity” was probably a big help. But yes, these ones made me particularly happy about the internet.

4. Two each for Tom Arnold and Viggo Mortensen. Now if only Tom Arnold and Viggo Mortensen would respond to my dinner party invitations, we might all have something to talk about. Besides “Carpool”, obvs.

5. Random faves: “catsuits”, “puke nauseous”, and “quite possumbly.” Because what is a blog without a good mention of skin-tight pleather, throwing up on many many (god, so many, I’m sorry) many occasions, and the punchline of a joke that is only slightly decent? Nothing, that’s what.

The statistical analysis part of my brain has convinced the other, more worldly parts of my brain that all of these random searches must mean I am really accomplishing my original goal: write some totally random stuff, have no specific theme at all, and someday, totally random people will find you in really weirdo ways. Although the statistical analysis part of my brain only got a 4 on the AP Statistics test, so it could be a whole point off of what it really means.

But that’s okay.

—— JOKE ALERT ——-

QUESTION: What is an Alaskan’s favorite porno?

ANSWER: Up the Asskimo.

ALTERNATIVES: Glacial Facials, The In-yo-tits (like the Inuits), Polar Opposites (also possibly a RomCom or buddy cop film, but in this case, a mixed race porno), Teabaggin’ (because who doesn’t love riding toboggans?)





A Salty Engagement: Episode Six

2 10 2009

Things are starting to get weird. I think I really enjoy writing from the perspective of Tom Arnold. I really hope he’ll let me write his comeback.

And yes, I’m aware that writing fan fiction about yourself is nothing short of self-centered. But I can’t help how interested I am in my own improbably futures.

A Modest Proposal

“I think you know what I want, Ramos. What we both want.” Tom Arnold stepped over the dead Pole, placing an arm precariously over Telly’s shoulders.

Surprisingly, Telly did not shrug him off. She found herself torn between what her body was feeling and what the insides of her body were feeling. Was that nausea? Or the sting of a love long lost?

“I’m with my little man now, T Arns.”

“I love when you call me that.”

“I can’t leave him behind for something that should have been, but wasn’t,” Telly said, letting a tear slip from her lids and a small sliver of boogs drip from her feminine nostrils. At this point, Tom removed his arm of his own volition. He had lost her.

He stepped back over the Pole, who had started to melt slightly in the hot New Jersey sun, like a wayward drop of ice cream. Shaped like a dead body. Tom Arnold reached into his pocket and pulled out a checkbook, replete with personalized Tweety Bird checks. He chuckled at the sight of that yellow bird. That cheerful, scheming, yellow bird. Mr. Arnold liked to think that he was much like Tweety. Always been chased, always outsmarting the competition. What was he doing? He was wasting this great comparison, nay, metaphor on his internal monologue instead of spouting it to the adoring public in front of him! Fool, Tom. You are a fool!

Tom took another glance at the screen, where Eric was starting to stir a bit from the bed on which he resided. “We are going to play this my way. Since, you’ve clearly chosen this Skinny Glasses Man over me, I don’t think there’s much I can do to change your heart, but maybe I can do something else. Add a little spice to your life. Make it so you never look at him without thinking of me.”

No one had any idea what he was talking about.

“What are you talking about?” Paul asked, his eyes glued to Eric on the television screen.

“The only thing bigger than my heart is my checkbook. Are you aware of how relevant I was in the early to mid 90s? Let’s just say Old Tom made some wise investments, and I am prepared to write a huge check – HUGE – to anyone here in exchange for one thing.”

Paul and Sarah looked at each other, salivating. They would do anything for money. They loved each other very much, but nothing says true love like millions of dollars. Besides, Sarah thought, Paul had neglected to have her sign a pre-nup. So “what’s yours is mine” could potentially become very much hers.

“In exchange for WHAT!” Paul yelled, hardly noticing how loud his voice had become. He hoped not to sound too eager, but Papa needs a new leather money sack.

“For that little man’s head. Unattached to his body.”

To catch up and read Paul’s parts, check out A Salty Engagement: The Blog.





A Salty Engagement: Episode Four

11 09 2009

Episode 4: Things Get Polish

Tom threw his head back maniacally, letting loose a cackle not often heard on this earth, except for in areas that have a heavy bad guy population. He laughed so hard that one of his molars flew out of his head, hitting Paul in the eye.

“Aahhh, my good eye! And right before my wedding! Tom, you shrew!” Paul yelled while eye goo started to run down his face. Sarah saw this and promptly pulled a Telly, throwing up at a very inopportune time. Fortunately, she had several plastic bags at the ready, as this particular group of people seemed to projectile more often than most.

Telly kept her eyes glued to the television set, trying to collect as much information about her dear Eric’s whereabouts. One of the Polish workers – an accomplished surgeon in his native land but here, only a lowly assistant fudgemaker – caught a glimpse of the television screen. He called his fellow subordinates over and pointed at the screen.

“Look at this, everybody. We are to be helping keep this skinny glasses man in a box. We are to be helping him be unhappy.”

“Franz, he looks like he is alway being the unhappy.”

“True, but he is of the most unhappy in this little box. The skinny glasses man should be free. Mr. Tom Arnold, you said nothing of keeping skinny glasses mans in boxes. You are only saying that we make fudge and have a fun summer in the seaside!”

Tom Arnold turned to his fudge brigade. He had trained them well, but not well enough, apparently. “Are you dissenting, Franz?”

“Not of the dissenting, Mr. Tom Arnold, not of the dissenting. Just of the wondering what in the fruitcakes is going on here? This is not a fun summer in the seaside for the skinny glasses man!”

Without a second thought, Tom whipped out a gun and shot Franz in the guts. Once again, Tom crouched down, expecting a crowd to come at him this time not with adoration, but with anger. None came. Lucky for Tom, they were in New Jersey, where there are no cut and dry rules about shooting fudgemakers who you have hired specifically not to give you any lip. The Dirty Jerz welcomed his violent streak with open arms.

Sarah barely blinked, but the rest of the gang – not being from The Garden State – found themselves in a state of shock. “This would never happen in Wisconsin,” said Paul, shaking his head sadly.

“It has happened only twice in California,” Telly admitted. “But I did not approve either time.”

“So, the ball is in your court, Ramos. Once again.”

Telly stared Tom down, like a slug might stare down a salt shaker, if it had eyes that faced the same direction at the same time. “What is it that you want, Arnold? How do I get my life companion back?”

Have no idea what’s going on? Me either, really. Get the whole, on going story here: pruse.wordpress.com





A Salty Engagement: Part Two

8 09 2009

While I formulate my thoughts on the most depressing zoo in the history of zoos, please entertain yourself with my first excerpt from the soon-t0-be-legendary joint venture, “A Salty Engagement.” Read the first part and whatever upcoming parts we create at: pruse.wordpress.com

Part Two: The Depths of Tom Arnold

“Hey look, it’s Tom Arnold!” Paul nearly screeched in delight, having been one of Mr. Arnold’s biggest fans since that seminal film, The Stupids (1996).

Tom took cover instantaneously, covering his body from the impending deluge of fans he was sure Paul’s yell would send his way. None came.

Tom turned his attention back to Telly who had, in fact, evacuated her insides once more. Utterly devoid of stuffing at this point, Telly wiped some spittle from her lips and squinted hard at Tom. Sarah took the building tension as a sign to go get some ice cream. She was pregnant, after all, and would appreciate it if you would not judge her.

“Tom Arnold. We meet again. I’ll thank you not to comment on my body’s projectiles.”

“I’ll comment on whatever I please. I think you owe me that, after what we’ve shared in the past.”

Telly shuddered. “It was one night, Tom. One stupid, crack cocaine filled night. If I had been old enough to watch Roseanne and realized you’d been married, I most certainly wouldn’t have obliged your requests.”

Sarah made it back, working on her second double scoop, and stood next to Paul to watch the conversation between Tom and Telly. The wedding would have to wait, as anything involving Tom Arnold was bound to be way more important and interesting. “Oh right. You guys fucked, right?” Paul yelled, fueling the fire. He was having trouble controlling the volume of his voice, not to mention the fact that his proximity to his idol was making it hard to control the flow of his thoughts.

“Paul!” Telly whispered, slapping him across the face.

“We made love,” Tom Arnold whispered, the heat rising in his cheeks like a small hobo village that’s been set ablaze. “It takes a real man to make love.”

Paul was brought to tears nearly at the eloquence of Mr. Arnold, an eloquence he had rarely heard since Mr. Arnold’s uncredited appearance in “Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery.” Paul turned to his love, his blushing bride, in the hopes that merely witnessing this sentiment would put all of their hopes and fears to rest.

Unfortunately, Sarah had wandered away, a cell phone held to her ear. The phrase “How long is your longest footlong?” could be heard, wafting in the wind.