Category Archives: bizarre

Search terms that make me question what’s going on in your life.

Every so often I look at the things people were searching for on the internet that brought them to this blog.  Then I shake my head at humanity.  Then I copy the least offensive but most baffling searches and share them here with you.  Because I’m a giver.  

What people were searching for on the internet this week that led them here:

  • “How to know I’m not in a coma”
  • “accidental lesbian”
  • “u didn’t have to hang up on me you shuld have told me u dont want me to call you poem”
  • “monkeys kissing people walk on the vagina”  (It feels like there should be a period here, but I’m not sure where.)
  • “Miss Johnson you’re amazing”
  • “I want to eat you down into the belly.”  (Wow.  English is not your first language, is it?  Because this is not a good pick-up line.)
  • “Our cat had 4 babies, now there’s 3. Did it eat baby?”
  • “Naked woman hula hooping”
  • “I don’t know what i just did.  I just peed on my favorite adult cats.”  
  • “Pictures of me naked”  (You’re not doing this internet thing right.)
  • “Tell them other bitches funny songs. I’m the one dumb as a 62 ounce slurpee drink”
  • “tentacle pregnancy egg”
  • “Hire people to beat someone up”
  • “hemorrhaging & puddle of blood”  (Why are you on the internet?  GO TO THE DOCTOR.)
  • “Had nervous breakdown/now my daughter is “taking care” of me/what do I do?”
  • “I just cut five inches off my hair. how do i get my hairs back?”  (Oh, honey.  Bless your stupid heart.)
  • “I will never go back to jail.”
  • “Jenny Lawson is a tall treat.”  (Aw, shucks.)
  • “dig dog up to see how he died”  (I’m guessing he died because you buried him?)
  • “crafty unicorn made out of real hair”
  • “Fuck off.  I’m fabulous.”
  • “Those chimpanzees will be sued”
  • “Is it ok to let my dog eat me?”  (I don’t know what this means…but in any case, no.)
  • “how do you get the dog stop sucking the head eggs and let me have a phone number to call them people?”
  • “that one had hair on it”
  • “Gandalf, you better be at my door” (YOU’RE NOT THE BOSS OF GANDALF.)
  • “78 year old lady does her own home perms”
  • “How to remove tracker bug from belly button?”  (I think you’re confusing real life with the Matrix again.)
  • “mushroom looks like snowman”
  • “guys sit on a buck of fireworks and pops the butt.”
  • “Something red is poking from my belly button.”  (Is it a tracker bug?)
  • “What will happen if you let a moth in your ear?”  (This is like the insect version of “If You Give a Mouse a Cookie”.)
  • “Why shouldn’t some cats play cards?”
  • “WHERE M I NOW?”  (Based on your search, I’d guess “a bar”.)
  • “do-it-yourself cat costumes for toddlers”
  • “Did nellie oleson eat shit on little house on the prairie?”
  • “can you paint cat’s toenails?”
  • “Can I use butter on my dog?”  
  • “Whatever happened to Lou Diamond Phillips?”
  • “Why does my cat smell my left eye?”
  • “why do blueberry unicorns cross the milk chocolate river when they could just fly to the other side?”
  • “Why is there a really long grey hair coming out of my stomach?
  • “What happens if you can’t dig up St Joseph’s body after your house sells?”
  • “What does it mean when someone says ‘Fuck yeah I like watermelon’?”  
  • “Anyone having nightmares about Morgan Freeman?”
  • “Is it ok with Jesus when I am pretending to pray but I am not?”  (Have you even read these other searches?  YOU’RE FINE.)

I’m insulted in several ways.

I think most cats technically already have great mustaches, but you just can’t tell because we don’t shave the rest of their bodies, and I think that’s probably very sad for them because they can’t show off their dapper kitty facial hair.

Or at least, that was the reason that I gave Victor when he asked me why I kept trying to stick a fake mustache on Hunter S. Thomcat.
huntermoustache

 

 

PS. This is unrelated but I thought I’d share.  You know when websites use algorithms to figure out what you’d be most likely buy and then they put those recommendations on your front page?  Yeah.  So this is what Amazon personally suggested I’d want today:

amazon wtf

What they said:

“Get Yourself a Little Something” 

 

What they’re really saying:

“Hey!  CHECK OUT THIS straight jacket!  Buy some lizard feet!  Treat yourself, ya FREAKY lunatic!”

And I think the most insulting thing here is that I actually am interested in all of those things and now I can’t stop thinking about how nice it would be to wear those Lizard Feet while I’m writing, but I can’t even have them because I’m allergic to latex.  So now I feel bad for wanting them and also bad because it’s like Amazon is taunting me on purpose.

Also, when I went to look at the lizard feet Amazon told me that if I liked those feet then I’d totally want this shirt.

And they were right.  The bastards.

 

 

 

Someone’s gonna need a tetanus shot.

Yesterday we went to a flea market, which is always filled with equal part awesomeness and creepiness and a fair amount of people who maybe shouldn’t be allowed to park their own cars.

But my favorite part of the day was when I came across this box being sold by a very sweet older couple:

Um…what?

Um…what?

It was a little bizarre to find an antique vibrator box, but even more unsettling was that the lady at the booth told me that the contents were still “intact and pristine, considering the age.”  And then I opened the box and found this:

I don't know if this is more or less unsettling.

That’s the pinchiest looking vibrator I’ve ever seen.

And I stared at it and said, “Wow.  We’ve come a long way, I guess?  I mean, I don’t even understand how this would work,” and the woman said, “Well, these are just the attachments to the vibrator, obviously” and I was like “Well, obviously” and then she clarified that they would have been used with older “Domestic Vibrator” and I admitted that I didn’t even know there were commercial models available and she looked at me strangely and then her partner cleared his throat and said “The Domestic Vibrator was a brand of sewing machine in the 1900’s” and the woman looked at her partner like, “Well, of course it was.  Why are you even clarifying this?”   And then I nodded like I’d known this all along.

And I was relieved.

And a little bit disappointed.

*******************

And in other news, it’s Sunday, which means its time for the weekly wrap-up:

sid

What you missed in my shop (Named “Eight pounds of uncut cocaine” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

What you missed on the internets:

This week on shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome:

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by Kelly Exeter at A Life Less Frantic. She’s got an awesome new book out called Your Best Year Yet – 7 Simple Ways to Shift Your Thinking and Take Back Control of Your Life and she’s so confident this short and sweet little tome of life-inspiration (Kelly loathes the term self-help) will deliver your best year EVER, she’s even offering a money-back guarantee.  You can check it out here.

I'm huge and/or hated in Germany

Today I opened my mail and found my book translated into German, along with a German magazine filled with pictures of my grandparents for some reason.

It was weird.  And awesome.

I'm huge and/or reviled in Germany

At first I thought the title translated to “What’s With The Night War, Stinky?” but according to people on twitter it’s more like “Is This Actually Happening, Or What?”  Which makes slightly more sense, but I kind of like my interpretation better. Also, Hamlet Von Schnitzel is now a Dracula for some reason, and I thought my cat was checking out the German magazine article about me, but apparently he just wanted to hide his face because he’d rather not be associated with this whole debacle.  Fair enough.

Also, I asked Victor what “Psycho” translated to in English and turns out it just means “Psycho”.  So I guess there wasn’t a lot lost in translation after all.  And now we can all speak a word of German, so technically I think this means that my blog is now considered educational.  And world-renowned.  And a little psycho.

Just as it should be.

In The Library

For those of us with triskaidekaphobia the year 2012+1 will be an entire year of forced behavioral therapy.

It’s a stupid superstition but one I still struggle to shake as (for me) it’s wrapped into a weird layer of OCD-based terror.  In my mind, every time some one says the unlucky number, everything becomes unlucky for everyone who has just heard that number, and only saying it again will cancel the negative effects.  Except that it’s impossible to know exactly if you’re on the lucky or unlucky side of life, and so maybe you say the unlucky number to get you out of an unlucky period but then you get your arm chopped off and then you realize that you were in the unlucky period before, so you say it again and then your leg falls off because you’ve just said the unlucky number too many times and fate is now pissed that you’re fucking with her.  This all makes sense in my head.

That’s why yesterday at my friend Laura’s house I was a bit of a nervous wreck entering the first day of this terribly named year.  And so we decided to change the name.  To “The Library.”  At first I thought this just made me feel immediately better because the booze had just kicked in, but now I’m perfectly sober and I’m in the second day in The Library and I feel so terribly comforted.

(by Johanna Ljungblom)

In The Library you are safe.  It smells of old books and worlds you’ve yet to explore.  It smells of worlds you’ve loved that beckon you back.  It smells of the bacon sandwich the guy in the corner has smuggled in while he devours words and food, not sure which is more filling.

In the library you are prepping.

Everything that happens in the library is just preparation for the next year.  That means if you fuck something up this year it’s fine.  This whole year is just practice.  The library is made for that.  Maybe you spend the year writing a book no one will ever read.  Maybe you spend the year recuperating from last year.  Maybe you burn the Thanksgiving turkey and forget an important birthday.  It’s okay.  It happened in The Library.  It was just practice for next year.  Maybe it’s insanity, or maybe it’s just me, but somehow I think we all need a year in The Library.  A year where it’s safe to make mistakes.  A year where it’s okay to have to escape and stare out the window without someone asking you when you’re going to get back to work and fix your life.  A year where we all whisper quietly about our plans and our wishes and dreams and darkest fears.  A year in The Library.  A year of getting lost in dusty, forgotten corners, and a year of finding the want.  (The want to leave.  The want to play.  The want to shrug off the dreams and walk out in the sunlight.  The want to pounce on 2014 with glee and rapture.)

The Library opened yesterday.  It closes 51.9 weeks from now.

Welcome.

Hello. Did you send me a box of dead hamster?

Victor:  Did you check the mail?

me:  Yeah, there were three bills and a box of dead hamster.

Victor:  *sigh*

me:  Everyone gets bills, babe.  You can’t escape bills.  It’s not personal.

Victor:  Mhm.

me: You aren’t going to ask about the box of dead hamster?

Victor:  Nope.

me:  Because I kind of really need you too.

Victor:  Nope.  Don’t care.  Don’t want to be involved.

me:  Because it was sent to me anonymously and it’s kind of freaking me out.  Someone sent me a box of dead hamster in the mail and I don’t even know what that means.  Is it some sort of code?  Is it a threat?  I’m not even sure it’s a hamster.  Or why it has wings.

Victor:  Hamsters don’t have wings.

me:  I KNOW.  THAT’S WHY IT’S SO UNSETTLING.

Victor:  FINE.  Show me your dead hamster.

me:  Finally.

I think the wings are made of human skin.

Victor:  That’s…not a hamster.

me:  You’re saying that because of the wings, right?  But they’re detachable.

Victor:  No.  I mean it looks too big to be a hamster.  I think it’s a guinea pig.

me:  Or a small dog.

Victor: And why is it crunchy?

me: RIGHT?  

Victor: It’s like it’s filled with cellophane.

me:  Or corn flakes.

Victor:  Why would someone fill a hamster with corn flakes?

me:  WHY WOULD SOMEONE SEND ME A BOX OF DEAD HAMSTER?  I THINK WE CAN THROW LOGIC OUT THE WINDOW HERE, Victor.

Victor:  That ship has sailed.  You probably bought it yourself and just forgot.

me:  I think I would remember if I bought a box of dead hamster.

Victor:  Remember when you bought that cobra and forgot that you bought it until you opened it?

me:  Mmm…not really.

Victor:  Well, it happened.

me:  Now I’m craving corn flakes.

Victor:  Stop talking.

PS.  Did you send me a box of dead hamster?  Is there a hidden meaning?  Is the crunchy noise inside of it a note explaining it?  Is the hamster an envelope?  For the love of God, someone help me.

PPS.  The cats fucking LOVE Mr. Squeaky.  If that’s what his name is.

Look at you, Mr. Squeaky. You. Are. Perfect.

Come here, you. Give us some snuggles.

I’m tempted to do this whole post in caps. THAT’S HOW EXCITED I AM ABOUT IT.

Remember last week when I was trying to buy that dead pony I wanted? (I’ll just apologize for that first sentence right here if this is your first time here. You should probably just come back tomorrow.) Well I got outbid on it, but that was actually a blessing in disguise because then I found something I wanted even more that was just as awesome and also ethically taxidermied.

And a few minutes ago…it arrived.

Knock-knock, motherfucker.

That’s right, y’all.  Anyone can have a dead pony, but it takes a specially fucked up kind of birthday wish to end up with a dead pegasus.

(Special note for those of you who are horrified that I support the slaughter of pegasuses:  It’s actually a zebra colt mannequin covered with old, leftover cow and goose pieces.  You can tell because of the stitching and also because pegasuses are much bigger in real life.)

But don’t tell that to Hunter S. Thomcat:

It's like The Never Ending Story, part 12.

NEVER GIVE UP ON YOUR DREAMS, YOU GUYS.