Recently I’ve been following the traffic on my blog a little more closely, because I’m insecure and demand attention like a toddler raiding its mother’s make-up. As much as I’m grateful to the internet for allowing me this written exercise in vanity, seeing the range of search terms that have led people to my blog inspires me to rue its existence. Here are some things I’ve learned.
People worry about double chins
A while back I wrote about the expansion of my double chin as a child and the damage choosing to ignore it cost me, much like Hitler’s expansion into the Rhineland. I would hope to act as a cautionary tale to those who searched ‘I didn’t know I had a double-chin’ or ‘Misery of having a double-chin.’ My empathy over their quivering chinsicles is unrivalled. However, it’s hard to be a role model when my salvation was found in starvation, self-loathing, and chronic narcissism. Oh, and speaking of chronic narcissism, another search was ‘George Lucas Double Chin.’
Paedophiles read my blog
A disclaimer: I am not a paedophile. Let’s establish that. However, on a singular occasion, I may have made reference to the flagrant deployment of jailbait around DisneyWorld swimming pools. These encounters were pure happenstance, and made with an entirely flaccid penis. So, to those of you seeking out this phenomenon by searching ‘Jailbait at Disney World,’ I offer you a second serving of shame.
I’m never going into a public toilet again
My fondness for the macabre ordeal of public toilets is already about equal to my fondness for passing olives through my urethra. After my bitter diatribe against them (which is by far my most viewed post, because... it’s about poo and stuff?) some evidence emerged to make me avoid them entirely. It’s my hope that ‘My button popped off in a public restroom’ is not a euphemism. There’s begrudging admiration for whoever searched ‘I pull in public toilets.’ The only thing I’ve ever pulled is a semen-stained tissue from the sole of my shoe. Together with those who searched ‘skidmarks on inside of toilet bowl,’ these people are solely responsible for the lack of public toilet etiquette in this country.
Masturbation is complicated
Masturbation is normal. The more the better, I say, as long as you regularly top up on fluids. When it comes to sex I’m not into anything weird (unless fantasising about being taken from behind by Arnold Schwarzenegger is weird). I’m a saint compared to some people who have landed on this blog. There’s a particular fascination with primate masturbation, with a handful of searches for ‘Baboon jerk’ and ‘monkey circle jerk.’ Whoever searched for ‘we had a circle jerk’ clearly had a party that got a little out of control and isn’t sure how to feel about it. Lastly, perhaps inspired by the Olympics, is ‘I have masterbating [sic] competitions with myself.’ Apparently there’s plenty of men out there who’ll join in, if you want.
What does it say about me if all these terms lead directly to my blog? Maybe I should write about nice stuff like hamsters and rabbits and... wait, that didn’t work out either. Perhaps I should up my game? Imagine the disappointment when these searchers, so expectant of finding partners in crime or justification for their desires, just ended up here instead.