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Yeah, I’ll get to that 5 minute video, right after I find out who kidnapped the Lindbergh baby; the person/people really responsible for the Kennedy assassination; where Amelia Earheart’s been hanging out for the past 60-odd years, and what the hell’s been keeping Keith Richards alive.
I give up. I really, truly do.
how to fuck well (again)
how to fuck
“sex change” fiction
Jennifer Weiner erection (??)
I’m convinced this is the same person. At first I thought it was funny, but enough is enough!
Pretty sure porn would help ‘em with at least three of the six search terms, though.
I’m sorry, dear Google user, but you’re not going to find anything of that nature here. But I wholly appreciate your regard for good grammar, so I wish you luck in finding assistance with your lovemaking skillz.
The title of this post, of course, refers to yet another awesome search term used to find my blog. Even better: “brain fuck.”
It’s comforting to know that there are more screwed up people than I in the world.
It’s not so comforting that they find their way on my blog.
This is the second time someone has found my blog while searching for porn. The hell is going on, man? There ain’t nothin’ even close to porn on here! But this time, the keywords make “Sienna West getting fucked in the woods” sound like a Raffi song. This time, someone was looking for…they wanted…aw hell, I’ll just come out and type it:
Back when I was seventeen, I was a pretty shitty writer, even though I’d been writing since I was eight. But I hadn’t found my “voice” yet (and only have just recently) , and made poor reading choices (see previous post).
You know how they say you are what you eat? Well, you also write what you read. I read crap, so I wrote crap. Which is probably why I never really finished the novel I’d been trying to write since I was fifteen. My attempts at such a goal were plentiful but laughable, and lasted only one or two chapters.
But none were more laughable than the one I was writing my last year of high school. Unfortunately, I burned the thing ( and I reallllly wish I hadn’t so I could post it here), but I do remember that it was about a girl who was sleeping with her sister’s fiancé. (Totally original, right?) I don’t think it was more than two chapters, but the first one was pretty significant, because it involved the main character lying post-coitus in the arms of her forbidden flame. Which is funny since this was written by someone who despises romance novels. So she’s lying there describing how she feels being in his arms, the way his bedroom looks and other various innocuous bullshit. The prose was very trite and very purple, making for an unremarkable scene.
If it weren’t for the rotating nipple.
why did lauren conrad come up with the title la candy?
Oh, honey, you’re so naïve. Her publishers did. And you’re so stupid. It should be “how”, not “why”.
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Yeah. This couldn’t possibly be a spambot due to the oh-so-human name. But at least it’s another British spambot: “New things proper!” Indeed.
But beneficial details? From a post that includes this:
Cherish was sorry he hadn’t smacked his head or probably erect penis into the coffee table.
Actually, Cherish didn’t care if The Woman Who Looks Like Her Sisters was lying dead in a ditch. In fact, she hoped she was.
That night, Cherish woke up prematurely, thanks to a nightmare about burning flesh and screaming.
Once again, Cherish resisted the urge to toss her beverage in the other woman’s face.
She found them banging three days later on the…couch.
The latest in weird search terms to find my blog: “alcohol birthday”.
I have NO clue how this is even closely related to Prose Nylund. (And of course, makes me curious of what the searcher was looking for in the first place, what prompted them to use these two words together.)
Though it does remind me of my 25th birthday, where I drank so much (including my first shot of tequila, natch) that I got cut off in the dining area of the restaurant where I was celebrating, so I went to the bar and proceeded to order a pitcher of beer (no, I didn’t drink it all myself). Then, after being driven home by some friends of mine, I fell out of the backseat of the car – whereupon it was discovered I’d been sitting on my takeout carton – and onto the driveway.
So I had to be escorted to my front door by two of my friends – each one holding me up by either arm – both of whom I hugged so hard I popped one of the balloons I was holding while doing so and proceeded to tell my entire street, “THANKS FOR TAKING ME HOOOOOOME!!” The night ended with me passing out in bed, and the next morning began with me puking my brains out.
Now that was an alcohol birthday.
(Part 9 of The Bitches is coming, I swear! By the moon and the stars and the sky!)
I don’t know what the eff this means, but this is the search term that led someone to my blog. Obviously, they happened upon it because of The Bitches, but I wonder what exactly what they wanted to find initially. Unless there’s a Facebook group called “Taking Bitches By Storm”? Hol’ on, I’mma investigate.
No, there is not. Okay then. The mystery continues.