BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

I suppose I’m a bit of a voyeur in some respects. I think all authors are. We watch the world around us with a kind of personal fascination. Everything we see becomes fodder for a book somewhere along the line. Maybe not right that minute, but perhaps in the future. We tend to log these things away in the darkened corners of our brains just in case we might need them.

I am guess it is because of the whole “voyeurism” thing that I keep tabs on the search phrases and words that land folks at my website and blog. Yeah, sure, it initially started out as one of those optimization things. You know, using tags and keywords that brought me traffic. But, I figured out early on that web-traffic isn’t always good. If it isn’t qualified traffic, it is just eating up your bandwidth for nothing. Kinda like trying to sell a high-end TV to a homeless person. They don’t have money, or even a place to put it, so you’re working a dead lead…

Damn… I’m having a flashback to my days in sales at VideoConcepts… Now I need a drink…

But, let’s see if we can move on… Like I said, I figured out early on that some of this keyword stuff really does you little good. Unfortunately, in some cases, even though it is a valid keyword that actually has plenty to do with the blog post, there are searches going on out there that seize upon it for different reasons, yet again driving unqualified traffic your way. Such was the case with the word “handcuffs”. You see, when I wrote that little piece of Twitter Flash Fiction and posted it here to my blog, it contained the word handcuffs. It also had a picture associated with it. Very suddenly, and without warning, my blog started receiving all kinds of traffic. I mean, insane amounts of traffic. From all over the world, even.

The problem was, all of it was people looking for pictures of handcuffs via Google Image Search. They were never coming to the blog. They were merely hotlinking the image.

Not exactly qualified traffic, know what I mean?

So, anyway, I got that all cleared up by changing some keywords, jpg names, and petitioning google to remove a couple of now-nonexistent links. It took a week or so, but finally it was done.

But, of course, the handcuffs aren’t why I called you here today. You see, since I skulk around peeking through virtual curtains and the search phrases which bring folks to my blog, I thought maybe I’d share a few of the more esoteric entries with you. So, here goes…

• Clark Kent

Why Superman’s alter ego brought someone to my blog I have no idea.

• John Glenn Moon 1962

John Glenn I understand. I did, after all, write a blog on my birthday which mentions him rather prominently given that I was born on the day he orbited the Earth in Friendship 7. However, simply reading that phrase makes me wish I had a slice of the action, because my guess is that someone was trying to verify facts for a bet. BTW, NO Virginia, John Glenn never went to the Moon. Now pay up.

• Bound Pentagram Sacrifice Nude Virgin

I’m sure all of these words connected up with various key elements of the sample chapters from the RGI series I have here on the site. But, something tells me that’s not what they were looking for, and that just scares me.

• Wife In Stockings
• Sagging Stockings
• Women In Seamed Stockings
• feeling your stockings

Of course, all of these landed on the page “Fool For Your Stockings...” from the Mahwage blog series. Again, I don’t think that’s what these Googlers were looking for…

• how to deal with a pain in the ass wife

This one brought the searcher to “E K Is A Real Pain In My Ass…” for obvious reasons. I have to wonder if his so called “pain in the ass wife” checks his search history when he isn’t around. If she does and ends up back here she needs to contact E K. Something tells me The Evil One could give her some pointers on how to deal with her “pain in the ass husband”.

• “regular housewife”

My guess is, this is what the numb-nuts above is looking for. But where’s the fun in that?

• I damaged my ass
• what is pain on my butt
• pains in my right ass cheek
• my butt aches after I take a crap

I like to call these the “pain in the ass” searches. Again, they ended up at the most recently mentioned entry, which I am sure was of no help to them whatsoever. But (pun intended with extreme prejudice) I have to say, I’m a bit concerned for the person whose butt aches after defecation. That doesn’t sound good at all… I have to admit I’m also just a bit curious about the “I damaged my ass” person.

• nathan fillion practical jokes

This one had me momentarily stumped until I remembered I had written a blog about Fillion’s new show, Castle…

• bad ass bitch in heels
• devil angel redhead
• devil woman
• heels, ass, biker

Where the whole “biker” thing came in, I have no idea. But, these quite obviously landed the Googlers on just about anything where E K is mentioned, but most especially the “Somehow Satan Got Behind Me…” blog, due to the included “devil woman” graphic. I’m sure they were looking for much more explicit pictures and didn’t really find anything that fit what they REALLY wanted, but if they took time to read the blog entries themselves… Well… They might be afraid now. I know I would be.

• sindromul edison
• pagkain

What good would a search keyword log be without some gibberish as translated from another language. Other than Edison (This is Edison Carter… blog entry…) I have no clue what they were after…

• novel peanut butter dan jelly

My kid used to watch a cartoon called P B and J Otter. But, I can’t imagine there being a novel. Also, I am going to assume that is supposed to be “and jelly”… Because if it’s actually supposed to be “Dan Jelly”… Well… Given the possible connotations, I just don’t wanna know… At least they didn’t type in jam…

• before after combover makeover

I’ll go bald before I do a combover. Enough said.

• ass animation
• Butt Cheek Images
• men getting spanked

Here we have the second round of “ass searches” which brought folks to the “E K Is A Real yadda yadda…” blog, again quite obviously because of that lovely three letter word. I grouped them together for that very reason, although I think #3 had a something different in mind as compared to #’s 1 and 2. In this case, due to the joke and cartoon at the beginning, #3 might have actually found what he or she was after…

Something I found to be of particular note is the fact that the vast majority of the searches for #3, or some permutation thereof, such as “women who spank” or “wifes (sic) spanking husbands” come out of the UK, France, and Italy, in that order.  At least, that’s what the IP addresses say. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?

• Paranormally Warped

Unknown to this poor internet searcher, all he or she needed to do was type in M. R. Sellars to get this… Of course, it doesn’t matter. All paranormal warpedness leads straight to me anyway…

• Satan Poke Poor Soul

I have theories, but they make my brain hurt…

So, there you have it… Yet another round of Google weirdness that brings people right here to Murv Weirdness.  I guess those search engines actually do work…

More to come…

Murv

Part 11 of 12

Continued from: Mahwage: Trick Or Treat!

Okay… So you got me to admit that E K did not actually stomp on the little groom guy from the cake topper… I suppose y’all are real proud of yourselves now, eh? Well, here’s the thing: I’m willing to bet you she thought about it,  really, really hard. As a matter of fact, I’m sure she did.

How can I say that, you ask? Easy, she’s evil. (E K … Evil Kat… Get it? Of course you do…)

So, there you go, case closed, she’s just plain inherently evil. However, if that isn’t enough  to convince you there is also the fact that I happen to know she  really likes to stomp on things… I mean, you should see this woman with an aluminum can that’s destined for the recycle bin… she gets all giggly and stuff… Then all of a sudden it’s just flat out metal carnage, I tell you! (Get it, flat out… Yeah… Okay… Well, I thought it was funny…)

Yeah, yeah, I know… I’ve said all manner of wonderful things in this blog series to purposely dispel any myths and/or rumors about the evil redhead, but I have to do that. It’s all in the script she wrote for me and if I don’t say all these nice things about her then she’ll beat me and lock me in a closet. Really… Seriously…  She will…

I’ve just lost all credibility with you folks, haven’t I?

Well… Maybe I can get some of it back.

How, you ask? (You know, y’all ask a lot of questions)… Well, I’ll tell you. It  just so happens that I have photographic evidence of E Kay’s evilness, complete with full color depictions of cruelty, betrayal, calculated deception, and no inkling whatsoever of remorse for her actions. Yes, for real. Undoctored, unfettered, pure photographic evidence that E K is as evil as they come…

Allow me to set the stage for you…

Among those time honored traditions that go hand in hand with weddings and wedding receptions, is the bride and groom feeding the cake to one another, all cutesy woodja-woodja and the like. In that same vein there is also the “smear the cake all over your new spouse’s face” collateral tradition. I have no idea who started that particular subset of the cake thing, but he or she needs to be shot. Just my opinion, but hey…my blog, my opinion. Kinda works…

Anyway, E K and I had ourselves a talk about this. In fact, E K is the very one who brought it up. (I should have known right then and there that something was amiss)… At any rate, one day as we were working on the wedding plans she looked at me imploringly with those big blue eyes and said, “Look, Murv, let’s make a deal with one another right here and now — When it comes time to cut the cake and all that, I promise I won’t smear you in the face with it, if you promise you won’t smear me in the face. Deal?”

Well, how could I resist? She was just so damned cute and convincing and all that jazz. Besides, I really and truly wasn’t all that skippy about the prospect of having cake plastered throughout my beard for several hours, so this seemed like  the perfect solution to me. Therefore, I did the only thing I could possibly do under the circumstances. I responded in earnest, “Yeah, honey.  No problem at all. I’d say you’ve got yourself a deal. I promise to not smear any cake on your face.”

Now, being from the south I knew better. And, I knew I knew better.  In keeping with the theme of things I knew, I also knew in my heart, and in my head, that I should have spit in my palm, made her spit in hers, and had a handshake on the deal right then and there, but I didn’t. Instead, I trusted my soon-to-be-wife without hesitation. Of course, even the handshake probably wouldn’t have mattered, what with her being a Yankee and all… It stands to reason with all that northern blood she wouldn’t have honored a spit promise anyway, so that would have only made the situation worse. I mean, if  she had broken a spit promise of all things, then she just would have gone from being a Yankee to being a Damn Yankee… Obviously this would have presented a major problem, because while it’s a forgivable offense to be married to a Yankee, (after all, they can’t help it they were born in a foreign country,) marrying a Damn Yankee… Well, that’ll just get you hanged.

However, I promised you evidence and so here it is. I give you Exhibit A. (left)… Notice how I am placing the cake carefully into her mouth. However, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to be able to see that her aim is way off. My mouth has never been on the side of my face and she knows that.  No… she was purposely assaulting me with the “cake smear”. If you look closely at my expression, posture, and the position of my other hand, you can also plainly see that the photo caught me right in the middle of a serious, “WTF?! You promised!” moment.

Now, had it merely been a case of poor aim on her part, she wouldn’t have continued to grind the icing into my beard, as evidenced in the next photo, which we shall label Exhibit B.

Unfortunately, what you are unable to see from this particular photo, is her satisfied grin. There were witnesses… But, I think she might have paid them off… Now I ask you… Evil or no?

What? Sheesh… I really don’t see why everyone is taking her side in all of this… I mean, yeah, I do get that she was merely establishing dominance in the relationship so that I would know who was really in control,  but hey, she promised… (One of these days I’m going to find out exactly what it was she had crossed when she made that promise, because I’m pretty sure her hands were in plain sight at the time…)

So, back to the title of this entry. “Where’s everybody going?” refers back to what I mentioned in the Fool For Your Stockings chapter of this series,  (Feb 22, 2009), when I spoke briefly about us hitting the sack in the evening as opposed to the very late night, or wee hours of the morning. I told you we’d get to it, and now here we are.

You see, soon after the smearing of the cake, someone must have mistaken the purely evil gesture as playfulness and then passed the word that E K was feeling frisky or something. I surmised this because it wasn’t long before a mass exodus began. People started patting us on the back, congratulating us just one more time, hugging and kissing us, then winking as they said their goodbyes. A couple of them even flat out mentioned to us that they were clearing out so E K and I could have… Ahem… “Alone time”…

WTF? E K and I had already been living together “in sin” for a year. Yeah, we’d been sinning left and right. So, it’s not like we had gone through this whole process in order to get a “free bedroom pass” or something. Truth is we already had ourselves a “big ol’ bag o’ tokens” for adult activities and we’d been spending them whenever we had a chance. Now, please understand, it’s not that we weren’t interested in visiting the “grown up amusement park” on a regular basis, or even having a go at some of the “rides” we hadn’t yet enjoyed, but on that particular night we wanted to have a party. We had spent every bit of money we could scrape together on food, a keg of beer, and fixing the place up enough to be able to have a shindig. We had worked hard to make this happen. We wanted to share and enjoy it with our friends. We could jump on the “tilt-a-whirl” tomorrow… Hell, two or three times if we felt like it.

However, no matter what we said, folks would just give us the “wink wink nudge nudge” and be on their way. By 10:30 PM, my hot and sexy bride and I were standing in the middle of our living room, just us, the cats, and no one else, surrounded by empty chairs and a whole mountain of food. Now, I know 10:30 PM sounds like night and not evening as I had said… These days, at my somewhat more advanced age, yeah, I’d call it night too. But, back then at the wet behind the ears twenty-something stage, when we were immortal and could drink a hell of a lot more, 10:30 PM was merely evening… Night was still on its way and wouldn’t be arriving for at least another half hour or so…

But, yeah, I know, that’s all just a matter of semantics… You say tomato, I say roundish red thing that goes on my sammich… Still, 10:30 PM? That’s just too damn early to pack it in when you have the youth combined with the level of party fixin’s available that we did…

So… We took one last look around and proceeded to do the only thing we could do. We put everything away, filling the refrigerator to the gills in the process, locked the doors, closed the windows, slipped out of our Sunday go to meetin’ clothes, went into the bedroom and… Passed out from sheer exhaustion.

Yeah. Sleep. That was it. No roller coaster, log flume, bumper cars, scrambler, or even a quick spin on the merry-go-round… Nothing… But, it was all good… If were weren’t going to have anyone staying to party with us, then what the hell… We’d just catch up on those 287 1/2 hours of sleep we’d managed to miss getting ready for this whole affair.

E K could tie me up and beat me later when we’d both be awake enough to enjo… Er… Uhm… Never mind.

But, honestly, in retrospect we both desperately needed the rest. Besides, if you recall, E K had lost the feeling in her legs and we needed to get her out of those rubber bands…

Of course, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the serendipitous, (depending on your perspective,) benefits of everyone bugging out so early… And, I’m not just talking about the sleep.

We ended up with almost an entire keg of beer to ourselves… Not a quarter barrel, mind you, we had ordered a half-barrel. And it was the good stuff… Well, as good as commercial big-brewery beer can be and this was in the days before Microbreweries became truly popular. Still, before everything was said and done, I was filling gallon jugs 3/4 full and putting them in the chest freezer downstairs so I could use the flat brew to cook with at a later date, while at the same time I was staying tanked the whole day. We washed our hair with it. We gave it to the neighbors. We invited folks in off the street to have a beer. All I knew was that we’d paid for it, so that metal barrel wasn’t going back until it was floating…

I was never so glad to return a keg in all my life… Really.

On top of the beer-en-dipity there was also food-en-dipity… I didn’t have to cook for a week and a half. We just took stuff out of the freezer and ran it through the microwave. Ham sandwiches, apple-rice curry, veal parmigiana… Good thing too, because with all that extra beer I was sucking down, I was just too damn drunk to cook.

And so we had a relatively anti-climactic end to one of the truly climactic points in our lives… We spent our honeymoon here in town, shopping for furniture with the money we’d earned for getting married, (what a racket… I’d be willing to do it once or twice a year if I thought folks would keep forking over the cash), and just generally hanging out.

But, before I can formally end this proverbial stroll along memory lane, we still have one more little pothole to investigate… And, to do that, we have to get back to the subject of food…

More to come…

Murv

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