Amusing searches, Vol. 5

Here are more of the most amusing searches that brought people here recently, this time with the very simple theme of Vaginas.

I think it would thus be appropriate to dedicate this, lucky number 5 in this series, to BHJ.

(All search strings are reprinted exactly as they were entered.)

• orangutan vagina - Finally, one of my horde of orangutan-based searchers (living in one of my favorite places to say: Puyallup, Washington) comes out of the closet, in the middle of the night, probably after a few beers. If they hoped, in this Google Image search, to find a clinical image of a primate's vagina, or something a bit more... wild, I can only try not to imagine.

• what does an orangutans vagina look like - What do you think it looks like, Mr. Scarborough, Ontario? And why do you need to know? This is getting to be an epidemic! I've decided all people who live in or near the Canadian border are disgusting perverts. You may think this is rash, but I think the facts speak for themselves.

• chimpanzee vagina (Mountain View, CA and Mogi-guaçu, Brazil) - Look, I don't know who you've been talking to, but I obviously only deal in orangutans. What kind of low-grade vagina dealer do you take me for??

(And Mr. Brazil, you can be sure there isn't a stylist in the world who'd charge less than a month's salary to do a "Brazilian" for your new ladyfriend. Just imagine those wax strips! Shudder.)

• someone else's urine touched my vagina, (Potomac, MD) - Is this you again?? Did you move from Regina (hey, that rhymes with your search!) to Maryland? Hmmmm... probably unlikely.

Ladies,* is it really so hard to just flush first? Especially if you're so paranoid that you'll run directly from the splash-producing toilet to the always-open arms of The Internet to find out how many days you have to live, via a search string taking the form of the opening line to a country song I never want to hear?

• is it cleaner to lick a vagina or a toilet seat? (The United Kingdom) - I'm sure the ladies in the audience are deeply offended. The things those proper British gentlemen will ask The Google compared to what they discuss over high tea! But more practically, if the answer WAS a toilet seat, does that mean he'd be honor-bound to go around pleasing toilets all over town? Sorry, "loos" all over town?

• ocd about getting pregnant by a toliet seat - Oh, great, thanks... now I have something new to fear.

• what is origin of golden showers - I believe the answer is, technically, the urethra.

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* I hope I'm not going too far out on a limb here with this gender assumption.

Reports of my death are only mildly exaggerated

Editor's Note: Please humor me by imagining this post being grunted over my shoulder as I slaughter mice by the thousands, sword and shield in hand.

Editor's Note: And a gun... a really big, cool gun.

Now that I've gotten my Internet service up and running, I felt honor-bound to offer you all some kind of post as a reward for waiting patiently this whole week. By the computer, quietly whimpering all along, no doubt.

As a bonus for me, your standards are probably set really low by now, much like a food critic on the brink of starvation. I've always excelled at soaring over low standards as easily as I take the high-standard bar right in the teeth.

But speaking of teeth, as I listen to our new house settle and make all those noises houses do, I recline with bated breath, like the world's laziest hunter, waiting to see if we can all (theoretically) feast on roast mouseflesh tomorrow at breakfast. Otherwise, it's back to good old ladybugs and houseflies. By the handful.

The story of my short time in this (wonderful, amazing, joyous, I swear) house has been undeniably written in blood, though thankfully not much of it has been human.

If I were to make a size-relative hash mark for every life I've taken in the past six days, I could have re-created Seurat's A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte twice, or, more likely, covered several walls with thousands of tiny scratches forming no discernible pattern. Either way, I'm pretty sure I'd be in trouble once my wife saw it.

But what my wife would like less would be the sight of me getting ready for breakfast by dabbing at blood stains on the old carpet someone saw fit to put in the kitchen while yelling at our 2-year-old that I meant it when I said to stay upstairs for just one more lousy minute.*

For you see, since my wife already had quite a long commute from our old apartment, and our "new" 120-year-old house is 2 hours farther away, she'll continue staying at my parents' house most of the time during the week, probably through the rest of the school year.

Our 5-year-old son D- is there with her as he continues at his old kindergarten until Christmas break, and thankfully after getting to play in his new bedroom for awhile on move-in day, he's eager for the school transition instead of dreading it.

And he's making the most of the opportunity to start over fresh, it seems, by not only torching every bridge a 5-year-old could possibly have built, but first desecrating them and then laughing while they burn.

So you can see why I've been even scarcer than recent months around here. I do appreciate the Amazon click-throughs some of you seem to have made after my previous post, and also the comments on my handful of recent status updates on Facebook. It's nice to not be totally abandoned even when I've abandoned everyone else for the time being!

I'll try to cobble together some list posts and other fragments that don't require as much consecutive minutes of focus, to get back in the swing of posting on here.

In the meantime, keep an eye on my Facebook status to make sure I haven't joined the fried mouse corpses in a fuse box somewhere in our dank old basement. ...Which I love, somewhere deep down. Deeper than the source of water that bubbles up through the floor now and then.

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* In case you somehow missed her repeated announcements to the world at large, she will SAVE the mice. All the mice!**

** That was before I explained to her in greater detail this evening about the bathroom habits, or lack thereof, of housebound rodents. Now she "hates all the mice", and presumably thirsts for their life force.