Freaky shit

When checking my stat counter, I want to see how many people are clicking onto my site on a daily basis, where they come from and how long they linger.

The answers are normally: 8, from nowhere in particular, and not long enough.

But, the most interesting part is checking out the search queries that lead them to my site. And from what I can tell, these people are looking for some freaky shit.

Although there are PG-rated searches like What is human nature? What happened to Kenny Rogers? Is Brian Gluckstein married? What happens in the pottery scene of Ghost? some of them have been dipping their toes in bad taste; others dive right in.

There have been people looking for men loving trannies (uh, ok), round cashmere nipples (huh?), moobs hurting when they bounce, mother masturbating in nature (ew), sucking on my meat backstage (was it a hot dog?), and a bunch of other kinky stuff I wouldn’t describe to a horny hooker willing to do anything for a ten spot.

The sad thing is I haven’t written anything freaky. Well, nothing I consider freaky. That is, unless you count the rantings and ravings of a sardonic and salty, bitter and embattled, crusty Canadian.

But, that lies under the subject of freakish, not freaky.

Note: Congrats on your new job, J.