A brief interlude into the real world...

Since I made reference to it over on Weeding out the Idiots, I thought I would present you - my loyal readers - with some choice selections of the many things people have googled to find my blog. Some nice, normal people appear to have stumbled on it accidently while searching for Giant Jenga. I did a post on the subject some time ago, so that at least makes some sense. Here are some of the more unfortunate searches:

A tick-box.
Not really like a list at all...
Image via Wikipedia




• hating seagulls is like being racist or homophobic (A good start, wrote a post about that, makes sense.)
• water pipe in blogspot (Well, not too bad)
• hungry hungry hobos (Again, not awful. Did use that as a title for a post)

Then things get worse:

• 4D porn (Well, again, I did use that in a blog)
• 4D dog porn (Ah... Oh dear)
• Dog waterpipe porn (Hmm...)
• any combination of the words "dog" and "porn" with other words that you care to imagine.
• Lord of the Rings porn

Here are some phrases no-one used. They will now attract twisted, sick individuals:

•  Hobbit waterpipe gangbang
• Naked jam-covered dog
• Fecesbook
• midget hire
• mime buggering badgers
• Ben Tyson

This concludes my list-based post. As you can tell, it has been a rousing success. Even now, I can hear the townsfolk shouting up at by gilded bedroom, demanding more.
 "Give us statistics!" They yell.
 "Let them eat pie-charts" I reply from within my corset.

Why not suggest your own 'searches you'd like to see'? I'll republish them here, and I promise I won't tell your mum what they say.
 Some entries:

• hobbit humping dog pipe! (Homemaker Man)
• Dog getting piped in the water! (Homemaker Man)
• Lord of the Things (Homemaker Man)
• Araporn and the dog banging hobbits (Homemaker Man)
• Paul Blanchard wanker (Ben Tyson)
• dog on acid sex (Ben Tyson)
• I love the KKK (Ben Tyson)
• Hulk dog sex (Ben Tyson)
  

A request.

Peru. Image via WikipediaI've recently had a request from my friend (and one of my untalented writing partners from Weeding out the Idiots) Ben Tyson, asking for the return of Mr. Potato. Mr. Potato, as you will all remember, was a living potato with an irrational hatred of the Peruvian people. Ben, being a racist himself, obviously found the character appealing. As such, Mr. Potato will be returning soon. However, I thought I'd take this opportunity to ask if anyone had any requests for stories?

 Perhaps it's your life dream to see Max get into a tricky situation over a £5 note, or to see me become a cyborg, half-human and half-blender. Further, want to write a guest post? Let me know. Hate me? Drop me some hate mail, the more abusive and anti-semitic, the better.

The competition is over!

So, with great relief, I can stop reading the many hundreds of angry, sexual entries sent to me for this year's first and only Dog in the Water Pipe annual writing competition. With so many splendid entries, I find myself forced to award separate prizes in the fields of fiction and poetry.

1st place in the DogintheWaterPipe's Paul Blanchard isn't quite dead yet memorial poetry writing competition goes to : Lauren Salkin!

Max. Max. Max.
What are going to do about Max?
He's a flack and a hack and looks for trouble at the oops I lost it, drop of a hat.
So, WTF are you going to do about that?
Max. Max. Max.
He thinks he's cool, but he's just a tool.
He likes to spy, likes to hide and suddenly he's in your face like a scary ride.
Max, go home. Be alone.
From now on we just do business over the phone.
 
Thanks to Lauren for that poetic entry, reminding us all that the best thing to do is really to just avoid Max. Lauren, I'm working on drawing some sort of crude prize as we speak, so that should be with you soon! Everyone else, if you haven't already, should visit Lauren over at Think Spin!
 
1st place in the DogintheWaterpipe's annual fiction award open to anyone and it would be racist to suggest Ben won it just because he's from a several racial minorities  goes to: Ben Tyson! Ben wowed us with a sporting outing featuring a visit from our favourite fool:
 
Having foolishly agreed to look after Max while Paul was experimenting with Microsoft Paint, I decided to treat him by taking him to Wimbledon. Whilst there, Max was struck on the head by a flying bowl of strawberries and cream (don’t ask. It was a typically ridiculous occurrence, however, I can assure you). When he regained consciousness several minutes later he came to the conclusion that he was at wimbledon so, therefore, must be a tennis racquet. He then insisted that two very scared and confused twelve year-olds use him instead of their traditional metal and string jobs. Unfortunately, their nearby parents saw only a strange man asking their children if he could hit their balls. This, as you can perhaps imagine, did not go down well. I imagine the situation could have been rescued were it not for Max’s decision to wear assless chaps to ‘upset the traditional order of Wimbledon’. As it was I could only look on as the fathers grabbed him by his dog collar (again, I have no idea why he was wearing one) and proceeded to beat him up till they got bored and went home. Nearing dusk Max finally awoke from his second trip into unconsciousness. Before we left I popped to the toilet. Upon my return I could see a large hairy thing on the grass some way in the distance, but no sign of Max. Becoming worried that I would have to explain to poor Paul that his fictional creation had been eaten by a bear in South London, I decided to look closer at the hairy thing. It was Max. Picking up rubbish. In a womble suit. Growing tired of his antics I forced him into the car and went home. I felt womble was significantly better than tennis racquet so I didn’t bother taking him to hospital, but dropped him off at Paul’s house glad to be rid of the strange man. I never did get to see any of the tennis…

Ben's work can be viewed here. Ben, since I'm lazy and live with you, you're not getting a prize.

So thanks to everyone for entering, and please continue to do so. Even though the competition is closed, if you send anything in, I'll strip Ben of his prize and award it to you.

Just a reminder.... PRIZES! SURELY YOU WANT FUCKING PRIZES!

My exciting, superb, half-arsed competition closes tomorrow. Or was it today? Well, I'll give you until tomorrow anyway. So come on, write a story featuring Max - perhaps in surroundings unique to your blog, perhaps in a windmill, I don't care. If you enter, you're almost guaranteed to win, because I want Ben to be thoroughly beaten! So come on, win some glory, upset a 20 year-old!

A special treat.

Yes, dear reader. As a special treat, here's a photograph of my friend Ben being savaged by a Tiger. This really happened, and it looked exactly as shown above...

I don't like Christmas...

The entire event was overshadowed last year when my (fictitiously-fourth [hi Ben]) wife's nipples spontaneously combusted at the dinner table. In the commotion, the turkey got burned. So did the house. And my tortoise.

Really, I tried to stop celebrating Christmas, but people bought me presents and I felt bad about not getting any back. Also, I like the chocolate. Crass, commercialized chocolate...

An excuse for the next time i forget to blog

A cold wind blew in, rushing around my body and freezing my exterior body-parts. I looked around again, at the dead trees that offered little shelter against the onset of a malicious and bitter wind. Siberia: Cold, barren and cliched.
"We should keep moving," Ben muttered nearby
"Aye," I replied, "Probably..."
So we starting moving again. In the distance, a wolf howled sadly.

"Did i tell you i had a dream you were eaten by wolves?"
"Yes." Said I, "often in fact. It doesn't improve the situation."

We had been on the run for days now, always one step ahead of the ferocious creatures that chased us, for now. I didn't know how we'd gotten into this situation, but it seemed a good excuse for not blogging. Ben blamed Lizzie and Karen, but he always did, so that didn't help.

I watched the last embers of the fire go down, a few last sparks shooting into the sky as the former Leviathan died. I knew what was behind me before i heard the tell-tale twig snapping, and i turned to look into the ferocious maw the great beast that had been tracking us. Ben was moving over, reaching slowly for a rock. Unfortunately, the beast leaped, its claws cutting a deep gash into his chest. It turned, ready to finish me off, but stepped into the ash of the fire, dislodging burned out logs and sending fresh sparks into its face. Scared, the creature turned tail and fled. But it was too late for Ben.

He lay there, cradled in my arms. With a haggard sigh, he uttered his last words:
"Macs are good", then died.
I buried him nearby, and went home. It was too cold in Siberia anyway.