Pickled Pecker Plight and Beagle Sniffer Search Engine Bots

 

So. I’m going to dress and head to North Austin Surgical Center for another ass procedure. I just checked my bloggie stats as I do each morning. I like to see who has been reading, where they live and I am fascinated by how they got to my site.

My WordPress blog setup has a feature that shows me the page a visitor was on when they check onto my site. Camel toe inquiries via search engine are number one, followed closely by various publishing queries, and so on.

But this morning one of the search engines referenced my bloggie in what I felt a hurtful manner. Someone from New York City typed in their Google Search screen the words “over active gag reflex- causes and cures”, and was given me as an option.

My initial impression was to see this as a negative. I mean really, do I write so badly as to make people gag? Are my actions terrible enough to induce vomiting?

Maybe. Even probably. OK, of course.

There was this one time I fell into a patch of prickly pear cactus as a kid. I had cactus needles piercing me from my knees to my belly button. When I got home and removed my clothes, it looked like a thousand miniature Indians had shot me with tiny arrows.

If you’ve never been attacked by a prickly pear, the needles are stiff with sharp barbed tips. I don’t know if they actually carry a toxin, but they poison as if they do. When you remove them with needle nose pliers, each extraction leaves a small wound in the shape of a red bump. After I got all of them removed, I was all red and swollen and looked like I had a nasty rash. My penis looked like a red dill pickle.

Between History and Spanish class I showed Woozie Wozniac, now Sheriff Wozniac, and little Suzy Ashburn my perforated pecker. Woozie fainted straight out, and Suzy gagged and puked.

So. After my initial reaction of hurt feelings, I’m choosing to see the bright side. First, I was able to reach someone forcibly with nothing but my words. That’s powerful.

Second, whatever I did caught the attention of a search engine beagle bot. It sniffed me out and pointed this unsuspecting visitor to my site. And like my Gram always says, she’ll say, “Who gives a shit, Mooner. Long as they find ya, yer done found.”

Drink Carta Blanca beer because I can’t.

Manana, y’all.

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