Oh dear. I meant to do this back for my four-hundredth post, but apparently I just couldn’t be bothered in mid-January. Well, I’d like to now thank you for choosing oftentimes to look at what I click out here, some of you in the United States, and all the way out in Germany and the UK sometimes, and even sometimes from an unknown country. Yes, that hit is always so curious. Feedburner is the one who can’t identify the country, by the way. It is too mysterious! Legion of Doom, perhaps? Or Fortress of Solitude?
Yes, I stalk you! I stalk you through my stats. Because I’m so lonely. So very, very lonely. It’s hard out here for a pimp. Pimping ain’t easy! Okay? It ain’t. The Prophet Don Knotts has shown us this.
So yeah, let’s open up the search hits and the spam comments and see what we’ve got, shall we?
We’re going to go for the best first!
Dear Occipital Hazard,
I would like to see, please:
somwon eting poop from thar but
Thank you in advance.
Well, Coprophagous, you’ve come to exactly the wrong place. Get lost!
I have no other forum to share this very important piece of information. Did you know that male doctors secretly enjoy pelvic exams?
Spread the word,
Whoa, really? Do gay male urologists also so enjoy their work? I don’t know how to feel about this. On the one hand, I think they might do a better job. On the other, that’s nasty. I kind of wish you hadn’t told me, and I’m really surprised you came to me with this burden, but I will do my duty and distribute it.
This reminds me of a story. One of my mother’s friends once went to a gynecologist appointment for a pelvic exam. He looked under the hood, and then left the room for her to put her clothes back on. He came back, and at the conclusion of the appointment asked her on a date. Now, if that isn’t disturbing, I don’t know what is.
Wait: it has occurred to me that perhaps you’re telling me that male doctors enjoy having their own pelvises examined. I see nothing wrong with this kink, so long as they are doing this to each other, consentingly. Well, then it wouldn’t be a secret. Unless they have some Eyes Wide Shut secret circle jerk order of pelvis exams. Where would they have enough tables for that? Only in a morgue or a medical school, really. I’m thinking this through too much. Next!
What do I do if I’m solid?
Dear Help Me,
I’m afraid I don’t understand the situation. I would think that solid is the way to be. More problems would arise in my daily life were I liquid or gas. Unless you’re a ghost. Are you a ghost? After doing a little searching on the internet, I can’t find any ghost-friendly sites. They all seem to be aimed at ridding everyone of ghosts. I can’t find a single one by ghosts, for ghosts, about ghosts. So I’m sorry if you weren’t solid, are now and this is indeed your situation–you are a Spectral American. Well, I don’t know what nation you hail from. What I’m getting at is I don’t know how to help you. No Egon, I.
If this is a euphemism for being constipated, mashed sweet potatoes with the skins left in and lots of water set me free. If I need chemical help, I don’t fuck with laxatives. They make me more out of balance. There’s another thing old people like Obi Wan Kenobi have discovered called a stool softener. (When Luke was all out of sorts on the Millennium Falcon, Obi Wan totally shared his stool softeners with him. It’s in the director’s cut.) It doesn’t work as fast, but it will help you get a difficult poo out of you. Straining too much on the toilet’s just going to give you hemorrhoids. Don’t be a hero. Take something.
Hey Seer, I know you like to cook. Got any recipes for asshole risotto?
Thanks in advance!
Someone Who Likes To Cook And Eat Assholes
Dear Occipital Hazard,
I’m looking for some clear edible shit. Any ideas?
Hmm. Well, bean threads are clear if you boil them. That’s all I can think of off the top of my head. Jello is clear, but it has a tint. Does that count? Sorry I’m not of more help on that tip. Maybe someone will think of something and comment, but don’t hold your breath.
I hear you got a fantastic fucking ass.
Well! I’m positively blushing for the second time today! Really, it’s just okay. I used to have a really great ass, back when I was at community college. It was all round and out there, like POW! You could do shots off my ass. Boys used to turn to stare at my butt as I walked by. That was after I lost the weight, when I went from 205 lbs. to about 140. That’s when I had my greatest ass ever. Then my ass fell off and I went down to about 125. Since then, I haven’t recaptured my ass of yore. You know who has a really great ass? Ginger. Badonkadonk, my friends. That girl is built for speed.
Dear Occipital Hazard,
Do you know how to escape from burning building?
I’d really like help in this area promptly.
Jeez, I get this a lot, at least twice a week. I sincerely hope you all aren’t searching Google whilst crouched in the corner of a closet of a building that’s engulfed in flames, because that’s what I envision. Wet towels over your mouth and nose, smoke everywhere. Really, it depends on the building. I don’t know where the exits are where you’re at. And the post I have that’s sparking all these hits is a goddamned Sesame Street video. Christ, that’d be no help at all. You wasted two whole minutes here, and maybe even more now that I’ve boosted it in the rankings with this post! Shit.
So, so sorry. I’ll tell your wife you were brave.
Got 100 whore?
No time to explain! Thanks!
Is that like 100 Grand? The candy bar, or the amount of money? Why am I asking, when I don’t have either? That’s kind of shitty. Just asking makes you think I have one or the other, and then I’m all, “No,” no matter what, and you can’t have either, and that makes me a bit of an asshole. Sorry. Although I’m very curious to know what “100 whore” is. Is it an amount of whores? A veritable harem of whores? Or is it a kind of whore? Like when you would say “not ‘It’ to infinity” when you were little, can you be “a whore to [the power of] one hundred”?
“Why don’t you just make ten whorier, and make ten the highest?”
“But this whore goes to eleven.”
My whore fits me like a flesh tuxedo,
I’m looking for a green apple anus. Any idea where I should look?
Congratulations for weirding me out. I am not frightened, but that is certainly a bracing, astringent sort of crazy there. I searched it, and I am indeed the fifth result right now for this on Google. I think if everyone who reads this blog searches this and clicks my blog, I could be number one for “green apple anus.” (Interesting, I am not on the first page of Yahoo, and I have learned, strangely, that Yahoo for some reason favors my blog. I have also learned that people still used Alta Vista as of last year, if you were wondering. Ask.com and Dogpile, too.)
What? What…is this? Really, this invites so many questions and no answers. Did you have an apple that looked like it had a little butthole, and you wanted to see a gallery of other apples with orifices, but not mouths or eyes or ears, only assholes? I could see myself doing that, actually. (I remember vividly the pork loin that looked like a huge circumcised cock. That upset Moms, both what I said, and my rolling around on the kitchen floor in a fit of laughter. It’s a good thing I wasn’t high or I’d have pissed myself. She was so mad. Poor suffering Moms.) Did you want to see pictures of someone who stuck an apple–nay, a green apple, because the red ones are bullshit–up his or her anus? Yes, there is a colloquialism close to this called the “green apple splatters,” but then when you got your search results, why oh why did you come to my blog to read about risotto? Are you more multifaceted than I give you credit?
You mystify me. You remain elusive, like a leprechaun’s anus.
Well, dear readers, that’s as much as I feel is really worth printing. Until next time, let’s close up this strange thing.
May all your whores go to 101!