The time has come to once again list my favorite search terms people have used to find my blog (read the first and second editions for context, if you’d like). Here they are, in all their screwed-up glory:
Rebecca Black Friday Flakes: I’m assuming this person was hoping to find Rebecca Black-inspired cereal and not dandruff. If cereal’s the case (please let it be the case), they’re in luck because I just invented some.
On this note, if you’d like to test your endurance for Friday Flakes, click here and see if you can make it to the 10 minute mark like a winner (yes, that is a challenge). I only made it 10 seconds.
Chicken Penis: Before you get all judgmental, ask yourself, do you know what a chicken penis looks like? I don’t. Most people don’t, because the rooster penis is internal, which I definitely did not learn by Googling “chicken penis” a moment ago.
It’s Christmas time, so it only makes sense that I should write about last Halloween. Here’s a step-by-step guide of how to turn yourself into that herpes-infested pumpkin lady we all love to loathe so much.
Thrift stores aren’t known for having the trendiest, cleanest, or most hair-free clothes, but occasionally you can find some cool stuff in them. You can also find really ugly stuff, as evidenced by the following photos:
This negligee appears to be from Bill Cosby’s new lingerie collection, Space Pudding. It debuted at Fashion Week in the “No More Faking Headaches” tent.
I gulped so intensely I knew she could hear it. Stupid Adam’s apple.
“Hhhheh,” I croaked. That was loser for “hi”.
“Hi, Cavan,” she said. “I—”
“Shelby! What happened to your nose?” Emilio asked.
“Cavan punched her,” Andy said, French fries dropping out of his mouth.
I wrote this, most likely on some kind of sugar high the day before it was due, for part of a writing “packet” I had to turn in as my final when I took a creative writing class. It’s loaded with marching band references most people won’t understand, and if some people with marching band experience read this, they might not find it terribly accurate.
The bus pulled into the Canon ISD Stadium at 8:00 am for the Canon Marching Band Festival, but Mr. Avery wasn’t letting us get off yet. Most kids were asleep. Megan and Adair were sitting behind Chase and me. They were both listening to Megan’s pink iPod and they kept kicking the back of our seat to the beat. I knew they were listening to “Party in the USA” because I could hear it. I wished they would quit it; my back was staring to hurt.
“Miley Cyrus sucks,” I said.
“Yeah,” agreed Chase, “but she’s kinda hot.”
I frowned. To me, Miley Cyrus looked like she was ten. “Gross.”
“Charlie, did you just say Miley Cyrus was gross?” Megan gasped, poked her little black-haired head up over our seat and yanked the headphones out of her ears.
“What about Miley?” Adair shouted over the music only she could hear.
“Miley Cyrus is a famous singer and actress. She even has her own clothing line. I’m pretty sure that makes her cooler than you two losers.” Megan stuck out her tongue at us through her purplish lips.
“Not for long!” Chase got excited. “Not when our band gets discovered!”
It wasn’t much of a band. It was Chase, our Mexican pal, Ricky Martinez (Ricky Martin when we felt like being mean), and some guy named Jed he met at the bowling alley who was like thirty years old. One day Chase told me I was the manager and since then I’d been going to his house every Sunday night for band practice. So during every practice, I ate my weight in Cheetos while sitting on Chase’s couch and watching the band, or “Attack of the Weasels,” play Guitar Hero, the real instruments lying in the background untouched. I’d stopped going recently, though, because Jed was starting to creep me out. I thought he’d been going to Chase’s house to hit on his mom, but it was starting to seem like he was more interested in Chase.