Rate My Testicles

Being not only a shameless google whore, but a shameless audience-satisfying tart open to whatever depraved request might come my way, I just thought I'd add this post. Ratings?

Worst. Trivia. Blog. Ever.

Popular demand requires me to post a blog entry. Having 181 unique visitors since google analytics started recording them some time in December, the reader may assume that when I say popular demand .... well, that means something damn-it, by bush-league blogging standards. Sadly, I am fully aware that a large portion of these visitors came in search of cock or ass rating and left swiftly in annoyance (you know who you are). Approximately 1/3 of all unique visitors, in point of fact. Actually, an important part of my morning ritual involves having a look at the map overlay section of google analytics to see if any new countries have been highlighted (I have visitors from 23 countries at present)¹.

No. Actually, I am still sufficiently grounded in my own insignificance to accept that when two people demand a blog update, this is a size-able proportion of my real readership, and perhaps I should respond. There are 4 things, then, that I should make perfectly clear here. 1 We played trivia last night. 2 We did not suck. 3 We came 5th. 4 I left the trivia sheet at home. So rather than an in-depth breakdown of last nights frivolities, I will instead give a few tips that someone with a time machine and no better ideas on how to use it to make money than visiting Harry's trivia on wednesday night might find useful.

1. An octopus has three hearts.
2. The most famous explorer to work with Matthew Flinders on the Tom Thumb was not his cat. It was Bass. Knowing Flinders alone won't get you 1/2 marks.
3. Occasionally, Shannon Noel really is the answer.... sometimes even when it isn't. 

Here endeth the lesson, grasshopper.

¹"What's this?" I ask myself "a new visitor from Cambodia, who visited a single page and spend approximately 0 minutes 0 seconds there? I wonder what they were looking for ... "

Rate my Ass

I'm perhaps a little bit more self-conscious about my ass, as I feel it is somewhat amusing in appearance. I'd really like to have compared it to other people's ass off the internet, but people seem remarkably coy in showing theirs to me. This has always struck me as particularly unfair given how amenable I've always been to let friends ride my ass whenever they feel like it (provided, of course, that my ass feels up to it). A surprising number of people claim that they don't have an ass at all, which I must admit has always struck me as odd. Anyways, above is a picture of my ass. I'd very much like to know what you think about it.

Rate My Cock

It is a little known fact that I am actually the proud owner of a rather large cock. After having such a lot of fun with it in the comfort of my own home, and boasting about it to friends and strangers at every opportunity, I thought maybe it was time to share its glory with the web community. I'd be very interested to hear your feedback.

I am a shameless google whore (and how!)

Thanks to a timely suggestion by Dave, I now have a Google Analytics account tirelessly recording the details of every poor schmuck who got trapped on this site after the 31st December. The results, while not actually good in a "ZOMFG! Advertising Dollars!" sense, is perhaps better than I should have expected given my crappy posting record over the time-frame in question. I am, of course, less concerned with the raw number of visits as in the internet search keywords that led people here. I shall now give a brief account of such searches to date, in a shameless rip-off of Martin's idea. Ahem. Excluding people searching for "myblogisanotherblog", the list is as follows:

1. "i am a woman in love" song wikipedia Hmmm....
2. andrew loyal Boy, did you have to trawl through a lot of search results to reach this site.....
3. curried meat pie blogs I wonder how many of these there are.......
4. gaussian eliminators We're famous!!!!!!!
5. geoff ulrich blog So while using google to try and find the blog of some random friend of yours, you found mine instead. Whoever you are, I would greatly appreciate a critique of 1000 words or so as to whose blog is better. Happily, the entry this search leads to is my opus A brief message for Geoff. I sure impressed somebody there.
6. i got into uq bitches Congratulations.
7. my blog hello hello yourself, buddy.
8. only anagram of noiseless This suggests to me a potential niche market. Incidentally, unless Harry lied to us, its "Lionesses"
9. ratemycock After all that google whoring, the only porn-related search that came here instead owes itself to a comment Martin left. I have mixed emotions about this.
10. sexiest mathematician My blog, presumably due to this post, appears third on a google search for this, just above one entitled "Jessica Alba has the sexiest wiggle".

Google analytics, in short, induces just that little bit of turgidity for me. Now, back to work.

On Why the Dentist is not Dead

My much-publicised¹ vendetta against the dentist on the other side of the wall came, as some of you are aware, to an uneasy truce recently. This truce owed itself to the fact that the music seemed to have died down some time ago, which naturally made me very nervous that the tooth butcher in question was reading my blog. I was living daily in fear of his tracking down where I lived and giving me an involuntary root canal. It was a very trying time for me.

I have now realised the real reason for this decrease in volume. 

I have been leaving the loovers near the roof closed.

¹ If you count this blog as heavy publicity, I guess....

Happy New Year, Mother Fuckers.

As we all settle down to this new year and reminisce over those portions of our christmas/ new years period we might actually want Joe Public to read about ......... O.K., so as I settle down to do so, I thought I might just take a quiet moment to reflect on the strangeness of mother fucker as a term of abuse. Why, dear reader, should shagging a mother be considered so bad, I asks you? Almost everyone's father is a mother fucker, for christ's sake. A great many of us will end up being mother fuckers some day in such a circumstance as not being considered a mother fucker would be thought of as somewhat insulting. What's the deal?

Not happy, slang makers!

Well, Anyways, moving along........... I'd just like to voice my bitter resentment at the world at large that, despite my ridiculously non-subtle hint-dropping about wanting a certain novel by one Ulrich Haarbuste for christmas¹, a copy of this book failed to appear gift-wrapped in my hands at any point at all. Of the things that did appear in my greedy little hand in such a manner, however, there is one that deserves mention. Allow me to do so.

The present in question was given to me by an uncle who, presumably owing to the fact that he purchases gifts for possibly every human being he has ever met², is continually out-doing himself for the pure shite-ness of his gifts to the point that you actually find yourself in far more excited anticipation over his presents than over anybody else's³. When my sweaty, shaking hands ripped open my package this year⁴, I beheld the following. Imagine a clear plastic window sitting atop black cardboard packaging on which is written, in the same font as those top-secret stamps you see on folders in B-movies, the words Men at Work. What, I ask you dear reader, might you suppose to be inside such a package? A CD of music from the 1980's perhaps? A copy of Brokeback Mountain? Bzzzt. Sorry, but if you guessed one of the above, you have guessed incorrectly. The answer you should have given is a list of the three most important items any working man should have in his possesion, which (as I should scarcely need to add) is as follows.

1. A tube of shower gel, strange-smelling.
2. A pair of sweat-bands for your wrists, Men-At-Work emblazoned.
3. A pack of cards, witty-backing.

For the inclusion of a deck of cards alone ........ hmm, no ...... for the deck of cards exclusively, this would be arguably the best present I have ever recieved from the man. What makes it unquestionably the greatest gift ever is the picture on the back of said cards. Here we see a man wearing the kind of expression which might say "did I leave the oven on?". With one hand he is loosening his tie. With the other, he holds a cloth on his fore-head in a manner which gives absolutely no impression of movement at all. Below this picture we find the following caption: Feverishly mopping his brow, he glanced down to see that everything he owned was on the table. He could handle losing the wife .... but the car? Assuming you've now managed to get that side-splitting laughter under control, dear reader, it is now my melancholy duty to inform you that, no, I have absolutely no idea where the fuck you would go about buying this product. Possibly in the same dusty little shop you'd purchase mogwais or something. I just don't know. Wherever it is, however, it seems likely to be the same shop my uncle shops in every year. There are probably sundry other things I could be saying about the time-frame in question but this will, I think, do as a "no, I'm not dead" post. I should probably also just mention for anyone unaware of this that I ended up getting the scholarship and, while I haven't booked the ticket yet, I'll be leaving for New Zealand fairly soon. The point being that, while I think I have a solid repetoire of sheep jokes under my belt in preparation, I could always use more. If you know a good one, let me know.

¹What part of "please, please, please, please please get me the Roy Orbison wrapped in cling-film novel" is so fucking hard for you bastards to understand?

²Not actually that much of an exaggeration.....

³ Who will win the crappest present of the year this time around? Sometimes the anticipation is a little much for me......

⁴Yes this sentence is intended as google-whoring.