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The Fisher of Stories



not an actual search

A long time ago, one of the people who inspired me to start blogging did a post about the Google searches that led people to his site. His name is Johnny Virgil, and you should definitely go see his blog. It made “Blog of Note” not too long ago, and it was very well deserved. He also has a book out, and while you’re on the site, you should buy it. Heck, buy two. Either way, go see him by clicking here.

I tweeted at him and asked if I could put my hand in the honey pot of his creativity, and he told me that would cost $100 and that there couldn’t be any eye contact. I then explained that I just wanted to plagiarize him and not do anything sexual, and then we got it all lined out and he basically said I could do it for free.*

So here it goes, folks. Google searches that have led people to my site.

Fat ginger karate: I’m going to just choose to not be offended by this. I mean, this person obviously doesn’t know that by googling these words he’s unlocked a ginger curse that will follow him for 10 years. I don’t make the ginger rules, folks.

Girls sex with fish: This could only be a Japanese man. I can’t think of any other race or gender to google this set of words. I also think I’m pretty ashamed that this search led him to my blog. From here, the only thing that could possibly be worse is if I gave this Japanese man the sexual gratification he was looking for somewhere on my blog.

Hi my name is Travis and I am gay: ERRONEOUS! ERRONEOUS ON ALL COUNTS!

Twat Maine fisherwoman: Sometimes there are words put together in a Google search that have to be an accident. This HAS to be an accident, right? I mean, you go to Google, you get up for a second because your kid just tried to lick a light socket, you get him lined out, and you come back to realize that in your absence a book fell on your keyboard and just happened to hit the right letters to type out “Twat Maine fisherwoman” and you think, “Man, that was close, I’m glad it didn’t hit enter too,” and then you hit backspace, but because you were thinking about the enter key you hit that instead and now you have a really short amount of time to delete your history before your wife walks in, but you can’t delete the pictures from your mind that you saw when you asked Google about the twats of fisherwomen in Maine. This is the only acceptable explanation in my mind.

Cool hair music fish: Google + LSD = this search.

Furnitures for midgets: I am honored that the little people have chosen to land on my site when searching for their furniture. I would like to let them know that I am going to start a small furniture line called “Midgetstuff” that will be available sometime in the spring of 2014. Beds, couches, chairs, tables, and all the accessories for the classy and refined vertically challenged person. To be honest, I’m glad I landed a minority (no pun intended, big guys) demographic here, because truthfully, a lot of searchers come to my blog because they hate the gays.

Arkansas bird deaths god: I know what post got them here, I can only hope they found some comfort in my fake newspaper article, where I plainly state that it wasn’t an act of God that led to the death of all those pretty birdies.

How do boobs look like when aroused: I’ve got to level here with you here, I have no idea. When I get around to arousing a woman, I’ll let you know. Also, since the person who googled that is probably 13, I’d like to tell them to stay off my blog. I got adult situations and foul language on here, kid. Go back to watching Family Guy.

and finally…

How to put the my tik in her ass: I’m assuming that by “my tik” you’re talking about either a.) a hamster, b.) your man parts, or c.) an actual tick. I think no matter which way you’re going with this it’s a bad idea. Typically, unless a woman is in the adult film industry and therefore has no self respect, you’re going to need to just try to stick things in her…ahem…lady parts, and leave the backside alone. Also, I would limit my options to “b” if in fact the woman has agreed to let you put anything there. I haven’t actually interviewed any women about this, but I feel pretty confident that most would shy away from a hamster or tick going anywhere near their downstairs. However, give it another ten years, and I’m sure the fetish you’re after will roll around to being popular. Good luck though.

Hope you enjoyed it, readers. If it goes over well I’ll probably do it again soon. I have over a thousand of these searches, and this was just the tip (heh) of the iceberg.

*This conversation may or may not have taken place like this. Mostly may not.

(Hey guys and gals. It’s Memoir Monday time! This is where you write down a story about yourself, steal my button down there, drink a beer, and call it all a win. The only rule is that it has to be true, other than that, there are no rules. I keep getting more and more people to follow my lead! It’s catching on! Will YOU be one on the bandwagon this week? Once you post, let me know, and I will link you up down there for all my kick ass bloggy followers to go and read! Y’all are the greatest, and I love you. If you want to see all the Memoir Monday posts, just click on the book!)


Well, that title should probably alienate the rest of the readers I have left after getting rid of most of them by telling the entire internet that apparently, I have a small penis.

I’m gonna make that the last time I mention that.

I found out that a 14 year old girl and all of my brothers church friends read my blog, and I probably need to clean it up around here, with the exception of TMI Thursdays.

We all know that won’t happen.

This is about the Memoir though. So let’s get started.

I have done some crazy things in my sleep. Sleepwalking is one of the worst, but I think I’m over that now. The last time it happened, I was about 16, and my dad almost shot me as I walked out the door at 2 A.M. to go to a friends house.

The Missus says I talk a lot in my sleep. I fully believe that this is because I can’t shut up even long enough to get 8 hours of sleep.

However, this is a story about her, and why I’m afraid to go to sleep first when we crawl into bed tonight.

One night, we were enjoying a peaceful nights sleep. Crickets chirping quietly outside, the howling of neighborhood dogs, and my Powerstroke diesel engine-like snoring.

I woke up for some reason. I don’t remember why, but it probably had to do with dogs howling. Which is why I think dogs should be shot. Don’t give me any shit over that, either.

Anyway, I wake up, and my lovely bride is staring right at me.

Right. At. Me.

My first thought is, “Hey, alright. Some midnight action!”

I was soon proven wrong.

She stares at me for about 2 minutes, and finally I ask, “Hey, are you okay?”

Her response?

She reared back and punched the ever lovin SHIT out of the headboard.

I’m not talkin a tap here, folks. This was a punch. Have you seen The Hangover? The scene where Mike Tyson punches Zach Galifinakasisassasissaisiaasis?

Yeah, it was every bit of that hard.

I don’t mind telling you, I pissed myself a little.

As soon as the punch was completed, her eyes closed, and she hit the pillow. It was the weirdest most scary damn thing I’ve ever witnessed in my marriage.

I couldn’t go to sleep for hours. I just kept imagining what it would be like to take that punch. Especially just being asleep, and not knowing it was coming.

When she woke the next morning, her knuckles weren’t sore at all, and to this day, she doesn’t believe a word of this story.

It happened though, and for sure, I don’t go to sleep first anymore. I watch. I’ve also perfected my rolling out of bed technique, and if need be, I’m not afraid to sleep on the couch.

I also learned that if I ever have to fight The Missus, I need to develop a defense for a right hook that has the ability to put a dent in maple. I really think that subconsciously she wants to hurt me, and she wants to hurt me bad.

Can anyone give me karate lessons? I think that might be the only way I’ll survive this thing.


Other Non-Sleep Punched Walks Down Memory Lane: GO READ THEM!

Quixotic’s Memoir Monday: How I Developed My Life-Long Fear Of Kombie Vans.

Jeff’s Musical Memoir Monday: Felmo Is Free.

Gregory’s Memoir Monday.

Kristin’s Memoir Monday: Today Would Make Me 33.

Aunt Juicebox’s Memoir Monday: Ripped Off.

Corrie’s Memoir Monday: Hyperactive From Conception.

LMJ’s Memoir Monday: Camel Toe. (Yes, It Is What You Think It Is About.)

Angel’s Memoir Monday: Why Children Should Wear Cowbells To Bed.

Josh’s Memoir Monday: Holy Mole-y!

Meeko’s Memoir Monday: Sort Of.

Daffy’s Memoir Monday: Hood Style.
Alright guys and gals. You know what time it is. No, it’s not Hammer Time, and it’s not lunch time. Well, it may be lunch time, depending on when you are reading this. Either way, it’s TMI time. This is where I tell a particularly humiliating or embarrassing or just plain gross story about myself, thus alienating myself from close friends, relatives, and my followers. If you want more of this sort of stuff, click on that picture down there of those two old people gettin it on. That will take you to LiLu’s world of TMI, cause she is the originator of this shiz.TMI Thursday

Disclaimer: Once again, I will ask that if you are a family member, or someone who doesn’t really care to know about my sex life, please go away. I asked nicely, and I even put a please in there. That’s all I can do. From here on out, you continuing to read is a direct admission of your own responsibility for what you may discover, and I will in no way be held liable. That’s real.

One last chance, you could even click right here, and this will all be over for you.

When The Missus and I realized that we were going to get married, we started participating in…ahem…fun activities with each other. You know the type. You take off most of your clothes, and you put things in places… That sort of fun. Sexy times, if you will.

One weekend, my family was going camping, and I was going to go with them. They were camping about 10 miles from where we lived at the time, so I had decided to go back to the house and get some stuff for the weekend. I had The Missus with me, and we got back to my moms house, and we were alone.

That sexy half bunk bed that I slept in was right there, and we were alone, so we started some sexy times. (I was around 19 or so, so sexy probably had nothing to do with it) Anyway, I put on a prophylactic, and things got going.

One thing we failed to notice was that on our way home from the camping site, a storm had started coming up. A bad storm. A storm that convinced my mother and brothers to not be in a tent. A storm that convinced them to just return home for a bit since they only lived 10 miles away. Where The Missus and I were. Where we were…ahem…doin tha bidness.

Now I had taken precautions. At the time, there were two locks on our front door. The top was a deadbolt, and everyone had a key to it. The bottom one was on the knob, and no one had a key. This meant that if you locked the bottom knob, no one could really get into the house. So of course, I had locked both locks, to keep people from coming in and disturbing us. This kind of worked.

When I say kind of, I mean that in the middle of the lovin, The Missus says, “Oh my gosh, did you just hear someone knock on the door?” Let me tell ya folks, I performed the quickest dismount in the history of all dismounts. Olympic style, bitches. I didn’t know what to do. I went running around pulling on my shorts, sans underwear, and told her to get dressed. At this point, the knocking on the door had turned into banging, and also banging on my window. I just want to take a moment to thank my little brothers for that.

I finally got dressed, got her dressed, and I went to unlock the door. I was greeted by 2 annoyed brothers and a very pissed off mother. She was so pissed that I thought I needed to talk to her a little bit about what was going on inside with the doors locked while no one was home. I was not truthful by any means. I told her that we were making out, and that we shouldn’t have been there alone, and that the door shouldn’t have been locked.

However, I forgotten one thing in my moment of hastily getting dressed.


That’s right. In the middle of talking to my mother, my sweet, saint of a mother, I felt a slip on the ol cash and prizes. Then another. This was the jimmy hat, just working its way off in the natural course of blood flow rushing away from certain areas of the body. Yup. I had a condom coming off while I was trying to tell my mother that nothing had happened that would require the use of said condom.


I had to do some major position changing, that’s for sure, but somehow I kept it on. Then I did the awkwardest walk back to my house that I have ever done, and went into the bathroom to rid myself of the problem. To this day, I’m pretty sure my mother knows what was going on, but I just don’t think she wanted to admit it. I think it would have broken her poor saintly heart.

This, my friends, is my TMI Thursday.

Today is just going to be a day of me posting a couple of different things to let you know what it’s like in my home town. I know I’ve tried to tell you, and I’ve even posted a sign that’s been up before. This is the newest sign…

Nope. You’re not imagining that. It’s for real. I could go into trying to make fun of this, but I can’t. It just speaks for itself. I asked the lady who owned the restaurant why it was up there like that, and she said, “Because they can put it up there.” Classic. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.
The next thing I have to show you…

That was hanging in a tree down by my mothers house the other day. I just want to meet the kind of classy lady that would do this. “Jim, this bra is no good. I’m tossin it.” Once again, words pretty much fail me.
And finally, this little number was laying on the floor of one of the classes I subbed for today. The paper had a name on it, but I won’t be giving that out. Now I’m going to say this. Please don’t read this too hard. You will give yourself an aneurysm. That’s no good for anyone. Just kind of lightly skim over it, and then if you can handle it, read it again slower, but still pretty quick, and don’t get hung up on anything for too long.
Moviethe mexican Just attacked the Americans. young men Had to behave or something till Sarha ann to put out the son evory night for momma berrys. a boat steam down Mexico, Mexico has started the war. apparenty they was pertexting that house by the end of may somthing happen the war was over quicky the Mexican prove them wrong S troopes Soffered a second the pacific ocean stoped them many would be force to get another Identy and live under a forgin country. May is something happened.
I feel like it’s very important that you know I didn’t make that up. At all. I am honestly scared to run spell check on this. I might shut down Blogger for a while. This was a junior high student. As far as I know, none of them were “special” in any way. So…….. Yeah…… There ya go. Another brief look into my home town, and the wonderful people here.
At least she spelled Americans right. She also capitalized it. That’s a W.
“Pertexting” is now the word of the year. The rest of the year, you have to squeeze that in as many places as you can. (That’s what she said.)