Google thinks my mom shits on cats
Sometimes during lulls at my newspaper job, for funsies I read aloud to my fellow editors an assortment of the vexing search terms that leads surfers to stumble upon my blog.
Friendly advice: Under no circumstances should you ever mention the words “mother,” “father,” “daughter,” “fuck,” “shit” and “cats” on your blog. If you absolutely must, use synonyms. Such as “parent.” And “felines.” And “tittup.” Which technically means “to move in a lively manner,” but after seeing it as Merriam-Webster‘s Word of the Day, I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands and redefine it. A word like that shouldn’t go to waste.
Also, definitely do not write a post about how most of the people who find your blog do so with disconcerting combinations of the words “mother,” “father,” “daughter,” “fuck,” “shit” and “cats.” No good can come of it. And yes, of course I realize that’s what I’m doing right now – as a public service to readers. You’re welcome.
Everything I do, I do it for you. Exactly like the Bryan Adams song. Except the majority of things I do, I do for my cats, Teva and Isabel. Instead, let’s say most things I do, I do for you. Like, 90-10 in favor of my cats, though. When I’m not doing stuff for my cats, I occasionally think about doing things for you and then get distracted and do more stuff for my cats, basically. Which I’m pretty sure is what Bryan Adams meant.
Bob, who is the curmudgeon of the news copy desk and a published author of erotic stories which is not at all relevant to this post but I can’t be trusted to keep that kind of information secret, seems to take the most enjoyment from my sharing and telling. One Friday night a few months ago, he took to the interweb in a bid to generate his own squirm-inducing searches that trace back to AWC. It didn’t take long before he struck Google gold.
“MOTHER SHIT ON MY CAT!” he proudly howled.
I turned to Twitter to share my shame:
In retrospect, if you don’t want people to find your blog by searching for “mother shit on my cat,” you should probably not tweet about it. Or repeatedly put quotes around it in a post lamenting that you live in a twisted world where people can find your blog searching for “mother shit on my cat.”
Hits started trickling in. I begged Twitter to stop:
Fast forward to yesterday. While I was doing my usual nightly Google searches – my name, my cats’ names, my exes’ names, my geriatric lovers Julie Andrew‘s and Elton John‘s names – I randomly decided to dust off Bob’s infamous query and take it out for a search engine spin.
Umm. Out of 223,000 results, I’m No. 1, you guys.
Suck it, Shit On My Hands! Or maybe don’t suck it, because there’s apparently shit on your hands and that can’t be sanitary. But think about sucking it. Hard.
As elated as I am with this obviously well-earned and highly sought-after achievement, I’m still not entirely sure why Google thinks my mother shits on my cats.
So I just want to come to her defense and set the record straight: My mother hasn’t shit on my cats. Yet.
P.S. I’m probably going to rue the day that I dropped the word “erotic” into a post that also has “mother,” “father,” “daughter,” “fuck,” “shit” and “cats.” Call it a hunch.