If you’re looking for pics of chicks pissing on the internet, you’re a perv. But if you’re looking for stock photography of chicks pissing on the internet it adds an element of legitimacy that I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around. Is there such a big market for these images that it comes up as the most popular theme-specific stock photo search on Google? Or are web porn trawlers finally upping their standards of micturition pictures?
Do you know how to spell Cincinnati when you type it into the Google search bar? If so you’re probably interested in finding out about the Reds or the Bengals, or you’re looking to read a story in the Cincinnati Enquirer.
Are you trying to look up something about this fine American city, but are unfamiliar with the proper spelling? Then you’re probably gross.
It’s been a while and I been getting that existential itch. Here’s the answer to one of the fundamental queries above — can you guess which? It ranked highest among responses to a Yahoo! Answers post and provides vital clarity:
For amusement and fun!
In that sense, there isn’t really a ‘point’ to it..
It’s mainly for young adults (some elderly people) who want a bit of a laugh…
I guess the shine has been teken off it a little due to the fact that somebody died from doing it…
In lieu of your regularly scheduled programming (which has been preempted lately by life and napping anyway), today I present something Google-related, but less Game than Regurgitation.
Have you been on Google today? Did you notice the space theme? Did you wonder why there’s an astronaut on the page? Maybe I can help, with a couple posts I wrote for LifesLittleMysteries.com:
6 Surprising Facts about the First Manned Space Mission
FAQ: The Maiden Voyage of the Space Shuttle
Click on for a quick lesson on this important day in history, when, in 1961, Yuri Gagarin became the first man in space, and then 20 years later, the Space Shuttle took off on its first mission.
Ordinarily I wouldn’t want to have consecutive Google Games based on such similar searches, but when my brother (currently on a northeast tour with The Shake) told me he’d stumbled upon it I just had to share:
Who knew there were so many aspiring hippie lawyers online?
And wait, perms? Really? Related searches: Different types of shoulder pads.
Intelligent queries? Vital curiosity? I could weep.
I could also really go for some sweet potato fries. Or yam fries. Whatever. I don’t know the difference, either. Just put them in my face.
For the record, some answers I can pull off the top of my head:
Affect = verb
Effect = noun
Universities have graduate programs. (feel free to fact check me on that one)
LCD = liquid crystal display (think flat screens that cost less than plasmas)
LED = light emitting diode (efficient light sources)
Then = sequence
Than = comparison
Psychiatrists have MDs.
Yams and sweet potatoes are delicious.
House = Representatives by district
Senate = Two senators from each state
I could get deeper into the political minutiae, but really, what’s the difference?
Simply put, this week’s game distills down to yet another example of our surprising collective values and concerns.
And may I suggest that if you’re wondering how much it costs to raise a child that you perhaps start with getting a cat? Also, I can’t help but wonder what it costs to declaw a child.
Something for you.
Something for me.
Something for the football team?
Now what to make of this? A related search “How do I get my girlfriend to” turns up some similar, unsurprising and funny results. Among the ten: to let me go down on her, to kiss me, to respect me, to take me back — and my favorite: to break up with me. But for some reason, this permutation returns only three. And of those three, one is “how to ask my girlfriend to homecoming.”
Ah, high school, before we knew what the hell we were missing and age made a mess of things down there. When asking your best girl to the pep rally was the be-all, end-all. But wait. Homecoming? Shouldn’t it at least be, like, prom or something? I grew up in Manhattan; I just don’t get the whole homecoming thing. Our homecoming party was at a club where I got frisked so intently at the door I may have walked out of there technically not a virgin. I don’t remember any sports games, but I can only assume we lost, and I sure as heck don’t remember it being a big deal who you went with. Just who kept grabbing your ass and who you made out with in the bathroom.
Maybe I really missed out on something. Maybe there’s a bit of Grease and the Wonder Years still lingering in high school campuses despite the cynicism that modernity brings. A timeless awkward profundity immune to Silly Bands or BBM. Let homecoming anxiety remind us of a gentler age, when the little things were the biggest things, before we became the hairy, unsatisfied selves we are today. Then rip off that strip and get back to business — we’re not getting any younger.
No! Bad, mommy! Bad!
If you have questions about how to take care of your newborn, or whether the kid’s within the range of normalcy, ask a doctor. Ask your mother, your neighbor, your grocer. Ask anyone with any baby-rearing experience, but for Pete’s sake ask a human.
When you talk to people — like actually, physically talk — your brain automatically makes certain judgments about the quality of information you’re getting from them. Does this person seem reliable? Does she have the background needed to speak authoritatively on the matter? Is her hygiene reflective of the kind of person I ought to take advice from?
When you’re reading online, you have to actively pose these sorts of discretionary queries, and most people don’t think to do so, or simply don’t bother. You have no idea who’s writing most of the crap that populates atop Google’s search results. It’s one thing to use unverifiable information to guide you on how much you should spend on rent or a ring, or whether you should feel good/bad/OK about your relative heft (things that, let’s face it, aren’t entirely in your control anyway). But when it comes to caring for a baby, please don’t listen to Google.
For that matter you shouldn’t be listening to me, either.