The Dissemination of Thought

Just because it's in print doesn't mean it's intelligent…

Archive for the ‘WTF?’ Category

Five things I’ve learnt about Twitter: Observations of a fully-functional Twit

with 7 comments

I’ll admit it. I’m addicted to Twitter.

Since begrudgingly signing up six months ago with the intention of only using it for intelligent, professional purposes, my tweets have descended into random thoughts and occasional nonsensical ramblings.  Damn it. I’ve become one of them.

At any rate, let me share with you five things I’ve learnt about the 140-character marvel of social networking.

Source: socialmediatoday.com

1. A hashtag can never be too long  

Let’s face it. Hashtags are cool. They are the 21st century equivalent of a one-liner and there’s no message or thought they can’t convey effectively. However, unlike the one-liner, which is renowned for being easy to comprehend, the hashtag has developed into a beast of unfathomable proportions. Apparently, it’s okay to use a 122-character hashtag that takes people 17 minutes to decipher.

Got a question about accommodation at a New York hotel? Use a #howmuchisyourdeluxesuitefortwonightsincludingbreakfast hashtag.

Planning a big night out and want your followers to know about it? Whip out #iamgoingtogethammeredtonightanditsgoingtobefreakinepic and set the tone for 13 hours of drunken tweeting from the depths of clubbing hell.

Would it be inappropriate to create a #fivethingsivelearntabouttwitterthatidliketosharewithyoutoday hashtag when I post the link to this article on Twitter?

2. Sometimes 140 characters just isn’t enough

Okay, I’m going to say this slowly. The whole purpose of Twitter is to send short, succinct messages no longer than 140 characters in length.

If you need to include any reference that your tweet is the first in a series that make up a full message you are doing it wrong.

140 characters maximum. Got it? Source: Twitter via @LyndonKeane.

3. Twitter can make you feel like one of the popular people 

One of the big attractions of Twitter is that you can follow celebrities, sporting stars and people a hell of a lot more interesting than you are.

Unfortunately, one of the downsides of Twitter is that you can follow celebrities, sporting stars and people a hell of a lot more interesting that you are, and users go nuts replying to these people in the hope that Johnny Depp will respond to their message or Lady Gaga will give them a retweet to her 25 million followers.

I know it happens because I’ve been guilty of doing it myself. Ricky Gervais didn’t retweet something I found witty and Seth MacFarlane broke my heart when he didn’t find my concept for a new animated series amusing.

I thought this was amusing. Seth MacFarlane didn’t. That bastard better not steal my idea. Source: Twitter via @LyndonKeane.

4. People will tweet about anything

People, Twitter isn’t Facebook. Tweets are meant to be – as far as I’m concerned, at least – informative or entertaining. Telling the social networking universe you are late for your bus or eating an apple is neither informative nor entertaining.

Contemplating unleashing a tweet about how blue the sky is today? Please cancel your Twitter account. Right now.

Not happy with your latte? Go and get another one instead of tweeting about it. Source: globalberdy.com

5. Inane sentences to no one in particular are the norm

Twitter had provided a virtual worldwide audience to users. Unfortunately, a disproportionate number of the aforementioned users have decided that means they can tweet boring, obvious sentences to no one in particular.

The referees don’t agree with you. Source: Twitter via @BuzzRothfield.

If these people’s 140-character revelations were amusing it would be a different story, but they aren’t. They’re dull and generic. Actually, they kind of make me wish I’d never started using Twitter in the first place.

To the person who tweeted Did you see that? #wow: Who the hell were to talking to and what was the Twitterverse meant to notice? If you were referring to your nonsensical tweet, I saw it. We all did and are now stupider because of it.

The odds of the person who this is directed at actually reading it are $1081. Source: Twitter via @bazarazzi.

Now that I’ve enlightened you about my Twitducation and bagged the hell out of Twitter, I’m going to whore myself out to the masses and suggest you all follow me at @LyndonKeane. If you prefer the Facebook touch, The Dissemination of Thought Facebook page can be found here.

Cougars, critics and The Ticking Clock: my 10 worst dates of all time

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On principle, I was planning on refraining from a Valentine’s Day-themed post: there are enough people flogging the rose-covered dead horse without me clutching at its mane. Unfortunately, my resolve wilted like a cheap petrol station rose, leaving you with the cynically twisted rant you see before you.

Actually, it was more a case of succumbing to peer pressure than an issue of resolve. Chrystalyn, of The Future of Hope fame, challenged me to come up with a list of the most atrocious dates I’ve ever endured. It was harder than I thought. Some horror stories spring freely to mind, while others have been deeply repressed and will require gentle coaxing from a psychiatrist to pry loose.

I’m under no illusion that I’m by any means easy to tolerate, and I don’t purport to be the prized pig of the dating fair, but I really have dated some unique challenging crazy-as-fuck women in my time.

Author’s note: to my friends who read The Dissemination of Thought, you will notice one glaring omission from Lyndon’s Dating Hall of Fame. This is because the mighty omitted one may truly be a psychopath, not adverse to lighting fires. Big fires. Besides, she’s already well aware she’ll hold the coveted number one spot on the crazy ladder in perpetuity.

Are you comfy? Good. Grab another drink, open the chocolates you bought yourself and help me celebrate Valentine’s Day by counting down my top 10 horror dates.

You're going to need more than one glass to get through this post. Don't say I didn't warn you. Source: thewinectr.com

#10 – The Introducer

I don’t know what to say about this woman, other than to tell you that she invited me to a barbeque the day after our first date, an event at which she introduced me to everyone present – including her parents – as her boyfriend. She couldn’t seem to grasp why I kept correcting her, nor fathom why I lost her number.

#9 – The iPhone Freak

This charmer, circa 2010, truly was a puppet of the Apple juggernaut: she spent our entire date – all 50 minutes of it, give or take – texting and playing on Facebook. I could have slaughtered a goat or begun masturbating at the table and she wouldn’t have noticed.

On the two or three occasions she didn’t have her eyes glued to the phone, she was giving me 101 reasons why my BlackBerry was an inferior product to the apparent cure for cancer she held in her hand.

#8 – The Nympho

This is the woman who, after spending less than two hours face-to-face with me, attempted to mount me on the roof viewing area of a CityFerry. At about 2:30pm. On a weekday. When I advised her that I wasn’t overly interested in giving passing vessels and people on the riverbank a matinee performance, she informed me in a petulant tone that she didn’t need my help “to get off”. At this point, she sat in silence until we arrived at the next ferry terminal.

The CityFerry: The Nympho's preferred method of transport.

I wish this date was a figment of my imagination, but, sadly, it’s not; I couldn’t make this shit up if I had a bag of magic mushrooms and a bottle of absinthe.

#7 – “Is She Prettier Than Me?” Barbie

Our date lasted for about an hour. For sixty painful minutes, she asked me whether I thought every woman she saw was prettier than her. Just as I began consoling myself that it couldn’t get any worse, she locked eyes on a brunette in a particularly short skirt at the bar and unleashed her pièce de résistance: “If I wasn’t here, would you go and hit on her?”

If the doll lost the microphone and notebook, she could be “Is She Prettier Than Me?” Barbie's stunt double. Source: barbie-wallpapers.blogspot.com.au

#6 – The Restaurant Critic

Never, ever go on a first date to a restaurant that the guy or girl you’re taking out saw reviewed in a newspaper: it turns them into a gastronomic expert and critic of epic proportions.

When you're at the point of trying to brain yourself with one of these, your date has pretty well gone to shit. Source: mykikicake.com

During our date at a quaint Brisbane eatery, The Restaurant Critic criticised everything from the chairs to the temperature the water was served at. When she wasn’t castigating the lack of options on the menu, she was spewing forth mumbled comments about the quality of the service staff. Her entrée was sent back because the prawns, in her opinion, weren’t “of suitable quality”. She demanded that the waitress return her main meal to the kitchen, but I honestly can’t tell you why; by that stage, I’d stopped listening and was trying to work out how to beat myself to death with a buttered bread roll.

I’m pretty sure I ate spit that night. Or worse.

After The Restaurant Critic's ranting, I'm not confident that's all chocolate ice cream. Source: sodahead.com

#5 – The Drunk

It’s never a good start to a mid-afternoon date when the woman you are meeting – let’s call her Stephanie – is already blind drunk when you arrive at the pub. Quickly adjudging the date as a write-off and any future encounters as pipe dreams, I adopted an “if you can’t beat them, join them” approach. This was to be the afternoon of the plentiful vodka and the hurling date.

It's official: Being near me makes women drink. A lot. Source: secludedhabit.com

I was drinking fast – really fast – in an attempt to make Stephanie more bearable, but her hands were like blurs: she left me for dust in the shadows of her white wine and tequila bottles.

Author’s note: if your date has a predilection for 3:00pm tequila and you aren’t in Mexico, back slowly away, being careful not to make any sudden movements.

At one stage, after heading back to the bar for the 46th time, Stephanie simply disappeared. After 10 or 15 minutes, I was beginning to think she’d left, but then noticed that her handbag was still on one of the stools under the table. She eventually returned, looking like she’d survived the Apocalypse, and proceeded to tell me in graphic detail about how poorly the bathroom had fared in its encounter with her projectile vomiting. With that information shared, she picked up her handbag, muttered what I assume was an incoherent farewell and wandered off.

#4 – The Threesome

This adventure wasn’t as exciting or salacious as it sounds: my date, Andrea, brought a friend with her, but everyone was clothed and in full public view at all times.

Dating threesomes: not as fun as they sound. Source: health-fitness.com.au

When Andrea confessed that she had been too shy to meet me for drinks on her own, I really didn’t care: lots of women bring a human comfort blanket on a date, don’t they? After we’d finished a few bottles of wine and I realised that the blonde, bespectacled offsider was planning on joining us for dinner, the nuisance factor went up tenfold, but I didn’t say anything. After all, the conversation was great, and I was slowly getting used to the awkward way in which they kept looking at each other after I’d finished speaking, as if comparing telepathic notes about my suitability as a boyfriend.

Skip forward to the restaurant, and the arrival of the bill. It was at this point I became cognisant of the fact that Andrea was expecting me to pay for her and Free Meal Sally. I had no issue with footing the bill for Andrea, my date, but there was no fucking way I was paying for the hors d’oeuvre-scoffing parasite attached to her left hip. After I’d suggested to them that they needed to formulate a Plan B, they suggested that I was a bigger asshole than Hitler, walked to the counter to pay for their meals, and then disappeared into the night.

#3 – The Old Photo Girl

After chatting online for a few weeks and exchanging numerous photographs, The Old Photo Girl and I decided to meet for a drink. When she arrived, I didn’t recognise her, because all of the photos she’d sent me had apparently been taken prior to her finding an extra 40 or 50 kilograms and developing a fondness for appalling DIY hair colouring. Once lumbering greetings had been exchanged, the conversation went like this:

Me: “You don’t look anything like your photos.”
The Old Photo Girl (TOPG): “Yeah, I know, they were about 3 years old. I’ve changed a lot since then.”
Me: “No shit.”
TOPG: “You don’t want to have a drink now, do you?”
Me: “Not really. I prefer people who are honest. And besides, your hair—“
TOPG: “Fuck you then! If you can’t accept the real me, go to hell!”

The Old Photo Girl's hair was scarier. Source: thepwnzone.wordpress.com

That’s where the date ended. She stormed out. On a positive note, I got a free beer and a few laughs out of the bar manager, who had witnessed the debacle in its 4 minute entirety.

#2 – The Super Cougar

This predator used her own kittens as bait. Literally. The Super Cougar was a horny, 40-something-year-old woman who displayed pictures of one of her 20-something-year-old daughters on the online dating profile that said she was 26. I’ll give you a minute to absorb how fucked up that is.

When she approached me in the coffee shop, I had no idea who she was. She quickly confessed to the “misleading”* photos and age, and justified it by saying that she loved younger guys “like the ones her daughters date”, but that these guys were put off by her age. As I finished my latte, I suggested that they were more likely disinterested because she was a concupiscent, lying sociopath who would more likely than not eat them after copulating. She didn’t find this explanation plausible or funny, and left.

* Author’s note: this is The Super Cougar’s word, not mine.

#1 – The Ticking Clock

No, it’s not the name of an Alfred Hitchcock thriller. The Ticking Clock is the moniker I’ve bestowed upon the damsel who grabs the number one spot with both psychotic hands. Her real name was Melanie, but that doesn’t sound anywhere near as ominous and disturbing as her allocated pseudonym.

Upon arriving at the designated meeting place, I found The Ticking Clock two-thirds of the way through a bottle of red, which, given that I was 15 minutes early, wasn’t a good sign. When I sat down with my drink, we began talking and laughing, but she clearly had something on her mind. She asked me what my short-term plans were. I told her and, disappointed with the predictability of her questioning, fired the same query back at her. Her short-term plan was simple: she wanted to fall pregnant within the next three months, in order to have a baby before her 40th birthday. Girls, if you ever want to render a guy speechless twenty minutes into a first date, tell him you want to be pregnant inside 90 days.

I couldn’t fathom her candour, or the matter-of-fact way in which she probed for what could only be described as family history details. She admitted that most of the guys she dated freaked out when she laid her plan on the beer-soaked table (wow, really?) and asked what I thought. I told her, skolled the last three mouthfuls of beer, wished her the best of luck and got the fuck out of Crazy Town.

I couldn't find a trophy for The Ticking Clock, so this will have to suffice. Source: bubblesale.blogspot.com.au

So there you have it. My 10 worst dates of all time. How do yours compare? Cakes McCain, you should be able to beat at least a few of these.

To those The Dissemination of Thought readers who missed out on getting shot in the ass by the little guy with the nappy, please accept the flowers below as my Valentine’s Day cliché to you all.

My Valentine's Day gift to you. Can't you just feel the love? Source: giftoninternet.com

Written by disseminatedthought

February 14, 2012 at 01:02

Elmo and blow, dicks like bats and realebrity tats: 11 more terms to make you squirm

with 32 comments

We’ve looked at the strange shit people have searched for to eventually end up in my little piece of the blogosphere before. Twice, actually. But due to a somewhat melancholic nonchalance that has enveloped me, I find myself severely lacking the motivation or inclination to create something deep, insightful and controversial. I could come up with a dirty limerick about a man named Jock, but I’d rather attempt to get inside the heads of the individuals who have provided me with my latest batch of amusing – and stupefying – search terms. As they say, the third time’s a charm.

For those new readers to The Dissemination of Thought, the previous dalliances into weird and wonderful search phrases can be found below:

”Man-whores, smut and Jabba the Hutt”

”Cartoons without clothes and Sesame Street blow”

peter griffin likes cocaine nipples

Of course he does, who wouldn’t?

The Dissemination of Thought: it’s all about breast and blow references. Source: tbs.com

I’m considering renaming this blog The Dissemination of Dodgy Peter Griffin Search Terms, based purely on the overwhelming number of hits I get with obscure references to the testicle-chinned one. I’m not kidding. In the past few months, I’ve had “peter griffin peeing”, “peter griffin pretty eyes” and “peter griffin in [insert outfit of your choice: army outfit and Donald Duck costume seem to be popular]” as the standouts amongst a plethora of Family Guy-themed search terms.

You watch: “peter griffin jumper leads on nipples” will be a search term next month. Source: squidoo.com

what is the mayans the end of internet

The word on the street suggests that some bad shit is going to go down on 21 December this year, but this shouldn’t have any impact on your internet plan, unless of course, our new zombie overlords decide to limit your monthly allocation down to 3 GB.

Download speeds got a lot a better on 22 December. Source: forums.hak5.org

The internet will not cease to exist if the Mayans were right: zombies need Wikipedia and online porn just like the rest of us.

prehistoric animals during the time of the mayas

My guess would be that there were very, very few, but I’m assuming you need to expand that answer out to about 1,500 words. If you need definitive clarification, you should probably ask Kristen over at Intelligent Life – she’s fantastic at sharing serious stuff about science, history and the universe in a witty light.

If you’re still too fucking lazy to do your own research, just say that a Mayan temple was used as the visitor centre in Jurassic Park, and then make a vague reference to a Tyrannosaurus. Hell, say it was in Jurassic Park III: no one saw that anyway.

the cat in the hat sad

The Cat in the Hat wasn’t sad. How could it be with such an awesome headpiece? Depressed moggies don’t make for amusing book subjects; who wants to read about The Feline in the Fedora with the Fluoxetine?

Source: halloweencostumes.org

penis 40 cm fuck

I suddenly feel astonishingly inadequate.

You know you’re well –endowed when your dick has its own chair. Source: iansblogoflife.blogspot.com

is dissemination of thought funny?

Absolutely. Go forth and spread the word. Oh, and when you say funny, make sure people realise you mean funny “haha” and not funny “peculiar”.

tattoo pauly d jersey shore

Is there a chance this vexing search phrase came to be as a result of someone doing a research project on the ink and body art of people who have contributed to making 21st century society a dumber place to be?

In the event that some incredibly perturbed individual actually wants to adorn themselves with a permanent tribute to this realebrity*, I offer this advice: tattoos last forever. So does stupid.

* Author’s note: I coined the term “realebrity” as an alternative to referring to reality TV stars as celebrities.

realebrity /riˈælɛbrɪti/

noun

1. a person devoid of any discernible talent, ability or personality, who attempts to overcome this by appearing on a reality television program with a ridiculous tan.
2. Paul DelVecchio, or any other cast member of Jersey Shore.
3. Anyone with the surname Kardashian.

Am I the only one who’s disturbed? Source: thegloss.com

colour

Out of curiosity, I typed “colour” into Google and let it do its thing. It returned about 846,000,000 results. Yep, eight hundred and forty-six million. Using that incredibly vague search term, just how long did it take you to come across The Dissemination of Thought? Did you start your search in 1998?

nazi dinos

What the fuck? Velociraptors loyal to Hitler?

A pissed off reptile with a canon: the perfect gift for the sociopathic dictator who has it all. Source: kotaku.com.au

reality television fucked society

Yes. Yes it did. I couldn’t have said it more succinctly myself.

elmo smoker

When I first saw this search term, I was mystified. Surely Elmo isn’t a smoker. Not only is he inanimate, he’s comprised mainly of fur and felt, so voluntarily exposing himself to naked flames via a nicotine addiction doesn’t seem like an overly sagacious decision. That said, given that puppets don’t have lungs, his odds of succumbing to emphysema or lung cancer are pretty remote.

Based on the photographic evidence below, a Light Me Up Elmo toy may already be in the final stages of production.

“Elmo likes menthols!” Source: homelessmanspeaks.com

With the sheer number of ridiculous new phrases that appear each week for me to mull over, I’m confident that this will not be the last search term-themed post on The Dissemination of Thought. Besides, the eccentric folks searching for cartoon characters urinating, prodigious penises and chain-smoking Sesame Street puppets like it when we talk about them.

When Green Eggs and Ham are cooked with lunacy in a can: I’m sorry, Dr Seuss…

with 41 comments

In the midst of riding on an espresso tsunami last week, I somehow accepted a dare from a friend at Mid Life Ranting to rewrite Green Eggs and Ham with my own troubling, incoherent twist. Note to self: starting drinking less coffee. And less vodka. Especially at the same time. Dr Seuss apparently wrote the original story to win a bet, which puts me and my caffeine-fuelled acceptance of a random dare in good company.

After spending almost 5 hours last night trying to comprehend, pull apart and then reconstruct the Dr Seuss masterpiece, I was about two or three words away from being sedated and hauled to far off places by medical professionals brandishing shackled jackets and hypodermic needles.

One of the acclaimed aspects of Green Eggs and Ham is that contains only 50 individual words that were juggled, repeated and shuffled to create the final product. I suggest that anyone who criticises it as being a simplistic children’s book attempts to pen their own engaging chronicle, using just 50 different words.

I couldn’t manage 50. After a lot of editing, rehashing and creative outbursts that bordered on temper tantrums, I finished my attempt with 56 individual words; kudos to you, Dr Seuss. The actual words are: a, ain’t, an, and, ass, bath, cannot, cold, corn, decision’s, die, dish, do, drink, fine, fish, from, glass, gold, grow, hail, horn, hot, I, in, is, it, kill, know, lack, like, milk, mine, no, not, or, pail, paint, pie, restraint, saint, served, shall, share, should, skol, stein, the, this, try, want, warm, will, with, would, yay.

Without further ado, I present Warm Milk and Paint.

Source: jonathanshipley.blogspot.com

Warm Milk and Paint

I ain’t a saint.
A Saint-I-Ain’t.

No Saint-I-Ain’t!
No Saint-I-Aint!
I lack restraint, a Saint-I-Ain’t!

Will I drink warm milk and paint?

I shall not skol it, a Saint-I-Ain’t.
I cannot drink warm milk and paint.

Do I want it hot or cold?

I do not want it hot or cold.
I do not want it served in gold.
I cannot drink warm milk and paint.
It will kill me, a Saint-I-Ain’t.

Would I drink it from a glass? Would I share it with an ass?

I would not drink it from a glass.
I would not share it with an ass.
I do not want it hot or cold.
I do not want it served in gold.
I cannot drink warm milk and paint.
It will kill me, a Saint-I-Aint.

Would I want it in a dish? Would I want it served with fish?

Not in a dish!
Not with a fish!
Not from a glass!
Not with an ass!
I do not want it hot or cold.
I do not want it served in gold.
I cannot drink warm milk and paint.
It will kill me, a Saint-I-Ain’t.

Would I, should I, from a stein? Drink it! Drink it! It is fine.

I would not, cannot, from a stein.

I should like it. I should try. I should drink it with a pie.

I will not, shall not, with a pie.
Not from a stein! Decision’s mine!
I do not want it in a dish.
I do not want it with a fish.
I do not want it from a glass.
I will not share it with an ass.
I do not want it hot or cold.
I do not want it served in gold.
I cannot drink warm milk and paint.
It will kill me, a Saint-I-Ain’t.

Will I, shall I, from a pail?

Not from a pail!
Not with a pie!
No from a stein!
Saint-I-Ain’t shall not die!

I would not, will not, in a dish.
I would not, will not, with a fish.
I cannot share it with an ass.
I cannot skol it from a glass,
I will not drink it hot or cold.
I will not like it served in gold.
I cannot drink warm milk and paint.
It will kill me, a Saint-I-Aint.

Yay! In the bath. Should I, would I, in the bath?

I cannot, will not, in the bath.

Should I, would I, in the hail?

I should not, would not, in the hail.
Not in the bath!
Not from a pail!
Not with a pie!
Not from a stein!
I cannot drink it, a Saint-I-Ain’t.
Not with a glass!
Not with an ass!
Not served with fish!
Not in a dish!
I will not drink it hot or cold.
I will not like it served in gold.
I cannot drink warm milk and paint.
It will kill me, a Saint-I-Aint.

Do I like warm milk and paint?

Like I do not, a Saint-I-Ain’t.

Should I, would I, served with corn?

I cannot, will not, served with corn.

Would I, should I, with a horn?

I will not, cannot, with a horn.
I should not, would not, served with corn.
I will not drink it in the hail.
I will not drink it from a pail.
Not in the bath!
Not with a pie!
Not from a stein! Decision’s mine!
I will not want it in a dish.
I will not like it served with fish.
I shall not drink it from a glass.
I shall not share it with an ass.
I will not drink it hot or cold.
I will not like it served in gold.

I cannot drink warm milk and paint.
It will kill me, a Saint-I-Aint.

I cannot drink it. This I know. Skol it! Skol it! I will grow. Skol it and I will grow, I know.

A Saint-I-Ain’t! I will drink it. Decision’s mine! I will skol it, from a stein.

Yay! I like warm milk and paint!
I like it, I do, a Saint-I-Aint!
And I will drink it with a horn.
And I will drink it served with corn.
I would drink it in the hail.
And it in the bath.
And from a pail.
And from a stein.
I will drink it served with pie.
It is fine, I shall not die!
I will drink it from a dish.
And I want it served with fish.
I shall skol it from a glass.
I will share it with an ass.
I will drink it hot or cold.
I will like it served in gold.

I do know I like warm milk and paint.
Restraint will kill, a Saint-I-Aint!

I know this isn't relevant to Green Eggs and Ham, but I really want that hat. Source: thesceneinto.com

Written by disseminatedthought

January 3, 2012 at 10:03

Cartoons without clothes and Sesame Street blow

with 12 comments

Bloggers get lazy towards the end of the year. Select any tag topic at random right now, and you’ll be overwhelmed by a plethora of pieces that have “top”, “resolutions” or “2011” in the title. It seems that everyone in the blogosphere is either resolving their ass off or making a list of their Top [insert number between 1 and 6,914] [insert generic cliché – preferably movies, albums or kitten names] of 2011. A few bloggers are, thankfully, churning out fresh articles, but the majority seem content with reposting their favourite pieces of the year and then attempting to persuade their readers that it’s amazing new work. I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but it’s not. Literally publishing just the links to your ten best posts and then signing off with a corny festive season greeting isn’t entertaining, it’s boring. If you don’t have anything fresh to write about, don’t write; your readers would prefer you didn’t post inane, generic drivel each day just so you can convince yourself that you write daily.

Author’s note: the latter is why 365 day challenges have the potential to annoy the fuck out of everyone.

So, now that my beer and vodka-fuelled vociferation has concluded, I’m going to share with you a few new search terms that people have found The Dissemination of Thought with. While I’m fully aware it’s something I’ve touched on before, today we’re examining new stuff that people have looked for in the past three weeks. It’s a rehashed idea with fresh search phrases, so it’s technically new material, which officially makes this an original post and me less of a whinging hypocrite.

peter griffin naked

Everyone has issues; some people’s problems are just a lot worse than yours. If you ever think you can’t sink any lower into despair, just remember: at least you didn’t google a guy with balls for a chin in naked poses.

Is this what you were looking for, freaky searcher? Source: magculture.com

kelloggs shirazco pop

This search phrase is a little disconcerting, considering I only coined the name “Shirazco Pops” a week or two prior to writing this piece. Are Kellogg’s trying to pass my breakfast cereal and red wine masterpiece off as its own creation? Is there a chance they are preparing to make me an offer I can’t refuse? If it turns out to be the former, this means war; if it’s the latter, The Dissemination of Thought will cease to exist four seconds after their cheque clears.

my boyfriend thinks engagement rings are a ripoff and doesnt want to buy one

Whoever typed this into a search engine needs to run the fuck away from their frugal boyfriend as quickly as possible. While there is a chance the boyfriend just has no desire to propose to someone who uses Google like a Magic 8 Ball, the smart bet is on him using the ring money to finance an engagement jet ski.

Source: realbollywood.com

sesame street the count snorts cocaine

Elmo does blow... Source: soggylog.com

What the fuck? Because there are so many things wrong with this, I’m not even sure where to start. Is there a Sesame Street spin-off that no one’s aware of called Blowin’ with Big Bird and Bert? Does Grover do a good deal on a kilo of coke? On a positive note, given that Count von Count is a puppet and has a felt nose, it’s unlikely that he would ever succumb to a perforated nasal septum.

There's snow, and then there's "snow". Source: muppet.wikia.com

Welcome to The Dissemination of Thought in 2012: I can’t wait to see what search terms the next twelve months bring.

Man-whores, smut and Jabba the Hutt

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Analysing the phrases that people enter into search engines to end up at The Dissemination of Thought never ceases to be a constant source of amusement to me. The void between what I deduce they were hoping to find and where they actually landed is a chasm that has to cause them significant disappointment and confusion while they reassess their deviant perquisition. Was the person who searched for “boobs in a puppet stage” dismayed when they failed to find hardcore marionette sex? Did the individual who googled “germain greer strippers” want to locate any gentlemen’s clubs owned by the feminist?

As a tribute to those who inadvertently discovered TDoT, I’m going to examine four search terms that have made me laugh.

Author’s note: what you see below is exactly what people typed into their search engines to end up at TDoT. Don’t whinge and bitch about the spelling and grammatical errors.

“miss piggy sex tape”

This would be the logical next step after the sex tape leak. Source: verybadfrog.com

Come on people, bestiality is just wrong. When you get to the point of seeking out puppet pornography, it’s time to question what you’re doing with your life. What’s next? Searches for SpongeBob SquarePants banging one of the Powerpuff Girls?

I can’t believe I found this photo. Actually, I can’t believe I searched for it in the first place. Source: funnyordie.com

gigolo

I bet they were disappointed when their search for a man-whore landed them here. That said, if they still visit The Dissemination of Thought, they should definitely drop me a line: I’m willing to consider all proposals, except those of marriage.

badwrap sex

I’m not sure about this one. Perhaps they were searching for advice on how to remove oneself from the confines of poorly wrapped cling film after an intimate encounter. Hey, stranger things have happened.

liberal david barker jabba the hut

When I alluded to the similarity between wannabe politician David Barker and a Star Wars villain in God: Liberal Candidate for Chifely, I assumed that I was the only one whose sense of humour was warped enough to make the connection. To my surprise, the search terms tracker shows that several people were linking the mental image of everyone’s favourite Tatooine resident with the views of a narrow-minded religious bigot when the googled. Further adding to my surprise was the fact that I never received any hate mail or notifications of pending legal action for the aforementioned piece.

Jabba considers the opinion of one of his constituents. Source: starwars.com

What are the most perverse search terms that people have used to find you in the blogosphere?

When did ludicrous sporting attire become socially acceptable?

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When did looking like Reebok marketing team’s wet dream become the status quo for recreational sport? At what point was simply throwing on a pair of sneakers and heading out for a run no longer deemed exercise? While I’m not sure that there is any discernible physiological advantage to having an iPod or GPS navigation on your run, it seems that unless you’ve left the house adorned in Adidas or looking like you have signed a lucrative endorsement deal with Nike, you just aren’t serious about your sport. 

Let’s have a look at four recreational sports where the outfits are now officially out there:

 1. Golf

 Go to any golf club and observe the attire of the serious members, and you’ll be forgiven for thinking that you’ve landed on Mars during Faux Pas Fashion Week.  You’ll be surrounded by loud shirts, paisley pants and striped vests, none of which will make guy chastising you for playing too slowly seem more cheerful. 

 I’m sorry, but does the knitted hat with the pompom really help your tee shot? 

Does that guy have a golfing manbag? Source: sodahead.com

2. Cycling

I wish I was blind. Source: worldofcrussle.com

I’ll never understand those cyclists who ride once or twice a week, yet seem compelled to own more equipment than most Tour de France competitors.  Sure, your bike is a carbon fibre masterpiece and looks like it was designed by NASA, but what the hell is up with your outfit?  How can someone who is happy to outlay hundreds of dollars for matching riding shoes and gloves not have a mirror with which to appraise themselves before leaving the house?  Nothing puts you off a latte quite like having to observe a pale, hairy stomach escaping the confines of a skin-tight jersey while its pudgy owner attacks a caramel macchiato and a muffin the size of grapefruit.

Even he wouldn’t wear some of the shit that recreational cyclists go out in. Source: businessreviewaustralia.com

 3. Running 

Whoever designed running accessories to accommodate iPods, mobile phones and portable navigation units has a lot to answer for.  If you don’t take your iPhone, Nano and six different types of monitoring equipment with you on your morning run, you aren’t a serious jogger.  Are your shoes worth less than $300 and not monogrammed with your initials?  Don’t bother turning up: you’ll just be ostracised by the other members of your running group.

If only this was the worst running ensemble I’d ever seen... Source: weddingbycolor.com

4. Tennis 

Source: losing-pounds.net

There’s a woman in the adjacent building who takes her tennis very, very seriously.  When she’s on the court, she could pass for the love child of Björn Borg and Maria Sharapova.  Everything in her playing ensemble – including the sweatbands that grace her head and wrists – is white, and she emits a grunt while serving that would terrify rutting stags.

My question to her is this: when you have only travelled thirty metres from your apartment for the match, is there really any need for a full bag of equipment that includes several racquets?

To my tennis-loving neighbour: when you’ve won Wimbledon, you can have the headband back. Source: au.sports.yahoo.com

When it comes to sporting outfits, the do’s and don’ts are unquestionably clear cut.  If you are an Olympian or on any sort of professional tour, do wear whatever you want.  If you’re 52, overweight and have spent $10,000 on a bike to try and recapture your youth, don’t subject the unsuspecting public to your sweaty, lycra-clad crisis.

Written by disseminatedthought

December 13, 2011 at 15:57