Weblog Sin Pies

By Charley Daniels

December has been a record month for the site’s traffic, mostly due to Project Wonderful, but also because of the response to my post about Stephanie Haranczyk, who went missing Dec. 5 and is still nowhere to be found. There have been requests for updates on the status of that search, but we’ve been reluctant to reveal too much publicly because it’s hard enough to find people who don’t want to be found without their knowing exactly what our tactics are. We will definitely sound a general alert when anything major happens. Thanks for the interest, and continue to spread the word for people to be on the lookout! Stephanie’s sister Isabelle has a MySpace blog with slightly more current information.

On to the keywords. I have really taken something away from searching through the thousands of referrals that Weblog Sin Pies received this year. What I took away was a glimpse into the searching habits of a diverse group, who loves porn and naked fat people. I also took away a great idea, which I will share with you sometime next month, after you’ve forgotten that I said it was “great.” Because maybe it’s, you know, not great at all. I’m not yet confident enough to stand by that statement. And maybe the idea isn’t new, which I should probably figure out before declaring what a genius idea I’ve had.

My only regret about the keyword lists is that I really wish I had compiled them first and then ranked them in order from best to worst, so that these lists got better with each volume. Unfortunately, that requires foresight and effort. No thanks! As it is, you may find that there are better examples in vol.1 and/or vol. 2. Don’t tell me about it, because I probably agree with you. Probably not, actually, but that’s beside the point; just remember that these are in no particular order. Got it?

>i saw you doing pies

E-mail and search engines are not the same thing, my friend. If you want to send someone a message, you’d probably have more luck shouting it out the window than typing it into Google. Unless you were trying to send the message to me, in which case, your methods are unorthodox but effective. Unfortunately, your message is not accurate. One does not “do” pies unless one is inspired by an overrated film about the activity. And in those rare instance, we call that “freakin’ the fillin’” — which I would never do with someone watching.

>poo bandit

The Urban Dictionary has a definition for “poo bandit” that I was unaware of when I wrote this post’s title, which partially comprises the words. Interesting how close I came to the real definition. Pretty close, for a pure coincidence. And here I thought “poo bandit” was just a funny phrase I made up.

>my mercedes
>my dream girl

It’s very unlikely that these referrals are from the same person, but I like to think that they are because of their similarity. I create a fictional man in my head. This guy is always losing things. Dude, search engines help you search, true, but you usually find information about things, not actual things. If you can’t find your car or your woman, call the police. If you never had a car or a woman and you’re hoping Google will provide them, maybe I should imagine you as slightly less pathetic.

>paleontologist pay scale?

You get paid for each syllable in the names of organisms you discover. So if you discover an ancient frog, you’re not going to do so well that week (the word “ancient” doesn’t count toward your paycheck). On the other hand, you’ll be set for a year if you discover a reticulated, bull-nosed, eight-toed, ridge-backed, turkey-necked, duck-billed, fighting super alligator man.

>boozemas

A new holiday that we can celebrate year-round! And boy do we. There’ll be a champagne fountain (empty by the time the party starts); a rousing session of boozemas carols, including hits such as “Bottle of Wine” and “All for Me Grog”; and on boozemas morning we’ll all exchange punches when our “playful wrestling” turns real. Of course, we can’t forget the reason and spirit of the season: to prove how awesome we are.

>”i didn’t register my car”

I guess some people are placated by typing their indiscretions into a search engine. It’s a confession with no consequences. Maybe it helps them prepare for an actual confession; seeing the search results reminds them that they aren’t alone in their chosen crimes. Some, on the other hand, use the search engine to avoid confessions altogether:

>do fingernails contain dna

Yes they do, partner. So if I were you I would start searching for “immediate flights to countries not included in the extradition treaty.” Don’t leave out the “immediate” part.

>big lumps of poo

It’s a good search string to end the year on because it always comes back to the old No. 2. Every year — in life, politics, relationships, jobs — it’s all just crap. In web searches too, apparently. Try as I might to steer the site’s content away from the topic, the word “poo” consistently brings people to Weblog Sin Pies. And why not? We all do it, except for hot girls. I’m not afraid to receive the shit-seeking masses. All are welcome! Just don’t, you know, talk to me or anything.

By Charley Daniels

Whew! Keeping this thing updated is taxing on the brain, you know? I’ve been compiling links for days, so many of the things you’re about to find out could be outdated. Not my problem. Read on!

I picked up John Hodgman’s “The Areas of My Expertise” last week. You know Hodgman — he’s the PC guy on the Apple commercials where the Mac is all young and cool and the PC is a big dumbass. “The Areas of My Expertise” is essentially what every humor writers’ personal notebook looks like — a compendium of random, made-up crap that no one is ever meant to read. I’m having a little trouble getting into it.

Celebrities: Jessica Simpson stars in a really bad movie, I guess. How disappointing. On the other hand, Paris and Nicole are buddies again. I knew they’d weather that storm.

North Korea’s gone nukular. Can’t we just torture them, or something?

So, Google bought YouTube. Big deal. Acquiring stuff is easy. For example, I got a DVR today.

Hey, dinosaur poo has been a staple around here for a while, so it’s good to see Ryan North over at Dinosaur Comics tackle an issue that’s dear to our hearts.

Well, you know the old saying: No news is good news … unless it’s News and Aaahs for Oct. 10!

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The Vatican is looking out for dead babies with a new initiative to eliminate limbo from the heaven-hell equation. You see, limbo is where babies end up if they die before being baptised. At least, it used to be:

The Catholic Church is concerned about the grief suffered by the parents of stillborn babies, which could be compounded if they believed the souls of their children were to be excluded from heaven.

Now, I’m not religious, so correct me if I’m wrong, but it seems pretty sketchy to just decide some part of your religion suddenly doesn’t exist. What do I know, though? I’m just some Godless skeptic. The Pope would probably know:

The Pope has been quoted as dismissing the notion as mere ‘hypothesis.’

It’s that easy? Can’t hell be hypothetical, then? Please?

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Can your tools do this?

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Man, there’s been a lot of shooting going on at schools. What gives, students? I guess the only way to stop school violence is to try to foster an environment where unstable kids feel safe coming out and talking to responsible adults about their troubled lives.

Or we could make it so that when kids start shooting, the teachers can shoot back.

Wisconsin state Rep. Frank Lasee, R-Green Bay, said he would introduce a measure in the state legislature early next year that would give teachers and other school employees the option of carrying concealed guns after they have received extensive weapons training.

Normally I would say something sarcastic and/or ironic, but a moment of sincerity is necessary in this case. Mr. Lasee, you are an effin asshat, d-bag, ca ca for brains. I did that as nicely as possible; thanks for listening.

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This country is certainly going to hell (not limbo, now, thank you very much. Yeah, I’m looking at you, Pope). Congress has passed a measure aimed at outlawing harmless online gambling and another that essentially legalizes torture. Priorities! Paul Phillips, writing about the torture bill, says it best:

If we can’t ‘win’ without torture then I don’t want to win. I think I’d rather see the planet dissolve into total nuclear annihilation then face a future where we expect the ostensible good guys to use torture to achieve their ends. Torture represents as fundamental a moral breakdown as there is. It is an absolute surrender of any claim to the moral high ground. The world (or at least those who have survived the last few years) is laughing at the absurd hypocrisy of our attempts to spread ‘freedom’ even as we show over and over that we have no idea what that means.

By Mike Bijon

Weblog Sin Pies has neither the feet for news nor a long history of people finding us by searching for “dinosaur poo.” Nevertheless, I plan to extend that history a bit longer. Tragically, welcome to complete coverage of dinosaur poo on the net.

Dinosaur poo, I dub thee coprolite:
What’s in a name? In this case I don’t care about the name so much as what’s in that lump of coprolite, the scientific and polite society name for dinosaur poop.

Even better than just finding out the fancy scientific name for coprolite is dinosaur poo … or vice versa, is knowing that you can own a bit of history and buy dinosaur poo knick-knacks. What better way than a real dinosaur fossil, even if it is poop, to show your spoiled niece or nephew you care on their next birthday. And their parents will surely be thrilled to know that pretty, gift-wrapped package sitting next to the birthday cake and ice cream is a little, old lump of dino poo paperweight or big, old lump of dino poo bookends.

Lump of poo or not, it’s good to celebrate history and a Cambridgeshire village in Great Britain is doing just that. They have erected a 5-foot-tall bronze dinosaur poo sculpture — though they may be making as much history as they’re remembering. Even if Mom and Dad won’t fly you to Great Britain to see the dinosaur poo statue or allow any of that “dirty old stuff” to sit on your bookshelf, don’t fear. It’s still possible to get your picture taken holding a lump of dinosaur poo at the Science and Adventure Park, in Canada just a bit west of Maine.

By Charley Daniels

You have to admire the sacrifice and dedication of 45-year-old Gary Moody, who is willing to swim in shit just so he could get a glimpse of some ass. Moody, quite possibly the sickest man who ever lived, hid inside the business end of a women’s porta-potty so he could witness the relieving of bowels from up close. Dedication, I tell you.

The co-worker who directed me to this tidbit claims that Moody’s story is proof that there is no God. That’s if you needed more proof, I suppose, but maybe he’s right. It’s an interesting case for an “all of God’s creatures” type of assessment. “All of God’s creatures, even those who are so messed up and/or desperate to see some hoohaw that they are willing to literally be shit and pissed upon by multiple random people in an outhouse by the highway.”

That’s the Kancamagas Highway, in case you want to add the stop on your notorious places road trip. “Peed at the outhouse where Gary Moody had the craziest idea ever. Check.”

The article makes sure to let us know that the tank of the outhouse absolutely brimming with human waste. Right in the lede: it was “filled with human waste.”

The plot thickens in the follow-up story when Moody, asked for a good reason why he was inside a toilet, came up with a doozy:

In court documents, police reported that Moody insisted he was not doing anything wrong and had gone into the sewage tank to retrieve a wedding ring he had accidentally dropped while changing clothes.

Well, there goes his insanity plea. Or maybe he’s shoring up a case for an insanity plea. Tough to tell. In any case, what type of wedding ring is valuable enough to swim in shit? Of course, Moody may have made things worse for himself because of what resulted from his alibi:

Police said they examined the sewage and did not find a wedding ring.

“Needle in a haystack” has nothing on “wedding ring in an outhouse.”

By Charley Daniels

When I think about having to clean my Ikea brand garlic press I get homicidal. If you think that’s wrong, I don’t know what to tell you except it is not wrong. You’re the one who’s wrong. Unless you meant “wrong” as in “amoral” or “unethical,” in which case you’re probably right, but who knows? Lawyers, I guess.

But the real issue here is complicated utensils. Or rather, cheap complicated utensils that SUCK! Why do we need them? Or better yet, why don’t we stick to traditional methods of preparing garlic? Or the best question of all: Since toilets are the opposite of pants, which came first? Think about that one, why don’t you. It’s a real chicken-and-egg scenario, that one is.

Whatever the answer — and we may never know — one thing is certain: In the world of Ikea brand garlic presses, pants, and toilets, holding it and keeping it clean are the ties that bind.