Thursday, June 16, 2005

How People Find My Blog

I've kept track, over the last few weeks, of the searches that have led people to my blog. Mostly the search terms consist of some combination of "disgruntled," "bookseller," "bookstore," "[Big Bookstore]," and "[Rival Bookstore]." But here's a selection of the less obvious ones:

dictionaries teacher discount
work appropriate attire
nsa stands for craigslist
i hate the strand
babysitters fuck kids
skirt with no panties
hate [Big Bookstore]
cd long erotic weekend -amazon
facefull back issues to purchase
no panties&blog
bother bookstore
i hate being a lawyer
cow fucking lessons
anal school lessons
van kittens nine year old pussy cunt ass

"van kittens nine year old pussy cunt ass"??? What. The. Fuck. That is one incredibly specific fetish there, Dude. Seriously. Form the mental image. Where the hell do the kittens fit in?

"cow fucking lessons" Nowhere in this blog are cow fucking lessons offered, discussed or even mentioned. I imagine, though, that there are very few sites offering cow fucking lessons, so perhaps it's a niche I could fill.

"skirt with no panties" This one doesn't even make sense to me. Obviously the guy was looking for a girl in a skirt with no panties, rather than just, ya know, a skirt with no panties. 'Cause a skirt with no panties is just boring. I got dozens of those in my closet. Not hot.

"anal school lessons" Again, not offered on this blog. However, I can give a pointer to this fine book, which is available, of course, at a Big Bookstore near you.

Wednesday, June 08, 2005

Bookstores: the natural laxative?

My cow-workers and I have often wondered why people feel comfortable settling in with the newspaper in the store bathroom for a nice, long dump. (Note: this is almost always the Men's room.)

OK. It's not exactly Topic A around the lunch table, but the question does come up when: 1) one of us has to "glove up and go in" to clean up after some omnidirectional shitter, and/or 2) the smell wafts unmistakably out over the reference section. Doesn't one naturally assume that people are more comfortable crapping in the privacy of their own homes? Apparently not.

And I believe I have stumbled across the answer here.

Saturday, June 04, 2005


To the owner of a silver Mercedes SLK350 so new it still has 30-day tags, which was parked in the Big Bookstore parking lot last Saturday: I accidentally dinged your car door. Four times. I couldn't help it. You were parked a foot over the line into my space.



If you're the woman who was looking for a book last week on how to write up your life experience in order to get college credit, I'm sorry. To my knowledge, there are no books on how to get a fake degree.


If you are one of the many assholes who smugly refused to give your zipcode when asked last month, I've got a flash for ya: A zip code is not enough information for me or Big Bookstore to locate you, spam you, call you, stalk you, or find you to kill you. But a girl can dream.


A message for the gentleman last Saturday night who made me ring five separate transactions so he could use the five coupons he printed out. ONE COUPON PER CUSTOMER, PER VISIT, ASSHOLE. Next time you pull that shit, I'm going to make you turn your sorry ass around and apologize to all the people in line behind you for being such a total dickhead.


Finally, to the geniuses at Big Bookstore corporate headquarters who thought up the coupon for a discount on one item, and who think that customers are really going to pay attention to that "one coupon per customer, per visit" bullshit fine print: You are total fucking morons who have obviously never spent any time behind the cash registers at Big Bookstore. Please fuck off and die.

Well. I feel better now. You?