My job

At my job, I often look at search engine query logs, i.e. lists of queries that people have searched for on the internet. As you can imagine, there are some good ones. I've decided to dedicate a few posts to sharing some of my faves.

Here's a taste. My comments are in italics:

sexy butt naked women with big boobs nice ass and good pussy

Just what makes a pussy 'good'?

i'm fairly certain my neighbor is an adulterer. can i stone her?

First, the answer: Only if you live in a state, province or territory where ancient Hebrew law is in effect, namely Delaware, Alberta or Guam.
Now a comment: You're not having a conversation, jackass, you're using a search engine. Pare it down to a few key words.

grandmother tall slim tongue kiss

Fetishes do get quite specific, don't they?

free round asses

Yeah, triangular asses really get me down. Especially ones that I have to pay for.

"Monogamous friendship"

Talked to my man JT back home in the 617 tonight. He has a steady girlfriend. They've been dating for about a year. Curiously, she doesn't agree that they're dating. She says they have a "monogamous friendship". This is an interesting concept. Perhaps to make a link to the "nemesis" strain of a few days ago, I want to go on record as saying I'm in a polyamourous relationship with all my enemies; you can hate them, too. I won't be jealous.

Le temps des brioches

Our brief reprieve from the winter temperatures continues, and it quickens my step. Yesterday, I rode the bus downtown, and when I pulled the string to indicate that I wanted to get off at the next stop, the pitch of the "arrêt demandé" ding was perfectly in tune with the song I was listening to on my headphones.

I stepped out into the sun.

Like a fever breaking

Walking home late on this weird, warm night. The air is wet, mist under the streetlights. There has been a smog warning for days.

This mist won't help.

But I pretend we're shaking the winter off. Like a fever breaking. Only with the opposite temperatures.

The mountain ablaze with papacidal splendour

Friends,

We are on the cusp of something exciting. If not immediately, sometime soon. Within our time here together. They say when the Pope dies, the lights on the cross on the mountain are turned to purple. You've heard this, right? An urban myth? No one seems to remember.

I knew one guy, Chris, who said: Wherever I am when he dies, I'm going to get in the car and head to Montreal, to see if it's true.

Let's gather together and experience whatever comes our way.