BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

I’ve been Googled.

Of course, that probably isn’t news to anyone. In fact, some of you reading this very blog post may well have arrived here courtesy of a Google search… Or Yahoo… Or MSN Live… Or any one of countless other Internet “search engines.”

I bring up Google, in particular, because it seems to be one of the more popular search pages out there. And, why shouldn’t they be? After all, they have all the money… Well, them and Bill Gates, but that last bit just goes without saying.

But, in this case, I haven’t just been Googled. I’ve been Googleified. In case you are wondering exactly what Googleify is, it’s my own special word. It is a combination of Google, from the colloquial Google, trademark for a search engine, and mystify, from the French mistifier, from mystère mystery, from Latin mysterium, to bewilder.

Yeah… Google has gone and mystified me. Or, as I like to say, Googleified. (Soon, I’ll be adding a petition for you all to sign. Maybe we can get Webster to add it to the lexicon… But, that’s a different chicken…)

The thing here is, and I have mentioned this before, WordPress tracks incoming traffic to this blog. In doing so, it logs all manner of cool stuff. Things like, IP addresses, country of origin, search phrases, and referring pages. Well, it isn’t very surprising that quite a bit of the incoming traffic to Brainpan Leakage comes from Google. Sure, there is plenty of traffic from other search engines, and there is also a good share from folks who arrive via notification emails, Twitter, and the like. But, where Internet searches are concerned, the overwhelming majority of the visitors arrive here courtesy of the Big Multicolored G.

So, I am sure you are now wondering why in the hell there is a picture of a provocatively clad woman astride a broomstick embedded on the left. Well, believe it or not, it isn’t a result of my “I Can Haz Blog?” post back in February. What I mean is, I’m not just sticking it in here to generate traffic, besides which, she’s not naked and it is a pretty common picture, so I doubt it would draw any visitors in the first place. And, no, Virginia, it’s not just so I can have something pretty to look at. If that were the case, she would be a redhead and look just like E K… Yes, I’m a little single minded in that respect. And no, E K doesn’t have that outfit… Well, actually she has something really, really close, but it’s not exact. Actually, it’s much better… So there…

But, on with the blog… Believe it or not, there is actually a salient point behind the picture. Well… It’s obvious to me since I’m the one writing the blog, but that’s not the point. What is the point, however, is that the picture actually has something to do with Google, in a silly, roundabout sort of way.

You see, when the WordPress plugin that tracks incoming traffic tells me how people arrived at my site, it actually extracts a list of the search words used. As you already know, these search words are matched to content, description text, and meta-keywords, on an indexed site, which is how Google, and other search engines for that matter, provide you with a list of websites. But, enough techie talk…

As you would rightfully surmise, there is the laundry list of obvious search parameters that land folks here at Brainpan Leakage. Things like…

• Sellars
• Brainpan
• Rowan Gant
• Paranormal Mystery
• And so on…

There are quite a few others. Some of them obscure, some not so much. Usually they make at least a little bit of sense… Such as “Erma Bombeck.” After all, I wrote a blog entry about one of her columns, so it isn’t really all that surprising that a search of her name would lead you here at some point. However, as I was perusing the the list the other day I ran across one that gave me pause…

“witches with big tits”

… Obviously we had someone here who was a boob man… Or woman… I’m not about to discriminate. And, by the same token this individual apparently had a fetish for Witches, or more likely if I were to place a bet on it, the colloquial “Witch Costume” sex fantasy sort of thing… I mean, let’s face it, even I still get a bit of a tingle from the adolescent memories of Elizabeth Montgomery in her Witchy garb…

Now, I have to admit, upon seeing this search phrase I assumed there had to be some kind of mistake. After all, a search like that should probably have landed this person at www.dorothymorrison.com.

Oh, chill out… Dorothy and I are like siblings and we pick at each other like this all the time. You folks know that… Not to mention that she makes plenty of her own jokes about her chest. Rumor has it she slings lightning bolts from her tits, but I’ve yet to see this myself, and I’ve been on tour with her more times than I could count, even if I took off my shoes and socks. So, if you ask me, I think that whole lightning thing is just a PR gimmick…

But, back to this particular Googleification leading someone to Brainpan Leakage…

After ruminating a bit, I thought maybe the phrase in question might have something to do with the op-ed entry I wrote about Facebook and the breast-feeding pictures issue. But, after going back and having a look, I didn’t find a direct mention of “big tits” in there… Not even “small tits”… Boobs, yes. Tits, no… And, definitely no mention of witches…

So, back to the drawing board I went…

Well, it took me some time, but I finally sussed it out. Seems Google had indexed the page containing the sample chapter from Never Burn A Witch, and in that particular sample was the scene where the old bum was singing his ditty about the ample-chested weather girl. All three of the primary search words from the phrase, (we aren’t counting with), were there on that page. And, if you want to count “with” anyway, it was there too.

Simple enough. Mystery solved. For a moment, I was no longer Googleified…

However, that didn’t last long. You see, I thought maybe I would look into figuring out some of the other strange search tags that brought visitors to Brainpan Leakage. It wasn’t long before I was “Google Eyed” and had a headache… If any of you would like to help, I’m still looking for connection to the following…

• R?zus p?rti?a apraksts
• ????????? ??
• jak przej?? gr? rattle and clank
• pokrútené ?revá u detí
• syntymäpäivä kortti

Ya’know… On second thought, don’t worry about it.

I think I’ll just go look at that sexy witch picture… Better yet, I’ll just go look at E K. Maybe if I’m really convincing, I can get her to wear her pointy hat and babe on a broomstick outfit…

More to come…

Murv

Literally.

Why would I lie about something like that?

… And yes, I do realize that right now you are all sitting there chanting, “Murv’s gonna get it… Murv’s gonna get it…”

Normally, I would agree with you, but go back to the beginning and read again what I wrote… I’m fairly certain I typed in the word, literally. As in, E K is a literal pain in my ass. Not figurative. Not metaphorical. Nope. None of that dancing about and implied torture. No husbandly lamenting about a wife’s wifeliness. We are talking about the real deal here…

I mean to say, the woman literally caused pain and physical damage to my Gluteus Maximus.

Uh-huh… I know… Now all of you are sitting there saying, “So what? You’re talking about E K. Since you say she’s so evil then she probably just tied you up and spanked you or something like that. Big deal. Just roll with it you big baby.” (On that note – The cartoon on the right is just for you “perverted types,” BTW… )

Well, though it is apparently titillating for all of you to imagine such a scenario, otherwise you probably wouldn’t be imagining it… Hey…. Hey! Yeah, you. Stop staring at the cartoon and pay attention.

Okay… so where was I? Oh yeah… As I was saying, such graphic details might be a little too much info for a relatively PG rated blog like Brainpan Leakage… And, for the record, I am now firmly convinced that y’all have dirtier minds than I do… Especially you… Yeah, you in the back row. The one that keeps staring and drooling at the cartoon… It’s a friggin’  PG rated cartoon for Gods sake… Sheesh… For shame… For shame…

So, anyway, let’s set the record straight right here and now… E K did not spank me. Well… Not in this particular case anyway. (There, did that little bit of innuendo satisfy your prurient curiosity, or just pique it? Yeah… I thought as much, ya’ bunch of sickos… When you’re all done drooling over the silly cartoon, we can continue…)

(Jeopardy thinking music)

Okay, are we all done? Finally… Good…

So now that we’ve dispensed with the mental foreplay, we’ll move on already…

We’ve established that no spankings were had. The simple fact is that this is an entirely different kind of literal pain in the ass. And, it is also one that reaches far back into history. So, since the whole nostalgia approach of the “marriage blog” mini-series seemed to go over so well, I figured y’all might like to hear this story too. So, let’s all jump into the wayback machine and have a look at this particular, and annoyingly painful, slice of my past… (Yeah, you too… Yeah you… I don’t care… You can page back up and look at the cartoon again when we’ve finished the story… Sheesh… You don’t get out much, do you?)

Okay… On with the sordid tale…

The year was nineteen and eighty six…  E K and I had met by this point, and were more or less in the midst of doing that coy, flirty thing that accompanies the first three months of dating. You know what I mean…

For men it’s crap like: Getting a haircut. Making sure your shirt isn’t wrinkled. Actually tying your necktie in a Full Windsor instead of a Half, but only after making doubly sure it actually matches your shirt and slacks. Using aftershave and maybe even a bit of cologne… Holding your farts in until you are in the next county and downwind so that the object of your affection will never know…

For women it’s crap like: Shaving your legs regularly. Wearing a shorter skirt and higher heels than you normally would on your average workday.  A push up bra. Fancy jewelry… Holding your farts in until you are in the next county and downwind so that the object of your affection will never know…

Y’all know the drill… Typical, flirty – datey stuff.

On the particular day in question, E K arrived at our place of employment, all decked out in a nice blouse, blazer, shape hugging slacks, and the high heels that were a bit too high for your average work day… The pumps were a dead giveaway that she was being flirty, because:

1. She had service calls to take and was going to be on her feet, digging around behind printers, kneeling, bending over, and all of the other gyrations that come along with taking a service call. (For the record, it’s actually pretty good exercise.)
2. She had VERY RECENTLY uncovered my particular affinity for shapely female legs and high heels. (It bears mentioning that being the absolutely brilliant femme fatale she is, The Evil Redhead has used this information to her benefit on countless occasions, ever since making the discovery.)

The only thing missing from the overall package was the shorter than normal skirt, but see #1. She had to compromise somewhere along the line, and like I said, the slacks were definitely figure flattering…

Okay… I need some alone time now…

Just kidding. Well, not really, but I have too much to do and I need to finish this story…

In keeping with the flirty stuff, E K had some tasteful jewelry on to accentuate here and there. Of course, being incredibly practical as well, one of the jewelry items was a fancy little diskette lapel pin. I mean, after all, she’s a technician, so she needed to have herself some technician jewelry, right? And, yes, the picture here is of the actual pin in question. As amazing as it may seem, she still has it after all these years. Granted, it may look a bit odd to you youngsters who have never seen a 5 1/4 inch floppy diskette in real life, but that is exactly what it was patterned after. BTW, Sorcim / IUS was a software company. They were the “publisher” of a widely used, DOS Based program called SuperCalc. If I remember correctly, the lapel pin itself was a gimme type perk she received for attending a Sorcim seminar.

So, anyway, enough rambling on about ancient technology being transformed into jewelry. Let’s get back to this particular day in history…

E Kay’s truck… Yes, my dear and lovely used to drive a truck…  Anyway, her truck was going to be in the shop for some routine maintenance, which effectively left her without wheels, but she still needed to take service calls. Unfortunately, the outfit we were working for at the time, TC Service, didn’t have company vehicles for us to use. So, in order that my lovely be able to take her scheduled service calls, I loaned her my car. As it happened, said vehicle was the Mustang LX I was desperately trying to pay off… Yeah, that’s one of those, “another stories,” but if you read the “Mahwage” series of entries, you know what I mean.

So, after a bit of flirting and lustful stirrings brought about by E K in high heels purposely reaching for things behind her desk while standing in front of it, if you know what I’m saying, I sent her on the road with parts, tools, and my car. After that, the day continued in a relatively uneventful fashion. I configured a few Leading Edge PC’s, fixed a printer or two, answered some tech support calls… The usual crap… The Evil One completed her service calls and returned, both she and my car completely unscathed. Life was good.

As it happened, that evening was filled with “other obligations,” so E K and I were not going to be able to spend it together. Not exactly the best situation, given the fact that she had purposely lit my fuse, so to speak, but hey, stuff happens. Of course, we did the flirty-flirty thing through the afternoon, and retrieved her truck from the shop, then when quitting time rolled around, stole a few kisses before going our separate directions for the evening.

I hopped into my car, and at a point somewhere around halfway home, I felt a very sudden, very sharp, very intense pain in my right butt cheek. If I remember correctly, I even let out a yelp.  It was reminiscent of being nailed by a bee. Since it happened to be late summer, I assumed this was a real possibility.  Something else I considered was a cherry from a cigarette. At the time I was a smoker, so I had to wonder if I had inadvertently knocked the fire from the end of a smoke while shifting gears or some such.

Well, of course, I reached down and felt about in the seat while hiking myself up onto my left hip and dancing around in a circle, all while trying to keep the car in between the dashed lines dividing the lanes on I-170. However, no matter how much feeling about in the seat, or on my own ass I did, I found nothing.

Still, the pain continued.

Well… I have to admit, I have a fairly high pain tolerance. I’m not at all sure from whence it originates, but I can actually take a lot of abuse… Just ask E K… But, let’s not go there again… Seriously, though, I really do have a fairly high tolerance for pain, so since I couldn’t find the source I decided my best bet was to just ignore it. Besides, at this point, the initial shock of the pain was fading and it had settled down to a dull ache. The ache was making its way into the background as well, so I figured I’d be all good. Eventually, it would just go away.

And it did. For the most part, anyway. I mean, there remained a minor ache and soreness throughout the rest of the evening, but nothing anywhere near as intense as the initial stab of pain.

Life rocked on, I met my various obligations, and even had a quick chat or two with E K on the phone, just because I couldn’t stand to be away from her for more than an hour at a stretch unless I was unconscious. The evening grew late and eventually it was time to hit the sack. Following my regular routine, I emptied my pockets, then started getting undressed so I could go to bed. About the time I undid my pants and went to pull them off, I discovered that they seemed to be hung up somewhere around the right side of my ass. As in, they wouldn’t come off. At about the exact instant I started to tug on them a bit, the pain that had earlier ravaged my butt cheek exploded forth once more.

Now I was hopping about on one leg, cussing, and about to trip over my half-removed britches. Fearing that I was going to perform a flawless face plant on the floor, I twisted around and perched myself on the corner of my waterbed side rails, and rolled up onto my left hip. Reaching back and feeling around, through the fabric of the pants, my fingers now came into contact with a small lump on my rear, right about where my wallet had been residing earlier. Perplexed, I slipped my hand into my hip pocket and felt around some more. Within seconds I had hold of the offending object and pulled, much like the whole mouse yanking the thorn out of the lion’s paw scenario. Except, it was just me doing the yanking, and the paw in this case was my ass.

When I brought my hand up into the light, besides a bit of blood, I also found a gold, diskette shaped, lapel pin pinched between my fingers.

The next morning, when E K strolled into work, I waited for her to park herself at her desk, which was nearby and facing mine. After exchanging some flirty good mornings, I raised an eyebrow and asked, “So, were you trying to make sure I didn’t forget you last night?”

She furrowed her brow and cocked her head to the side. “What do you mean?”

I pushed back from my desk, stood, took the few steps in her direction, and then dropped the lapel pin on the desk blotter in front of her.

“Oh, I was wondering where I lost that!” she exclaimed. “Where did you find it?”

I shook my head. “You probably don’t want to know.”

I did eventually tell her, of course. A few minutes later, in fact. However, looking back on it now, that was probably a mistake in and of itself. You see,  it was at that point in our relationship that she became aware of my higher than normal tolerance for pain, and she has been trying to find my breaking point ever since…

But seriously… All joking and silliness aside, I think you can now see why I can truthfully say that, “E K is a real pain in my ass…”

More to come…

Murv