Googletastic

Below is a list of Google search phrases that for some reason bring people to this esteemed blog (I haven’t done one of these for a while now, but these were just too good/random/borderline demented to pass up):

Second hand octaver pedal in Bournemouth – what’s an octaver pedal? And the last time I went to Bournemouth was to see James Blunt (don’t ask).

Super scary things to print – happy to be of assistance! Try this, or this, or even this.

Pic of Bruce Forsythe wife – doing what? Knitting? Rinsing out Bruce’s rug? Watching old age creep up on her? ;-) Honestly, people: you have to be more specific.

Genre is rude word – you know something? It probably is. However, ‘arse’ is much ruder and can be used to greater effect.

Pictures of Anna Torv in underwear – I had no idea that Anna Torv was Rupert Murdoch’s niece. Not that it matters in the search for pictures of her in her underwear of course, but I just thought I’d mention it (thank god it’s Anna Torv underwear pictures that bring people here rather than ones of Rupert Murdoch *shudder*).

You are a tit – I think that’s enough search items for one day.

Ass and More Ass

I always enjoy a good keyword hoedown – having Statcounter on my site enables me to see what search terms bring people swinging by UFP (they’re probably expecting knitting patterns and/or pornography, but you can’t win ‘em all).

Here are a few of the most recent (and choicest) terms:

* Reader’s Digest prize draw – I have it on good authority that Mr Tom Champagne (“I assure you, Chipster, that that is my real name, it really is, it really is”) is a regular visitor to UFP. I may even try and get a Q&A with the old goon at some point on this very blog!

* www. big ass Lucy – well, really, what on earth do you think this place is? (*quickly goes to internet and looks up www.bigasslucy.com*)

* how much did good will hunting screenplay sell for? A little (and perhaps not very reliably informed) bird tells me that the answer to this question is fifty pounds precisely.

* big ass nature – Indeed, it could be said that mother nature is ‘big assed’, but I suspect this has something to do with being naked outdoors.

* World chip ass 2 – come on, quit it with the asses!

* I have an actor attached to my screenplay what now? Depends who the actor is, surely? I mean, wee Jimmy Krankie being attached to your existential Robbe-Grillet adaptation probably won’t do anyone any good (that said, I'd pay good money to see that).

* Prescient cough – I have no idea what this means.

* Chip Smith philistine – yeah, yeah, I think we get the idea with all this keyword nonsense now...

Google Is Your Friend

It’s early days for this crappy little blog, but some of the Google searches that bring people inadvertently spinning here are starting to become worthy of comment (all courtesy of the good folks over at Statcounter).

Alan Yentob Blue Peter Tortoise: what?! Alan Yentob implicated in yet another Blue Peter scandal, this time involving a tortoise? What kind of sick freak reads this blog?!

Incidental music on X-Factor: glad to be of service, sir and/or madam.

Stitched Back Foot Airman: my sole mention of this late 80’s indie band must have been a bit of a disappointment to whoever searched for them, so here’s a SBFA anecdote for you:

Years and years ago, I saw Stump at the Escape Club in Brighton, supported by Stitched Back Foot Airman (who were by that time going under the moniker Stitch). I went with a couple of friends, one of whom – Lester – was a stick thin psychopath who stood six foot four in his socks (ones with little grinning skulls all over them no doubt). Halfway through Stitch’s set, during a break between songs, Lester stood up and screamed, ‘FUCK OFF!’ As heckles go, it wasn’t big and it wasn’t clever, but hey – it made me laugh. Stitch looked mortified. They mumbled something about dancing and launched into another song that sounded like the wheels were going to come off at any second. Stump were brilliant, of course.

Michael Winterbot: I can only assume this has been searched for by someone who can’t spell ‘bottom’ (either that or a censorious born-again Christian).

Review of last night's BBC Best Elvis with Vernon Kay: I am proud to announce that this blog is a Vernon Kay free zone, much the same way that Manchester is a nuclear free city. I take Charlie Brooker’s line, inasmuch as his ideal video game is something for the Wii where you incessantly punch Vernon Kay in the face for two hours. Take that, you whey faced, no-talent twerp!

Blue Peter Pussy Socks: not again. I’m sick of Blue Peter now (thereagain, Pussy Socks sounds like a good name for a punk band to me).

Dench Arnold response: the answer to this query? Very, very slow.