Freak of the Week

There are some pretty messed up people in this world. 

And thanks to the magic of Google Analytics, I know that many of them end up on my blog.  You know, where I put pictures of my kids and house. 

I've shared a few particularly awesome search terms on my Facebook page over the past few months, and my friend Kari suggested I start doing it on a weekly basis.  Which is an awesome idea if for no other reason than if I end up dead in a gutter somewhere the police have a few leads. 

So here's this week's Googlin' Freak of the Week:

Dear Suckey,

First of all, you better not be my husband.

Second, I can see why you've come to my blog to find the answer to your age-old question.  There probably isn't a 13-year-old boy on the planet who hasn't wondered the same thing. 

And if it's one thing I know it's 13-year-old boys.  So you've come to the right place.  My debilitating fear of snakes was actually precipitated in college when a particularly aggressive snake thought I owed him something after he bought me a few G and Ts at his fraternity mixer.  So let me start by telling you that snake doesn't owe you nothing, buddy.  If you go into the encounter with any expectations you're just going to end up frustrated, settling by taking home some second rate hamster or lizard or some shit.

Now on to the more complex issues.  I mean, what kind of snake is it?  Like, does it like to gets freaky?  Does it have Daddy issues?  What are you promising the snake in return?  Is it your anniversary?

And you better make for damn sure it's not some clingy ass psycho snake that confuses sex with love and is going to start showering you with texts saying it's pregnant and it's yours. 

So I guess the short answer is:  You better check yo self before you wreck yo self.

Love Always,

H Bomb