Friday, March 03, 2006

The Searchers

As I try to drag myself back to writing this blog, a few 'crapping' stories are resurfacing from the shamed recesses of my memory to bail me out. Stories that might even justify the title of this blog.

As it is, it's a pretty disgusting blog name which was supposed to be a wise-arse play on 'one hand clapping' and as such it has played host to the searchings of hundreds of crude crud compulsives, floods of fanatical fans of feculence, scores of ordure obsessives, all looking for a shit-hit of the execrable excretory and scandlously scatological.

I can't complain, those shits give me counter hits. And there's all kinds of kinks out there on the look out for muck. Mucky muck. And I have tempted those through my unimaginative title to seek out the scuzzy and the fudgy and the sludgy, right here. Even if their searches end in disappointment.

Searches have included: women crapping, pensioners crapping, people with limps, gimps and friends who are pimps crapping. Bishops crapping, boat-side crapping, birds with radar precision head target crapping. Celebrities crapping, celestials crapping; kings and queens and dreams about crapping.

Okay, one or two - literally, one or two, have been embroidered a little for rhythmic effect - but at the time of writing, the word 'crapping' has been used in 5 percent of the keyword searches leading to this site, well ahead of its nearest rival, the less than colourful 'the,' which only makes 3 percent.

Poo stories are pretty easy deals. I must don my thinking-cap and extricate those clinking-crap stories, not to satisfy the weirds, just to help a mind that's feeling right now like a blocked toilet.

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