Agony Aunt, edition twenty one (it’s been a while).

It’s been so long since I’ve actually bothered to complain to the Internet at large about the cretins that google continues to insist that I am best positioned to help with their eternal queries with regards to very private (and often more than a little ridiculous) matters that I almost think I need to reintroduce Agony Aunt to you all.

Hi, this column is known as Agony Aunt and as a newfound twenty one-er Agony Aunt would like to point out that she can get literally AND figuratively pissed in just about any jurisdiction you care to choose.

Bring it, Google. I’m ready.

….and so it begins again. I decide that I cannot let Goog.le proclaim me the font of all knowledge with regard to ‘geriatric backboarding’ and the Giant Bathing Suit with Frills On The Arse like, without remembering that those who live in cellulitic glass houses should not throw one-piece stones.

As always, click on the button for previous editions of my snark advice to the frequently illiterate. Or click on the Bad Google tab at the top to see a more comprehensive list of what can only be described as Really Dumb Stuff.

Ahem:

am pregnant, what are beta numbers?

does rubbing breasets help my fertility?

is inserting to wrong hole cause infertility?

what happens if you put ice in your vag.ina?

I’m pregnant what the fuck do I do now?

damp fa.rt stain

Item # 1 (am pregnant, what are beta numbers?):

Beta numbers are probably something you don’t need to worry your fertile head over, sweetheart. Have a cookie.

Item # 2 (does rubbing breasets help my fertility?):

Well, it certainly gets attention on the train in the morning, but the only thing that rubbing ‘breasets’ in this case seems to have achieved is damage your spelling glands.

Item # 3  (is inserting to wrong hole cause infertility?):

In short, yes. Yes, it can.

I get so many permutations on this item it really does make asking if SEX happens in the VAG.INA an important starting point in an infertility workup, after all.

The mind boggles.

Item #4 (what happens if you put ice in your vag.ina?):

It melts.

Seriously, that’s what happens.

Item #5 (I’m pregnant what the fu*k do I do now?):

I kind of have the inverse problem but I think what you do now is get fat in a very localised way and then give birth. In the fullness of time.

Item #8 (damp fa.rt stain):

I’m sorry, I’d like to help you but my brain just exploded and I have this overpowering urge to go and take a shower.

Love,

G

Agony Aunt, edition 20.

Is it wrong to realise that a semi-regular feature column has now reached the less-wrinkled decade immediately below your own, and feel accordingly slightly jealous?

Oh, how I loved being twenty. Well, apart from all the crippling self-conciousness, drunken vomits and general lack of financial liquidity, anyway.

Bring it, Google. I’m ready.

….and so it begins again. I decide that I cannot let Goog.le proclaim me the font of all knowledge with regard to ‘geriatric backboarding’ and the Giant Bathing Suit with Frills On The Arse like, without remembering that those who live in cellulitic houses should not throw one-piece stones.

As always, click on the button for previous editions of my snark advice to the frequently illiterate. Or click on the Bad Google tab at the top to see a more comprehensive list of what can only be described as Really Dumb Stuff.

Ahem:

• does a fate line mean im pregnant?
• pregnant am the a.ss to fuck
• flapoplasty
• geriatric backboarding
• Big naked nanna thighs.
• is my pea green when i’m pregnant
• safe to penetrate va.gina with bottle
• elderly vagi.na galleries pics
• can i fuck when im pregnant

Item #1 (does a fate line mean im pregnant?):

No, it means you’ve gone and asked a palm-reader or similar to basically guess if you are up the metaphorical duff.

Alternatively, you just can’t spell.

Strike out whichever option is less embarrassing.

Item # 2 (pregnant am the a.ss to fuck):

I, personally, don’t rate northbound traffic on a strictly southbound highway as highly as I do, say, ice-cream, but I also can’t see any reason why being knocked up should stop you indulging if fancy takes you in that rear-guard.

Ahem.

Unless you’re actually asking if tender loving times, bottom-style, can lead to eighteen years of child support payments. I would hope you already know that the answer to THAT particular question  is a big, fat NO.

Don’t be getting ideas, honey.

Item # 3 (flapoplasty):

Excuse me for being slightly crass, but what flap or flaps are you intending to rearrange, dear Googler?

I mean, I can understand not wanting to have a cheeky three inches of abdomen hang over the front of your  jeans, but if it’s the other kind of flap that’s chafing you, perhaps you should just buy looser trousers?

Skinny jeans only make most people look like they have carrot legs, anyway.

Item #4 and #5  (geriatric backboarding AND Big naked nanna thighs.):

Yes, you are correct oh Google-y ones. Just because one is of the blue-rinse persuasion does not mean that one can not be fully involved in the local water-sports scene.

Inviting the contents of your local nursing home to don big, black swimming costumes, complete with creaking structural reinforcement and outlying postcodes of ass-skimming fabric, probably WILL lead to seeing rather a lot of naked nanna thighs.

Enjoy.

Item #6 (is my pea green when i’m pregnant):

Peas remain green whether you are pregnant or not. They don’t really care.

Your pee, on the other hand, should never be green, brown, black, red, full of pus, have a head of foam on it,  or be possessing of lumps.

Also, on a different note, your vowels should include careful discrimination between A and E. There’s five of them these days, not four.

Item #7 (safe to penetrate va.gina with bottle):

No, not really.

In Captain Obvious mode, most especially not if it isn’t nice and smooth and absolutely not if it happens to be glass.

Item #8 (elderly vagi.na galleries pics):

Sorry, I can’t help you on this one.

Come back in about 50 years.

Item #9 (can i fuck when im pregnant):

If you still feel remotely like it, power to you, sister.

Love,

G

PS. To answer the burning question and put you all out of your dying-to-know misery, the free-range poo-layer was Saag.

Also, yes, it was huge.

Saag and Naan both do a hefty four to five of ‘em a day EACH. Not only was it a mere mathematical matter of time until I was the lucky recipient of Exhibit A in the post below (with at least ten chances a day), but I really do almost drown in baby shit around these parts.

Agony Aunt, Edition 19.

Otherwise known as the ‘where has the time gone?’ edition. Nineteen already? It seems like only a couple of years ago that  a much younger Agony Aunt still had that pesky nappy-requiring double incontinence problem. It wasn’t ALL verbal diarrhoea back in the day.

Regardless, the nineteenth spin around it is. Bring on the Googlers. My snotty nose and cranky mood is more than up to the task.

….and so it begins again. I decide that I cannot let Goog.le proclaim me the font of all knowledge with regard to ‘huge t.its’ and the overly optimistic like without planning the Early Sag and Backache lecture, right there and then.

As always, click on the button for previous editions of my snark advice to the frequently illiterate. Or click on the Bad Google tab at the top to see a more comprehensive list of what can only be described as Really Dumb Stuff.

Ahem:

• beautiful girl with huge t.its.
• not that shit again.
• suppository rectal movie.
• lost scrotum photos.
• photos of vag.ina been shagged.
• dull back ache black tarry poo bloated.
• which hole shall penis can lead to pregnancy?

Item #1 (beautiful girl with huge t.its):

As a card-carrying member of the IBTC*, I stand firm in my fried-egg position that they’re over-rated, anyway.

Also, see above remarks with regards to the National Geographic Phenomenon and the like. I thought that might put you off of your stroke a bit. I know how to Talk The Dirty, oh yes I do.

Besides, sweetheart, if it’s boobs that float your proverbial boat, do you really need a pretty face too?

Perhaps I’m just jealous. Now, bugger off, okay?

Item # 2 (not that shit again):

Yes, it IS that shit again. What more is there to say? Drink less beer and eat less curry and you won’t be so troubled in the mornings.

Item # 3 (suppository rectal movie):

Okay, Googler, apart from the fact that I now feel an overwhelming urge to bathe as this query is even kinkier than an experienced reader of The Misdirected Kink is accustomed to reading, well.

Apart from that, um.

Why?

Item # 4 (lost scrotum photos):

Lamp-posts and milk cartons everywhere now hold new horrors for the unwary.

Item # 5 (photos of vag.ina been shagged):

I am going to take a flying leap of intuition and assume this is a mildly humorous search for po.rn. Again.

Here’s the thing, oh Google-y one, I admire your single-minded specificity in what gives you the maximal amount of jolly factor, really I do. But. If you are grammatically challenged, stick to typing ‘po.rn’ or ‘s.ex’ in the search box. Both are tried and true favourites.

PS. You meant ‘being’ back up there, I think. If you didn’t, I don’t want to follow that line of past-tense horizontal folk dancing enquiry any further at ALL.

Item #6 (dull back ache black tarry poo bloated):

I’m sorry to hear that, but it probably shan’t be lethal.

Speak to item #2, will you?

Item #7 (which hole shall penis can lead to pregnancy?):

Easy.

Without going overly dull and anatomical, I’ll give you a clue. It’s not the mouth and it’s also not the Bottom. In most women, that leaves only one real option.

Now, what do you plan to DO with that information?

G

PS. It’s been a disturbingly slack while, are there any lurkers or new bloggers out there potentially interested in a little blogroll addition, or being BOTW? Don’t all rush at once, now.

*Itty Bitty T-rhymes-predictably Committee.

Agony Aunt, edition 18.

Legal to shag*, drink*, smoke*, vote* and spend far too much money on sticky alcoholic drinks in trashy nightclubs before vomiting profusely in a handy bathroom stall, it’s Agony Aunt now with Added Majority.

Bring on the googlers.

It’s late in the week, piddling down a serious g-dly incontinence episode of rain from above, and it’s bloody windy to boot.

A heady combination of construction site dust and plain old mud keeps getting in around my front door, and if it keeps it up I may have to concede defeat and begin mowing the inside of my entryway.

So, since Saag and Naan (bless their snot ravaged, tear streaked, screaming, unhappy teething cotton socks!) are finally down for a nap thanks to the powers of pharmacological intervention, I figure it’s as good a time as any to break out the crank at the, well, amusingly misspelled.

Analgesia, and not sedatives by the way, in case you had a brief flicker of ‘I wonder…?’  when reading the above sentence, although it did cross my mind. I am but human.

….and so it begins again. I decide that I cannot let Goog.le proclaim me the font of all knowledge with regard to ‘sweaty balls’ and the unhygienic-sounding like without mentally wanting to take a shower. Right after I finish making fun of those running a constant risk of a serious case of jock itch due to being cursed with perpetually damp genitalia.

As always, click on the button for previous editions of my snark advice to the frequently illiterate. Or click on the Bad Google tab at the top to see a more comprehensive list of what can only be described as Really Dumb Stuff.

Ahem:

• fucking worried im pregnant
• how i can remov my penis forskin?
• Can sweaty balls cause infertility?
• I stuck a hose up my va.gina and filled m…
• fancy dress fake pe.nis.
• A list of what not to say to an infertile.

Item #1 (fucking worried im pregnant):

Big breath in…..For-the-sweet-love-of-all-that’s-holy-probably-WOMAN….and big breath OUT.

Piddle on a stick, will you?

Then you can either be:

A: Fucking worried about the next eighteen years (conservative estimate)/ forever (worst case scenario), OR

B: Very relieved.

See?

You have a 50% chance of feeling much better than you do now.

Now, go forth and tinkle.

Item # 2 (how i can remov my penis forskin?):

It’s called circumcision. It’s a procedure where somebody hopefully possessing a very steady hand cuts it off for you. Kind of like you did to poor, defenceless ’e’ in a few words above. Vowels are not the enemy, by the way.

Oh, and I guess I better make the following point quite obvious, so pay close attention. Don’t try it at home.

Item # 3 (Can sweaty balls cause infertility?):

Only in the vaguely sporting sounding sense that nobody likes to play games with damp balls.

Plus, jock itch, much?

Item # 4 (I stuck a hose up my va.gina and filled m…):

Uh. Urgh.

Um. Gosh, even. I’m slightly lost for words for once.

Well, golly.

You did?

Would it be rude to enquire why the blue blazers you chose to attempt a very personal recreation of the local-harbour-of-your-choice?

Item # 5 (fancy dress fake pe.nis):

Personally, I always think you can never go wrong with a bow tie when it comes to fancy dress.

Just don’t ask me how to stop it falling off, because I have the feeling that ‘superglue’ is not the correct answer.

Item #6 (A list of what not to say to an infertile):

When ARE you planning to have a baby, then?

I want grandchildren!

I have this tea/concoction/pill that makes you pregnant as soon as you look at the packet.

My friend XX got pregnant by doing <insert stupid unscientific non-conceptually assistive item>

Are you sure you’re doing it right?

Why do you want kids? They’re so irritating. Here, have one of mine.

I’ll get you pregnant.

Have to tried a holiday?

Oh, and pay close attention to my final point, class, never EVER suggest relaxation. Unless you have a burning desire to die in the very near future.

G

*In some jurisdictions.

Agont Aunt, Edition 17.

Boring for her nation, it’s Agony Aunt back in the saddle.

She’s swotting up for yet another high-school maths exam and desperately trying to figure out exactly what an integer really IS when it’s at home.

As for physics, she’s leaving the vexed difficulty of defining Torque to the blokes on Top Gear. It’s a shame they seem to have no eartly idea either.

Either way, she’s busy, bored with numbers and can’t work out why you can’t divide by zero.

Bring on the googlers.

In the absence of much content of my own to blog about, mostly because I am spending quite a lot of my day rather unimaginatively running around my loungeroom in circles and flapping my wings convulsively in a vain attempt to cope with the idea that I have two so-close-you-could-spit-rather-unhygenically-on-the-date-from-here almost ONE year olds.

Because I am suicidal and am prone to making the error that if I write a detailed enough list I can accomplish anything, it follows that I have to bake not one, but TWO cakes either today or tomorrow. Interestingly, the fact that this has yet to work for any plan of mine ever mysteriously fails to dissaude me. I can often be seen surrounded by truly buggered-up Good Intentions, clutching a tatty post-it and sadly wondering where it all went pear.

My sense of horror is growing hourly.

I cannot cook. Well, at least beyond Pot Luck Tinned Stuff Stew.

I have nailed my proverbials to the mast by inviting a rather large amount of people over to witness the result and unknowingly risk life and limb by eating my efforts.

Um.

Acutally, I’m probably more nervous than a long-tailed cat in a rocking chair factory. C’est La Vie. I shall procrastinate.

….and so it begins again. I decide that I cannot let Goog.le proclaim me the font of all knowledge with regard to ‘butt cloakers’ and the misspelled (and perpetually confused) like without a little more than a small sigh of resignation and mutterings about bloody  spellchecking already, PLEASE. The only thing sadder than po.rn is misspelled po.rn.

As always, click on the button for previous editions of my snark advice to the frequently illiterate. Or click on the Bad Google tab at the top to see a more comprehensive list of what can only be described as Really Dumb Stuff.

Ahem:

• Butt cloaker.
• broken capillaries cause screaming
• forearm p.enis
• im pregnant with no sex drive.
• how to give your child suppository
• Do you poop during egg retrieval?
• anyone negative beta but was pregnant?

 Item #1 (Butt Cloaker):

Do you know what, dear Googler?

I feel for your plight. Really, I do.

Personally speaking, the current fad for wearing leggings as if they are Really Trousers and not merely Bum Cheek Shrink Wrapping has me more than a little edgy as well. I’m constantly visualising people, ahem, behind me losing retinas to a sight not unlike two pigs wrestling in a black garbage bag.

You’re right, Googley one, in your unspoken understanding that sadly wrapping a jacket around one’s waist does not hide the problem, but merely screams ‘I HAVE A LARGE ASS’.

What’s the solution?

Item # 2 (broken capillaries cause screaming):

Usually, it’s the other way around. Try not yelling.

Oh, and if you really DO have the order of events correct, just stop looking in the mirror. Ignorance is scream-free bliss.

Item # 3 (forearm pe.nis):

Yeah, I know that those kooky kids in labcoats stuck an ear on the back of a rat once, but this really IS going too far.

Item # 4 (im pregnant with no sex drive):

im not pregnant and i lost my punctuation?

Kidding. Seriously, kid, I wouldn’t look too hard for it.

Otherwise you’ll only have the joy of misplacing it again postpartum.

Item # 5 (how to give your child suppository):

Presumably up their bottoms is a good place to start, although if you find that as vaguely wrong-sounding and a tad icky as I do, well then you could give it orally and wait about a day for it to make it’s own way there?

Actually, don’t do that.

Item #6 (anyone negative beta but was pregnant?):

Inhale-exhale and do not shake the asker by the stupid neck, I’ve covered this item before.

Again, I wonder just how I became a beacon of inappropriate hopefor the definitively not pregnant who just can’t take it without asking goo.gle to prove their intuition right.

I’ve also covered this before here, and here.

Item # 7 (do you poop during egg retrieval?):

Points for honest curiosity to you, oh unusually worried one.

I can ease your mind on the matter.

You may mutter incomprehensible garbage about how much you vaguely innapropriately love your RE under the sweet, sweet influence of the Good Drugs, but actual pooping in the presence of medicos usually only happens about 38 weeks later.

That is if you (choose the option that best suits the number of missing teeth you no longer possess) get pregnant/pragnet/preggie/preggo/pragnent/preggers and you have a vag.inal delivery.

Don’t, for the love of all that is holy, Google THAT.

G

Agony Aunt, edition 16.

Getting drunk for the first time and puking in a handy wastepaper bin at a heady room-spinning sixteen, it’s time for Agony Aunt to trot out The Cranky at the things people type into Goog.le. Because they end up HERE, and I object whole, fat, lotso.

Oh, and before I begin gleefully assulting your retinas with my latest misdirected gems, may I just briefly (with appropriately flaming cheeks of contrition, because apparently my ass DOES look paranoid in a URL cloaker) apologise to the very kind blogger who fessed up even after all that misdirected cross stuff?

Deeply sorry I am, because it turns out that there are entirely legitimate reasons for a URL like hide.refer to pop up in my stats package from time to time. Like peacefully reading my blog.

I honestly thought I was calling out one of those rather wearisome cyber-stalker types, really I did. To be honest, I feel a bit like you’ve just caught me on the tail-spin of a rather juvenile hearty poop-fling, Angry Monkey Style.

Ahem.

Shall we say no more?

….and so it begins again. I decide that I cannot let Goog.le proclaim me the font of all knowledge with regard to ‘exhasperated follicles’ and the misspelled (and perpetually confused) like without a little more than a small sigh of resignation and mutterings about bloody spellchecking already, PLEASE.

As always, click on the button for previous editions of my snark advice to the frequently illiterate. Or click on the Bad Google tab at the top to see a more comprehensive list of what can only be described as Really Dumb Stuff.

 

 

• why to you exasperate all follicles duri
• posterior sweet fu.ck squits
• inserting stiletto heel into urethra
• penis in the uterus pictures
• how to fu.ck to make pregnant.
• pregnancy fu.ck position.
• bad days fu.ck for avoid pregnancy
• negative beta and I am pregnant.

 

 

Item #1 (Why to you exasperate all follicles duri….):

Because only a truly p!ssedoff follicle contains a grown-up eggey-poo?

Sigh.

Okay, dear vowel-challenged individual, I’m going to roll with your humorously bad spelling and pretend I didn’t notice it in the least. What snorting at my monitor could you possibly be referring to? I’m much too grown-up to do that to the plight of the presumed owner of a dictionary that met with a horrible accident.

Anyway.

You ‘exasperate’ all the follicles during egg retrieval because you’re paying mucho dollars to make a baby and the more eggs you get, the better over all.

Why spend all that cash on sweet, sweet FSH only to leave some behind?

Also, put really, really simply ‘in vitro’ fertilisation means fertilisation outside of the body, whereas ‘in vivo’ is what happens if you don’t exasperate anything and se.x works for you in that regard. But mostly you’re getting to the ‘in vitro’ bit precisely because shagging your brains out failed.

You can’t avoid the exasperation, lovvie.

Item # 2 (posterior sweet fu.ck squits, AND inserting stiletto heel into urethra):

Um. I know that on the surface of it, there is little in common with posterior squits and urethral footwear, but will the two of you forgive me for dealing with these items together?

Oh, my.

I truly wish I did not possess an unusually vivid imagination right now.

But thank you for showing me that I’m still good for the odd Kin.ky Po.rn hit. I’ll be sure to tell Long Suffering that I’m not entirely Sexua.l Whitebread after all.

Item # 3 (penis in the uterus pictures):

That’s plain old greedy, you know.

Even if you’ve got a whopper of a ding-dong, Sonny Jim, no lady wants it THAT far north. I promise you, no matter what you might hear in certain blue movies.

Additionally, I entreat you to learn a little bit about female anatomy, and specifically how a structure that goes by the handle of ‘cervix’ should stop the above painful-sounding scenario from ever happening.

Item # 4 (how to fu.ck to make pregnant AND pregnancy fu.ck position):

Again, dear goog.lers, let me risk offence by dealing with two of you at once.

Did that just sound a little bit kinky to you, too? Or is all the dirty search terms only making ME feel like I should go and wash something?

Regardless, I’ve covered this item before.

For best results, try her vag.ina until ej.aculation. Simple! Well, for most people, anyway.

Item # 5 (negative beta and I am pregnant):

Again, I wonder just how I became a beacon of inappropriate hope for the definitively not pregnant who just can’t take it without asking goo.gle to prove their intuition right.

I’ve covered this before here, and here.

No, you’re not pregnant.

I’ll say it again, just so we’re all quite clear, except in instances where you’re either not very good at counting OR you don’t know when you ovulated and you’re really less than, say, about-ish 9-12 days post ovulation and your little bun has yet to get all cozy in that oven of yours, a negative beta means you should not be buying booties just yet.

Really.

Item # 6 (bad days fu.ck for avoid pregnancy):

Try contraception. You might like it.

Additionally, have you met item #4?

I suggest you don’t shag them.

G

Agony Aunt, edition 15.

At a ragingly pimple-infested fifteen without a viable boyfriend in sight, she’s thinking about starting driving lessons soon, just so she can run all the asshats right OVER. Nothing wrong with a little well-directed Post Rage, is there?

….and so it begins again. I decide that I cannot let Goog.le proclaim me the font of all knowledge with regard to what to do about a badly misspelled health crisis involving a speculum in the wrong hole and the clever co-incidental acquisition of Virulent Knob Rot without mentally reaching into my monitor and slapping the asker silly. If you’re unemployed and shag all day for a living, that’s what happens sooner or later I suppose.

Perhaps I’m simply jealous since I rarely have the time or inclination to initiate, let alone complete a shag these days.

As always, click on the button for previous editions of my snark advice to the frequently illiterate. Or click on the Bad Google tab at the top to see a more comprehensive list of what can only be described as Really Dumb Stuff.

• Position to fuck an ovulating woman.
• Penis pictures from november 1 2007
• Sexually frustrated masturbate furiously
• Dildocam blog ar$e. 
• Negative beta but pregnant.

Item #1 (Position to fuck an ovulating woman):

Easy.

I’m going to go all out on a limb and presume the reference to ovulation means that you’re trying to knock her up, yes? I’m clever with my thinking like that.

So.I’ll keep this one brief.

Try her vagi.na, and not just for the sake of tradition.

Other orifices do not result in pregnancy.

No, really, they don’t.

Item # 2 (Penis pictures from november 1 2007):

You’re so ALMOST in luck. I only have pe.nis pictures from November 7 that year. Sorry about that.  

I know you’re sorely disappointed.

Leave my archives on Nov 1st unmolested, please.

(Is that a forest of clicking I hear?)

Item # 3 (Sexually frustrated masturbate furiously):

Um, good for you. Stock up on the porn and KY in advance, eh?

I hope your willy isn’t too sore afterwards.

Do you know you can rip a bit of the foreskin if you go at it too hard? You think Jack The Ripper has invaded your jocks if you do. I’ve seen the aftermath.

Take care and do wash your hands before going out in public, won’t you?

Item # 4 (Dildocam blog ar$e):

I was going to get all snappy about this one of MANY arse related items goog.le sees fit to send me but I thought I’d tell you an interesting factoid.

I HAVE seen a dildocam, more properly known as a transvaginal ultrasound probe by the way (in case terminology interests you) inserted in an arse. More than one, in fact. You do it to evaluate the prostate and take biopsies of it in suspected prostate cancer.

Did that cure your kinky curiosity enough?

Item # 5 (Negative beta but pregnant):

Heavy sighs aplenty.

Just how did this site get to be the beacon of dashed hope to all those women out there who won’t take zero on a quant beta as proof positive that their ovens are comprehensively sans a bloody bun.

No, you are not pregnant. Not even a little bit. Really.

That’s enough for now,

G

Agony Aunt, edition 14.

Yeah, AA is fourteen and she’s got some nasty PMS. Why-for do you punish me so, Google?

….and so it begins again. I decide that I cannot let Goog.le proclaim me the font of all knowledge with regard to what to do about a contraceptive-deficient Googler’s usually badly spelt fear that, well, ‘Fu.ck, I’m pregnant’ (or pregnent, or prego, or pragnet, or pragnent or so on. You get the idea.) without at least a little objection. I get a hit like that several times a day. P.ee holes remain evergreen, too, if you’re wondering.

As always, click on the button for previous editions of my snark advice to the frequently illiterate. Or click on the Bad Google tab at the top to see a more comprehensive list of what can only be described as Really Dumb Stuff.

• “mothers of multiples” bitch.
• erect elephant penis.
• You can’t cure stupid it.
• bleeding out my ass while im pregnant.
• veiny breasts sign of pregnancy or something.

 

Item #1 (“mothers of multiples” bitch.):

Yeah, I know.

You’re all snickering that Goo.gle got this one right, aren’t you?

Hard to poke fun at this one from such a lovely glass house….

I think I’ll keep moving on.

Item # 2 (erect elephant penis.):

Now, that’s just plain old greedy dear searcher for pornographic jollies.

I think you’d be pretty happy with some of the human ones available via the goog.le image search feature if you gave it a good shot.

Just turn off the ‘safe search’ first, okay? Otherwise you’ll probably end up back here.

No, I have no pictures of willies on this blog. Leave my archives unmolested, please.

Item # 3 (You can’t cure stupid it.):

…..would seem?

No, you can’t. I wholeheartedly agree, even if I DID have to finish your sentence for you.

Item # 4 (bleeding out my ass while im pregnant.):

I’m sorry to hear that.

Really, I am. Clearly it was a rather pressing query given the state of your punctuation, so I hope my answer does not come too late for you.

Actually I’m more sorry I had to inflict that on my retinas while eating my toast this morning.

Can I give my honest medical opinion that you should see a doctor already rather than asking goo.gle?

Especially if it’s kind of a LOT and you’re starting to get a bit dizzy when you stand up.

Odds are you’ve got hemorrhoids, by the way, if it was a bottom-unexamined diagnosis you’re after. Try fibre.

Item # 5 (veiny breasts sign of pregnancy or something):

So is a human infant shooting out of your crotch at some point in the future.

Please humour a crotchety old lady and find a more scientific way than asking goo.gle to tell you if you’re knocked up. Like, I don’t know, a pregnancy test?

Just a thought.

I’ve just had enough,

G

Agony Aunt, edition 12+1

For the superstitious I shall refrain from running in circles throwing spilled salt merrily around, stepping on black cats ON cracks in the pavement, dodging under ladders and saying ‘thirteen!! THIRTEEN. Thirteen!’ excessively. Oops, except perhaps that one time. Oh, and Dear Old Aunty is now officially a teenager. Being thirteen and all. Where does the time go?

I’ll quit it now. Really. What broken mirror?

 

….and so it begins again. I decide that I cannot let Goog.le proclaim me the font of all knowlege with regard to an.al speculums and p.ee hole in.sertions without at least a little objection. But I’ll choose some other examples to discuss in greater detail, if that’s okay with YOU.

As always, click on the button for previous editions of my snark advice to the frequently illiterate. Or click on the Bad Google tab at the top to see a more comprehensive list of what can only be described as Really Dumb Stuff.

• Sparrow phlebotomist girl dies.
• can i f*ck to pregnant time?
• i have 0% (non pregnant) of quantitative HCG.
• Vaginal suppository application diagram.
• Seen the heartbeat don’t feel pregnant. 
• Gunshot wound to the penis.
• Cold medicine give me an erection.

Item #1 (Sparrow phlebotomist girl dies):

Well that was jolly careless of her, wasn’t it?

Now whose going to extract blood from all these darn sparrows?

I call it inconsiderate.

Item # 2 (can i f*ck to pregnant time?):

I’m afraid I just don’t know. Can you?

I’m not very musical, but I can probably manage to beat out 4/4 time if that’s any help?

Item # 3 (i have 0% (non pregnant) of quantitative HCG):

I’ve answered this one recently, but I’ll save you the search through the back archives. I know you’re burning up to understand why the blood test is wrong because you ARE pregnant, right?

Apologies in advance if this seems a little mean, but tough love is sometimes required in this sort of situation. If it helps, I’ll supply the chocolates and inevitable tissues?

Let me get on the blower  all stat and stuff!

Yep, honey, I’ll be right with you. Promise. I’m paging the Tooth Fairy and Father Christmas as we speak. They’ll want to get a hold of this one.

What, you mean they don’t exist?

Kind on my point, I suppose….

Sorry.

That WAS kinda mean. You’re not pregnant.

No, really, you’re not.

Item # 4 (Vaginal suppository application diagram):

Sigh.

For all of you who are near Terminally Confused about the naming convention with regard to orifices, insertional activities thereof, I shall once again explain.

If you put it in the furthermost orifice from the front, you’re putting it in your bottom and you call it a suppository.

If you put it in the middle orifice that girlies have, but not boys, then you call it a pessary.

If you put it in the front one, well, we’re back to p.ee hole in.sertions and I don’t give advice on those.

Capiche? Please, let’s stop all the messy sounding reference to vag.inal supp.ositories. My mental imagery thanks you in advance.

Item # 5 (Seen the heartbeat don’t feel pregnant):

What’s the name of that river in Egypt, again?

Yeah. That one.

You and Mz 0% Quant Beta really should have a chat sometime. Could be educational for both of you.

Item # 6 (Gunshot wound to the penis.):

Ouch.

Ooh-err. Why are you googling about GSW’s to the willy, anyway? Doesn’t sound like much of a way to get your jollies to me.

Um, and if it was you, get well soon.

Item # 7 (Cold medicine give me an erection):

I’m really not sure how best to respond, dear googler, other than perhaps with ’Congratulations, that must represent quite the saving on Vi.agra!’ and ‘Lucky you’.

I think my head is beginning to hurt….

Agony Aunt, Edition 12.

….and so it begins again. I reach a critical mass of irritation at the daft things Goog.le proclaims me to be a specialist on and take it out on the hapless searcher. Fun times all round.

As always, click on the button for previous editions of my snark advice to the frequently illiterate. Or click on the Bad Google tab at the top to see a more comprehensive list of what can only be described as Dumb Stuff.

Without further ado, may I present the magnificent fodder for edition twelve (otherwise known as that angst ridden, won’t leave her bedroom devestatingly pimply) of agony-aunt?:

Pregnancy with a negative beta.

Effect of dysentry on ivf conception

One year old postpartum libido.

Can Clomid make my foot like pins and needles? 

Not a suppository.

Pregnant supermodel.

Snort. Oh, dear me. Wherever shall I begin?

Sigh.

Item #1 (Pregnancy with a negative beta.):

Apologies in advance if this seems a little mean, but tough love is sometimes required in this sort of situation. If it helps, I’ll supply the chocolates and inevitable tissues?

Hang on, let me get on the blower, like all stat and stuff!

Yep, honey, I’ll be right with you. Promise. I’m paging the Tooth Fairy and Father Christmas as we speak. They’ll want to get a hold of this one.

What, you mean they don’t exist?

Kind on my point, I suppose….

Sorry.

That WAS kinda mean. You’re not pregnant.

Item # 2 (Effect of dysentry on ivf conception):

In all seriousness?

Try not to get too dehydrated and it shouldn’t matter too much. Although it is hard to avoid dehydration when passing the proverbial rice-water stool(yummo). Perhaps you should seek medical assistance of the IV hydration variety?

Just a thought.

Oh, and by the way. If you mean getting pregnant whilst having dysentery, well, power to you. Much power. Your sphincter control is clearly unparalleled.

Personally when I have the Exuberant Squitters a transfer catheter is not foremost in my mind, although having a toilet firmly under my buttocks IS.

Item # 3 (One year old postpartum libido.):

Libido?

What’s that, some new kind of dance? Does it involve a bar of any kind?

Oh. One of those bars. I see….

You mean you still wonder if you want to do the proverbial horizontal folk dance with your actual gear off after you’ve already had a baby?

Man, you crack me right up.

Of course not!

Libido….Honestly. Children are the best contraceptive agent known to Man, bar none. Especially if they cry a lot. Their Pearl Index is impressive. Trust me.

Snort.

Item # 4 (Can Clomid make my foot like pins and needles? )

No.

You want more?

No, it can’t.

But sitting on it for too goddamn long whilst Googling yourself to a painful messy death, instead of shagging like a rabbit when you’re trying to get knocked up, can.

Isn’t that nice.

Now get on with it, please.

For the love of all that’s holy, not here.

Item # 5 (Not a suppository.):

I can’t believe it’s not butter!

Pardon me, frog in my throat. I do hope that wasn’t an excessively specific in-joke.

Try here.

Item # 6 (Pregnant supermodel.):

Damn, smoked out again.

I wish.

Sorry. You’ll have to indulge in your naked knocked-up porn.o fantasies elsewhere. I only do the farts, butt scratching, whining and stretchmarks kind.

Better luck next time,

Gehode.

Agony Aunt, edition 11.

Oh, my. Soon my little Agony Aunt shall be a TEENAGER. Where does the time go?

If this is your first exposure to my one-coffee-short-of-a-sense-of-patience (self appointed, no less) more-prickle-than-a-porcupine-convention Agony Aunt to the unfortunate victims of Google, please click on the logo above (it’s also in my sidebar, naturally) to be taken to an explanation and a backlist of previous editions of snark, fun poking err helpful advice.

Once again (with feeling, I promise), darling Google and I do the Dance Of Misdirected Search Terms. Let me begin with a list of my latest favourites.

1. Squirrels get sick, too.
2. Wholly shit, I’m pregnant.
3. If my boobs were my brains?
4. Physiology of a cockle.
5. Extreme nudity testic.les clear plastic.
6. Can getting a gunshot would in the butt make y….

Oh my, I am truly spoiled for choice this time.

Sigh.

Item # 1 (Squirrels get sick, too):

Yes, dear slightly defensive-sounding searcher, I am sure they do.

Really, I believe you. Additionally, I don’t ever recall implying anywhere on this site that the suffering of squirrels was something I would not feel deeply, passionately about, if it had actually ever occured to me. I’m nothing but compassionate. 

Suffer Ye Not, little I-think-it’s-acorn eaters.

But what, in summary, was your point?

Much love (and with only healthy squirrels in my environs, if any),

Geohde.

Item # 2 (Wholly shit, I’m pregnant):

Um,

Congratulations?

Would you like a side serving of dictionary with that main course of filled uterus?

Just wondering.

Love,

G

Item # 3 (If my boobs were my brains?):

…I’d be twice as smart, have two suckable lumps on my head and have an absolutely terrible time finding hats?

No?

Sigh.

There’s truly no helping some people.

Item # 4 (Physiology of a cockle):

Dear searcher,

I must confess I had to hit up darling goog.le myself to figure out just what you were blabbering on about with all your big use of ‘physiology’ with reference to cockles.

I only know of cockles in the context related to the heart-warming thereof when an nice deed occurs.

I honestly had no idea whatsoever that cockles are a real live marine organism and that warming them probably counts as animal cruelty.

Sorry about that. My bad.

Don’t dob me in, please? In exchange, I faithfully pinky-promise I shan’t toast any more.

Item # 5 (Extreme nudity testic.les clear plastic- discreet use of punctuation my own work):

Clearly, oh hand-firmly-wrapped-around-a-certain-apparatus-whilst-typing-one-handed one, this is a search for specialist porn, yes?

Promise I don’t find you choice in turn-on funny in the least.

Clear plastic balls? Or perhaps real balls wrapped in clear plastic, trussed up like the “vegetable” component of the proverbial meat-and-two-veg roast of the day? Personally speaking, the mental image conveyed doesn’t sound like it would represent anybody’s best angle and isn’t precisely to my taste, but I guess it would be a dull world if we were all alike. 

Incidentally, since I’m feeling all nosey- what do they do about the hair? Doesn’t that rather spoil the effect?

Really.

snort……..

Item # 6 (Can getting a gunshot would in the butt make y….):

Oh dear.

I’ve been left positively hanging  dear searcher.

Can it make me what?

Judging by the lack of ending to your sentence, I’ll go for ‘dead’. Although ‘sore’, ‘limpy’, and ‘reluctant to ever go number two again’ may also apply.

Hope you get better soon.

xx

Geohde

Agony Aunt, edition ten

Darling Google,

And so it begins again.

This time with a bonus handy sidebar button so those who think I’ve finally completely flipped my lid can access both the back story and previous editions of my Help For The Terminally Fouled By A Certain Search Engine.

Not that I’m pointing fingers or naming any names Google.

My current bumper crop of searches that you and I shall have to simply forever politely beg to differ on the relevence of linking here are:

1. Obnoxiously cheerful bedding.
2. I have infertility mucus in my underwear.
3. Boils bum nose bacteria. 
4. P@nis dans le vagin@. 
5. Does Clomid mess up my cycles? 
6. P@nis swollen bee.

Item #1 (Obnoxiously cheerful bedding).

Dear Searcher,

I agree wholeheartedly.

Nothing pisses me off more quickly than when I get into bed, knackered tired, determined to have an absolute mongrel of a night’s sleep and then the damn thing sings me a lullaby and before you know it it’s morning, there’s puppy dogs and rainbows outside and I go to the bathroom and find I’m positively pooping diamonds.

Yeah, I hate it when that happens.

Get me the grumpy model emblazoned ‘Whichever side you get out of will be wrong’ any day of the week.

Yours,

Geohde-who-never-sleeps.

Item #2 (I have infertility mucus in my underwear).

Yes, I hate it when that happens, too.

I think I saw some this morning in my very own set, if you’re interested in personal details.

Were you wanting to compare notes and perhaps sympathise over a cup of virtual coffee, or were you after something a bit more pictorial in nature?

Because if that’s the case, all I can say is ewwwww. Oh, and ‘Go away’.

Much love,

G

Item #3 (Boils bum nose bacteria).

Oh terminally misled one,

I have to admit to spending a good five minutes wracking my brains as to the exact nature of the connection between these particular gems.

Was it that you have been unfortunate to contract multiple boils on your bum from an overly enthusiastic brown-nosing by a tainted employee?

No?

Or was it that you wondered if the bacteria in your nose were responsible for the boils on your bum because you like to pick’n'scratch?

Incidentally, you’re a man aren’t you, dear searcher?

Not that either?

And then I figured it probably wasn’t important what you meant, and I probably wouldn’t want to know anyway.

Hugs (with precautionary handwashing),

Geohde

Item #4 (P@nis dans le vagin@- polite symbol substitution my own creative work).

Hey, look everybody!

The french apparently like to search for porn, too.

Well, I never would have credited it if I hadn’t seen it with my own stats package.

Yours-rolling-in-sarcastic-mirth,

G

Item #5 (Does Clomid mess up my cycles?)

Dear fellow infertile googler,

I shall not jet too heavily at your expense, it wouldn’t be fair.

Perhaps you could ask your obviously-too-busy-to-explain-the-drugs-they’re-dishing-out RE what Clomid is meant to do?

I suspect you’re paying them a hefty premium for their wave of the pen over that particular prescription after all, so don’t be shy. Ask.

Until you get your detailed answer, let me provide you with the short version:

‘No’

And in slightly more detail:

‘Usually it’s used to give you a cycle’

I hope that helped, and always feel free to email me in the event that you truly do seriously need further detail and eerily simultaneously your RE is struck down with a devastating case of laryngitis.

In all seriousness ask them. They’re bloody well paid to tell you that sort of stuff.

Yours in frustration at the lack of information her own profession provides to patients at times,

Geohde.

Item #6 (P@nis swollen bee).

Dear uncomfortable-sounding one,

I’m going to politely refrain from all and sundry speculation on just how you managed to get stung there. Really, I am.

If it wasn’t some misguided attempt at, um, for the sake of politeness what I shall term enhancement, thenI extend my sympathies to you.

Just make sure you (or a rather close friend) scrape out the sting and follow the usual first aid steps for insect owies.

Be more careful next time,

Hugs,

Geohde.

 

….aaaaand I think that’s just about enough for today. Really, I do. Feel free to hit up my sidebar for back editions.

Coming up next: Bustin’ Out.

Agony Aunt, Edition 9

Darling Google, it’s been far too long. Yet again.

I must apologise for my tardiness in shedding light on the confusion of those whose searches you choose to direct here.

Can you ever forgive me?

For those of you who think I’ve finally actually flipped and headed out into batsh!t crazy cat collecting territory, be not alarmed. Click HERE for the story of the list of inappropriate Google searches I collect, and HERE for back editions of agony aunt.

Oh, sweet Google, I have learned not to observe that your aim is often more than a little off in choice of search terms. Perhaps rather than giving people what they think they want, you given them what they need? I’m very good at handing out virtual Thick Ears, after all.

Anyway, without further ado, I shall present some of your more recent offerings for judgement:

1. When I eat, my stomach feels too full?
2. Normal women pissing in the street.
3. Post your boobs.
4. Is the ovulation stick (is) dark pink.
5. Counting to ten in Indonesia.
6. A comprehensive list of how to know if I am pregnant.

Item #1 (When I eat, my stomach feels too full?)

Dear question-mark afflicted searcher,

Firstly, I’m sure there’s some sort of cream available for the treatment of inappropriately querying punctuation these days (well if there isn’t, then the Ponds Institute better get cracking).

Secondly, um, well, is it? Yes, I can really only answer a question that YOU and not I have the answer to with another question. Sorry about that.

But, on the off-chance that you didn’t intend the errant question mark, let me offer some concrete help…EAT LESS.

You’ll be amazed at the difference.

Item #2 (Normal women pissing in the street.)

Oh curious one,

I worked hard to figure this one out on your behalf, and after an extensive twenty second survey of one (presumed normal) woman, I can tell you the following:

Normal women do not make water in the street.

(With reasonable exemptions for extreme lack of clean public facilities combined with burstingly full bladder and no other options within a continental plate or so. Actually, probably not even then.)

I’d be seeing yellow before I made pee-pee in the street, okay?

Sheesh.

Item #3 (Post your boobs.)

Sorry, can’t.

I didn’t have any difficulty at all in affixing the stamps, but the damn things just won’t fit through the slot on the postbox.

Besides, you never left an address to post them to and I’m actually kind of planning to use them at some point soon.

Better luck next time.

Item #4 (Is the ovulation stick (is) dark pink. )

Firstly, may I introduce you to the searcher of item one? I believe they have your missing question mark in their possession. You really should be more careful where you leave punctuation…..

But on to the burning (presumed question) at hand:

I don’t know, is it, IS IT?

I firmly recommend backing away from google and showing your actual pee-stick to the owner of a working pair of eyes who speaks your language.

How about the bloke you should be shagging right now, if indeed you are using the ovulation stick for the usual reason?

You can thank me in 38 weeks.

Item #5 (Counting to ten in Indonesia. )

One……two……three….surely you know how this goes??

Or did you mean in Indonesia-N?

In that case, let me break out the residual skill of six years of learning Bahasa, just for you:

Satu, Dua, Tiga, Empat, Lima, Enam, Tujuh, Delapan, Sembilan, Sepuluh.

Yeah, I’m a regular Babelfish.

Item #6 (A comprehensive list of how to know if I am pregnant.)

Okay, here we go (order is important here, searcher):

1. (prerequisite step) You either:
   1. Have normal fertility, and a partner of the opposite gender to you who also has normal fertility and have then had actual s.e.x in the fertile window (By which I mean the Right Time For Ovulation, and not a particular type of curtain arrangement) without using contraceptive methods and in the correct orifice. OR
   2. If lacking playmate of Opposite Gender, have redeemed said deficiency of swimmy gametes by acquiring and placing some in the aforementioned correct orifice at the (aforementioned) correct time. OR
   3.  Do not have normal fertility, but have undertaken an IUI, or IVF or other ART treatment
2. Wait two weeks, and leave to simmer.
   1. You cannot skip this step. Many have tried, and failed. You may be able to shorten it by a few days, but that’s about it.
3. Have a positive quantitative beta HCG after step 2.
   1. Then you’re pregnant. With the following qualification:
      1. A positive beta, sadly, does not always equal a Take Home Baby.

Want to know about how to know if you’ll have a take home baby? Simple. Be lucky enough to avoid all the Bad Things that can happen between positive beta and delivery and have a live, healthy child shoot out of your hoo-ha (or otherwise be surgically extracted) at the customary time.

I’m still waiting to see if I get mine.

Agony Aunt, edition 8

Yes, dear Google, I know it’s been some time.

Please forgive my delay in answering the queries of the Eternally Confused who you, for reasons best known only to your mysterious self, direct here.

But in a small aside, must you send so very many arrangements and permutations on ‘Pregnant’  + ‘Orifice-of-your-choice’ + ‘expletive (usually the f-bomb)’ + ‘verb’? Thank you. I’m not THAT kinda girl, Google.

Ha-hem. Before I really  get going I must make an unrelated observation. Why is is that my darling spouse always thinks that when I get up to pee in the night, that’s his cue to sprint past my waddling self, shut the bathroom door and take a ten minute slash? I mean, I’m very grateful that he doesn’t miss the bowl and I’m spared standing in puddles of wee, but how is his need more urgent than mine? I’ve got two goddamn babies sitting on top of my bladder, ferchrissakes. At least I hope I still have, since after several days of frenetic movement I now feel squat for two days running. Children, if you can hear me, it’s Not Funny, alright?

Anyway, without further ado, may I present to you a hand picked selection of the items that Google feels I am best qualified to answer on this blog?

1. Rubber Vagin@
2. Ginormous a$$.
3. How far to shove progesterone pessaries in?
4. Infertile + whiny.
5. CD 15 and still no ovulation.
6. Anencephaly miracle healings.

Addressing item # 1 (Rubber Vagin@)

Well, dear searcher. If it is a query you have, I’m not quite sure what precisely it is, since you’ve elected to phrase your search term a little poorly.

Most women, if I am a representative example, do not have rubbery vayjayjay’s no matter how flexible the rest of their body happens to be. There is a limit to how much can fit, ya know?

In summary, be careful what you shove up the delicate bits of your ladyfriends and if it was some kind of blow-up self-entertainment device you were actually looking for, I suggest you work on your keywords a little harder next time.

Item # 2 (Ginormous a$$)

Thanks a bunch, Google.

I’m aware that I’m getting there, one gestational week’s induced ravenous hunger at a time, but must you constantly remind me?

Besides it’s kind of like ballast, balances the belly right out and allows me to walk with an even keel, okay?

Item # 3, my favourite thus far (How far to shove progesterone pessaries in?)

Um, well, in the absence of a more delicate way to put it, until you run out of ‘in’ to ‘shove’ will generally suffice.

Don’t worry, unless you have a vagin@ like item #1 above you will manage to achieve your goal without losing half an arm up there.

Item # 4 (Infertile + whiny)

Fair cop, Google. You got me. I won’t attempt to argue. How could I? I’ve built an entire blog around the premise, after all.

Item # 5 (CD 15 and still no ovulation).

Yeah, well. Excuse me while I snarl.

Patience is a bloody virtue, alright?

What’s with the presumptive, entitled, downright whiny (oops!) use of ‘still’??

Some of us would be Very Happy with an ovulation like that, I’ll have you know.

Sorry. Can I blame hormones?

Item # 6 (Anencephaly miracle healings).

Putting all humour aside, dear sad searcher.

I am so very beyond sorry for what you are going through, and what still must lie ahead for you. But I must be honest with you. There are no, and will never be any, miracle healings for anencephaly.

I’ve been there.

It really makes me ache to type this, but your baby will die the only variable is when. I am so, so sorry.

Agony Aunt, edition 7

Darling Google, after you’ve again gone to extensive trouble fishing some of these searches from the lonely backwaters of the Internet (and sending them to my site in my hour-of-need-of-distraction), I think I love you. Will you marry me? We’ll be very happy together, what with your eye for the unusual and my love of derisive commentary.

Ha-hem.

My current favourite weird comments gently guided to this site for my wise counsel are as follows:

1. Catch scabies from a rabbit.
2. Pregnancy diarrhoea blog.
3. Speculum fun.
4. Pregnant from toilet, impossible?
5. Is burping a symptom of pregnancy?
6. ‘Incontinence emergency’ symptoms.

Again, Google, thank you. Clearly you think that my assvice range knows no bounds, given you’ve seen fit to direct anything from scabies to incontinence my way. I’m deeply flattered.

Item #1 (Catch scabies from a rabbit)

Dear searcher with itchy finger web-spaces, I must ask if this is:

• A: An order for me to follow,
• B: A request for me to give it a good burl, or
• C: Are you asking if it’s even technically possible?

In alphabetical order, I reply:

• A: Get knotted.
• B: See item ‘A’ above.
• C: See below.

All I know is that I prefer to catch my scabies from interaction with human wildlife, not that I’ve ever actually had scabies, I hasten to add. But only because I have scrubbed my hands rather furiously after consultations (and imprudent handshakes) with patients who do have scabies.

After they’ve left the room, of course, I’m tactful. I can get to a sink so fast I’m a whirling blur with sufficient motivation (usually before the door has finished closing).

Anyway, coming back to your question, they have ointment for it at the chemist I do believe. I don’t have any reason to think that it would work any less on rabbit derived scabies than the human kind.

Do not suffer in silence! You can be cured.

Item #2 (Pregnancy diarrhoea blog)

Sorry, but this is an infertile diarrhoea blog. I’ll keep you posted if that status ever changes, don’t worry.

Item #3 (Speculum fun):

I certainly hope that you Googled this particular query with SafeSearch firmly ON, dear inquisitive one. Unless you’d rather have porn, of course, in which case sod off forthwith.

Here’s my best efforts to entertain you:

 

 How’d I do?

Item #4 (pregnant from toilet, impossible?)

Unless you happened to actually shag in the loo, yes it’s probably impossible. I suggest you count your dates, and sexual partners, more closely.

Besides, and you may consider this unfair, no toilet has ever been ordered by a court to pay for paternity.

Item #5 (Is burping a symptom of pregnancy?)

Only for the uncouth.

Item #6 (‘incontinence emergency’ symptoms):

Well, dear reader, I’m so glad you asked me that question.

Generally speaking, if one is having an incontinence emergency, the main symptom is the wee running right down your leg.

I suggest that you focus your efforts on looking for suspiciously damp trouser legs, seats, or carpets in your immediate vicinity and you’ll be sure to spot when the emergency happens. By the time you detect the smell, you’ve probably well and truly missed the big event.

As an interested aside, because I truly am curious, when is an episode of incontinence not an emergent situation on some level?

Inquiring minds want to know.

Agony aunt, edition 6

It’s about that time again.

The time when the urge to respond with heavily veiled sarcasm at the confused searchers that Google continues to send my way rises enough for me to devote a whole post to the things That I Mutter To My Computer Screen when I read the following search terms:

1. Fu*k, I’m pregnant
2. Shag your aunt.
3. Spotty pill head.
4. Fu*k childbearing hips.
5. Artblog and IF.
6. What is it called when a zygote stays in?
7. +ve OPK 12 DPO.

Addressing item #1 (Fu*k, I’m pregnant):

Yes, it usually happens in that order if you’re not infertile.

From the tone of the search, however, I’m guessing that congratulations are not precisely in order? Um, how awkward because well, you see, I’M NOT PREGNANT.

Addressing item #2 (Shag your aunt):

May I decline?

Thanks awfully for the offer, though.

Nice of you to think of me, AND my aunt for that matter.

Now go away, please.

Addressing item #3 (Spotty pill head):

There’s no need to go calling me names. 

That’s just downright mean.

It’s not my fault that I have PCOS and like to inhale fertility drugs in large amounts, who gave you the right to poke fun at a poor infertile, spotty, pill consuming woman?

Addressing item #4 (Fu*k childbearing hips):

Rolling up my sleeves and trying to look more imposing than my usual small white nerdy physique allows…. 

Listen, buster.

Cece happens to be a friend of mine, and if you’re not her bloody husband, you better keep your hands to yourself, okay?

Anyhow, I won’t have you abusing her blog name with the f bomb on THIS site.

Begone with you, oh foul mouthed one.

Addressing item #5 (Artblog + Infertility):

Artblog, this one’s for you, I believe.

Addressing item #6 (What is it called when a zygote stays in?):

Well. 

That’s the longest winded way I’ve encountered to say ‘Pregnancy’ in some time. 

When they fall out (to anticipate your next question), dear searcher, it’s a miscarriage.

Is this a trick question?

In = pregnancy, out = miscarriage, mmm-kay?

Addressing item #7 (+ve OPK 12 DPO):

I’ve kinda addressed your search before, oh pee-sticky one. Let me save you the click on the hyperlink.

First of all, could you take a seat? Thank you.

You’re sure it’s 12 dpo?

Yes?

Quite sure?

Oh, well, then you’re just pregnant.

Congratulations etc etc.

Glad we cleared that one up for you.

That’s all folks,

 Mz G

Agony Aunt, edition 5.

When dear Google continues to provide me with varied and unusual queries with such boundless enthusiasm what else is there to do but roll up my sleeves, find my best this-is-serious facial expression and answer them?

Today, for your appraisal, I submit the following items:

1. On my period
2. Infertility defeated
3. Can you do a thrombophilia screen?
4. Stirrpus Dr english me.
5. 1234556, oh you no way!

In numerical order I shall do my best. I leave it to you, dear reader, to improve where I find inspiration lacking.

Item #1 (On my period):

Um, congratulations?

Are congratulations in order?

I mean, a functioning uterus is something that many women great pride in, although (personally speaking) I wish that I was ‘on my period’ a little less often given that I’m infertile and all.

Anyway, you are woman and I acknowledge your bloody roar. Have a tampax, on the house.

Item #2 (Infertility defeated):

Honey, does this look like a temple of vanquished infertility?

Google is having fun at both of our expenses, sadly.

Please let me know if you do find the Magic Solution, I’m more than a little interested myself.

Item #3 (Can you do a thrombophilia screen?):

Well, yes, actually. Since you ask so nicely, I can.

How about we start with a Antithrombin III, protein C, protein S, and activated protein C resistance assay?

I’ll throw in a bonus Factor V leiden and prothrombin gene mutation since you asked so nicely and I’m not used to that.

Heck, I’m feeling so generous that for a short time only I’ll go the whole hog and give you a homocysteine level and antiphospholipid and anticardiolipin antibody assay free of charge.

The only minor problem, dear google-r is that you won’t get an answer without actual blood being drawn.

Never mind.

Item #4 (Stirrups Dr english me):

Err, right away sir.

*Now* baby, harder, harder….

Ahem, Pardon me.

What was it exactly you were looking for?

Item #5 (1234556, oh you no way!):

Yes, I often affect people like that. Sorry, but there doesn’t seem to be all that much I can do about it.

Agony aunt edition 4

As I anxiously while away the interval between bloody IVF failure and upcoming thaw cycle, or trying to think positively, viable pregnancy in thaw cycle, I need distraction.

Fortunately, the good searchers of Google continue to provide it in spades. Who am I to ignore their pleas for information?

The following constitutes a hand-picked selection of my favourite queries from the last week. Some of them, admittedly, may in fact be searches for porn by those with rather specialised interests, but I’m all about giving benefit of the doubt.

To hell with it, I freely admit that I derive puerile amusement from poking fun at the strange, especially the very strange.

1. “positive opk” “on the pill” failure.
2. Agony aunt required/ Agony aunt questions.
3. Oldies spreadeagled.
4. Head in vagina.
5. Bottle in ass.
6. Mission impossible and geohde/ Mission impossible fat woman.

Addressing item #1 (“positive opk” “on the pill” failure):

Apart from stating the obvious that a positive OPK (used appropriately) indicates impending ovulation and therefore logically potential pill failure should one shag, I’m a little lost.

Several questions spring to mind in succession, namely:

• First and most obviously, why on the great green earth are you testing for ovulation if you’re on the pill? I must admit that I was too busy blowing up condoms into greasy pointy balloons in sex-ed to pay serious attention, but despite this I’m fairly sure that the pill prevents ovulation. Okay, so it was really rolling the condoms down phallic shaped vegetables that distracted me, but my point remains.
• If, dear searcher, you’re worried the pill may fail enough to use an OPK why-oh-why not just use a condom? At least until you’re not on antibiotics, puking your guts up, spewing diarrhoea or forgetting to take it every day. Please remember that it lacks contraceptive effect if it stays in the packet and you need s.e.v.e.n active pills down the gullet to be safe. For individualised help, cross out the options that don’t apply in your case.
• Finally, are you aware that if the naughty shag was more than 10-14 days ago, you may in fact be picking up a pregnancy with your ovulation  pee stick? HCG looks like LH to the average OPK. Yeah, I thought that might worry you.

I’m out.

Item #2 (Agony aunt required/ Agony aunt questions):

That noise you heard is the sound of one woman stroking her own ego, based on a flattering Google search. Oh Google, is it love after all? You like me, you really like me.

Item #3 (Oldies spreadeagled):

……..Or perhaps not.

Fair-weathered you are, dear Google. I can see that we’re back to our usual unhealthy relationship status.

I am racking my brains for a non-gerontological pornographic interpretation of “Oldies spreadeagled”, truly. Perhaps it is my dirty mind at fault, but I’m drawing a blank.

Good luck, searcher. Don’t get arrested peeking though curtains at the local nursing home, will you?

Item #4 (Head in vagina):

Um.

Oh, my.

If the mental image of elderly genital display wasn’t burned in my brain already, the thought of a head in a vagina would be. Lucky, really.

Answering the search:

Unless you mean childbirth, curious one, heads do not belong in vaginas. As the owner of a vagina of assumingly average proportions, I’m quite sure about that point.

Item # 5 (Bottle in ass):

Google, now you’re just playing with me.

Quit with the orifice-penetrating searches forthwith and I shall retain my sense of humour.

Item # 6 (Mission impossible and geohde/ Mission impossible fat woman):

Oddly enough, rather specificsearches like “Mission Impossible Geohde” actually make me feel the most uncomfortable. Yes, more uncomfortable than aged genitals and objects in unnatural locations.

To address the searcher directly, it’s kinda stalker-ish, oh Bookmark-Deficient One.

As for “Mission Impossible fat woman”, now that’s just rude. Give me twenty years, a few kids (Ha!) and a lot of potato chips and I will do my best to deliver.

In the meantime, you can kiss my petite ass for that one.

Lots of love to all,

Mz G.

Agony Aunt, edition 3.

Once more (with feeling) I continue my one-woman crusade to answer the questions that people feel most comfortable asking a search engine rather than a real person.

1. LH surge Sunday, sex that night, chance of pregnancy?

This one is easy. 

Better than mine…..

Okay, so that wasn’t a helpful answer. Forgive my bitterness, if you can, and I shall begin again.

In the ordinary run of matters, I would assume that a woman determined enough to have forked out the cash for the predictor kit and not-so-casually tested her urine for the presence of Lutenising Hormone would have some idea about the answer. Or, failing that, at least have read the instructions for the kit which should give some idea, but perhaps not.

For the record, oh-urinary-one, in a young couple of normal fertility average per-cycle fecundability is 20-25%. In plain english, dear hopeful Google user, this means you have a one-in-four to one-in-five chance of hitting the eggy jackpot.

As a final word on conceptual related matters, if in doubt, shag.

2. “John Thomas sign”

For a change, MSN is the offender this time (letting Google off the hook temporarily).

I can only assume that my big list of innapropriate medical abbreviations has got me stuck explaining this gem. I should have known better.

Sigh. 

The John Thomas “sign” refers to the soft tissue shadow of an (obviously) male patient’s willy on an x-ray.

Let me walk you though the logic of this one.

Generally, understandably, the penis of the average man does not hang directly down but is always off to one side or the other. The amount may be variable depending on various positional and clothing related factors, but that is not important here.

The “sign” element is the (joke, it is intended as a joke MSN searcher) fact that the pathology on the xray is allegedly more commonly to be discovered on the side the willy happens to be on. I say joke, because it’s clearly complete rubbish, but right 50% of the time nevertheless.

I know fifty percent sounds pretty good but, dear MSN-researcher, please pay attention to this point. It is only correct for similar reasons to a stopped clock being right precisely twice a day.

In conclusion, my advice to you would be to please examine both sides of any xray you order. Penis be damned.

3. “infertility”.

Sorry, you’ll just have to be more specific.

Agony aunt, edition 2.

As is my habit of late, I shall post some of the more interestingsearch engine hits I receive. I’m not naming names, but Google springs to mind. I only hope that the combination of my derision, err, advice and your own wise words is helpful to the searchers. Should they ever return, of course. 

Without further ado: 

1. Clear stretchy mucus 5 days post ovulation.

I have to admit I have no helpful suggestions for your problem, dear mucoid Google-user. I can usually barely manage that stuff on the damn day  of ovulation.

Five days later sounds suspiciously like showing off, quite frankly. I wouldn’t complain too much, were I you, I’m already jealous.

2. Chandelier sign

This, no kidding, is the medical term for the eliciting of pain upon side-to-side movement of the cervix (obviously during a pelvic examination) in a woman who has The Clap, a.k.a pelvic inflammatory disease. The sign is “Chandelier” as in swinging the cervix side to side like a chandelier affected by a nearby hefty door-slam. A truly evocative term for the rather less appealing reality of pain caused by collections of pus in the pelvis, but there you have it.

Note that Google directed them here,  further supporting my assertion that search engines really do have it in for me. Why Google thinks I have much firsthand knowledge of The Clap is a point for much bitter speculation.

3. Waiting for a period to start IVF.

Now you (dear searcher for menstrual success) I can help. Have mine, I insist. Really.

Two weeks including spotting was quite enough fun for me, I’m happy to pass the baton on and aid the Great IVF Cause for another. Just be careful what you wish for…..

4. “Sodding speculum”.

Now that’s no way to talk to a speculum, my dear.

Whoops, it appears that I am the sole offender. Whoever went looking for this scored a Googlewhack.

My bad.

Are there any further words of wisdom I’ve missed?

Agony Aunt required. Apply within.

Okay, so I know that every concerned person out there plugging worried queries into Google is not specifically looking for my help. They’re probably not even remotely looking for my help. Yet here they are directed.

Despite the fact that Google often seems to believe that my blog is the best choice for them, I beg to differ.  See this post, and this post and THIS post for examples. Others of a less bizzarre nature simply make me feel helplessly sad and about as useful as lactating devices on a bull.

But if I am to continue to field queries about sex, the dumping of progesterone, spotting, betas, big gok penises, lack of pregnancy symptoms, rectal & co, etc ad ininiftum I feel that I should at least attempt to answer them.

Without completely ridiculing the asker, in so far as that is possible when discussing ”progesterone dump” or “rectal” for that matter. 

I was hoping that you, my wise readers, could also offer advice.

So without further ado, I have two queries for Agony Aunt Edition 1:

1. “Do guys mind if you have big flaps?”, and
2. “Is folate good for penises?”

Yes, I’m smirking, but I shall do my level best to type as if I’m not about to giggle immaturely.

Dear Question # 1 asker,

In my (let’s leave it at not limited) sexual career I have never known a man to care what it’s like down there. Flaps, hair, you name it. If there is a vagina involved, and the bloke in question thinks that he is to imminently gain access he doesn’t care. Trust me.

Men who believe themselves to be in close proximity to a shag wouldn’t care if a local volcano erupted, the sun eclipsed, a large earthquake levelled the neighbourhood, or your ‘flaps’ were big.

Moving right along.

Dear Question #2 asker,

I have no earthly idea, but I doubt it will hurt your penis.

It won’t make it any bigger either, but that’s a whole ‘nother world of advice I don’t plan to explore.