Enid Blyton Nude Tennis

Now THAT conjures up an image that'll encourage you to involuntarily puke up your muesli doesn't it?

It is just one of the recent Google search phrases that freakish folk from all corners of the world have typed in and then been automatically directed to this here humble little blog. Geez, they must be disappointed (to say the least) when they arrive, only to discover that 'Love Chunks' is not a scatological euphemism and 'FUIC' merely refers to my favoured brand of iced coffee.

However, 'Dutch Ovens' might offend those who were innocently looking for a pipe-shaped, cast-iron cooking device that is used over hot coals and not for the description of my shameless nocturnal butt blasts under the doona to which poor Love Chunks is frequently subjected.... Ahem...!

Despite my lifelong dream to celebrate - rather than suppress - the need to let off 'steam' every now and then, there are still some google searchers who find their way here using key words and phrases that are too bizarre to fully contemplate. They include:

Booger fetish site - let me assure you that I have never, ever fetish-ised boogers, mucus, snot or phlegm on these pages. Mentioned them yes, but celebrated them? No.

Parp Porn Movies - OK so 'parp' has been used here to describe the shart 'parp parp' sound that can emanate from the bulbously buttockular regions, but porn? Here? Not unless you can somehow wring out some sensuality from my nightly struggles to locate the fuzzy blue bed socks that usually end up on the floor.....

I sweat through my pants - Erk. Poor you; now go away and seek help.

Magnas with sex and nudity - Our mitsubishi magna is a STATION WAGON. It is thirteen years old. Station wagons, by their very design, are created to repel all forms of sex and nudity or any opportunities for sex and nudity. They reek of marriage, commitment, exhaustion, prams, dogs, groceries, booster seats, mortgages and long, boring drives that are often referred to as 'family holidays' or 'it's too expensive to fly' and 'why didn't you go when I filled up at the service station?'.

Shane Warne Hawaiian pizza - Wait, there's a pizza named after Warnie? This is what he eats when the baked beans have run out? Or does he have the IQ of a ham-n-pineapple, hold the onions?

Deformed Malteser - I'd never say no to a deformed chocolate; it all ends up in the same spot after all. Of course, I'm only scoffing 5% of my previous level of daily intake of course, thanks to Dr Checks and his evil cholesterol tests....

Swollen lips from eating parsley - Parsley has been mentioned here in relation to it being our rabbit, Skipper's favourite food, but he's barely got any lips, let alone swollen ones. Trust me, I kiss 'em every day and it's hard work locating 'em.

Having mocked those, I'll admit that there are some search phrases that I can (kind of) understand how they wound up in Kath Land. Stuff like:

World War One for Dummies - imagine their bemusement to get my book, read through a few pages and think, 'Who knew that the ANZACS were dying for more work/life balance?'

FUIC Wedding - unless this celebration involved copious amounts of fresh iced coffee, it sounds instead like the bitter review of an angry bridesmaid to me....

Bronzer lotion reaction - yes, I've tried to obtain a tan via a lotion; anything to prevent someone making a crack about my legs looking like fluoro tubes and possessing the whitest thighs on the beach. All it did was form unsightly brown crevices in my cleavage, ankles and the crooks of my arm and make me stink so badly that Love Chunks would enter the room, automatically rear backwards and run out saying "Phooo weee!"

Squeaky Rockport shoes - my parents are devotees of this brand, as are most retired grey nomads who want 'sensible walking shoes that go with everything' - spoken by my mother, Pauline, who likes to team hers with slacks, a blouse and matching cardigan. And a swipe of lippie to match the blouse. And pearl drop earrings. And a nice handbag; leather of course, and large enough to put stuff like packets of sugar, band-aids, snack bars, scissors, drink bottles, aspirin, reading glasses, a fold-up sun hat, 30+ lotion, gloves, plastic poncho, paper serviettes, moist sachets, cough lollies, needle and thread, buttons, safety pins, lip balm, comb, notepad and pen, novel, insect repellent, toe nail clippers, dried apricots and an umbrella.

Ashleigh's Peanut Butter Farts - perhaps Ashleigh's hiding something from us? Does he have a skill so specific that onlookers (or 'on smellers') can tell what food he's eaten?

Madonna admits she can't resist Cadbury's Fruit and Nut - bless her. Now if she'd only get off the stage, unplug the microphone, put on some trousers, stay home and eat some.

And (blushing profusely), even this one:

I hawk up solid brown chunks of mucus. Um, I might have mentioned my infected sinuses, nasal polyps, honking nose blows and nose surgery here a few times.....

However they all pale into insignificance when compared to a phrase that is so completely in the polar opposite direction of everything I stand for. It's a sick joke, a terrible insult to my years (yes, years I tell you) of toil, sweat, stress and strain to reveal in writing what offends, enrages, repulses and disgusts me:

Love My Cardie.

It's a sad old world we live in.

I'll Kiss You in the Burbs, baby!

It's been a while since I went to StatCounter to check on the words googlers have tapped in that then led to them my little blog. Discovering that Bum Faced Nit led someone (more than once)my blog the last time took a while to recover from. Today's header is from the latest batch of search phrases - except for the 'baby!' bit; that's just my own natural brilliance at work there.

Others have recently included:

Blew my skirt up. This I can actually understand. I once wittered on about my tendency to have the wind blow up me skirt when both hands are holding heavy objects (eg bags of oranges, suitcases etc). The fullsome peasant skirt craze of 2005 meant that it tended to occur fairly frequently, and always - yes always - in a public place. Like the Magill and Portrush Road traffic lights during rush hour. And it's not flattering to see fat old blokes in white delivery vans sniggering, either.

Woman humping lawn figurine.

This is an utter mystery to me and I can't remember what blog article led them here. I've mentioned that the dog likes to rub her back on the lawn, and sure, I've lowered the tone by posting a photo of her butt nuggets lying on the grass, but never have I mentioned humping, let alone to innocent garden ornaments.

In reality it should be the woman responsible for such depraved acts that is jailed, not the victim pictured here. And the perverted googler who wished to see or read about it - what on earth made 'Woman Humping Lawn Figurine' the ideal topic to look for on a quiet Saturday night?

Map of Tassie tattoo. Oh dear. This conjures up all sorts of naughty visual images, doesn't it? 'Map-o-Tassie' has been used by me to describe a lady's fun parts down south, but the idea of choosing to have either a cartoonish drawing of female genitalia or even the much-maligned southern Australian state tattooed anywhere on one's body seems very peculiar.

What's worse - a vagina or the in-bred state that time and taste forgot? And where on the body would such a tattoo be considered a smart idea? Tatts are permanent so having such piccies on a forehead, upper arm or above the butt crack might not lend itself to a career teaching young impressionable children or ruling the legal bench.

Korea consumer protection board shopping trolley 2006. Wah hey, somebody's a wild and crazy lurker, typing up search phrases such as this one! Boy oh boy when they finally were led to the correct site, I bet it made some fascinating reading and wouldn't you like to meet up with this person for a scintillating chat afterwards?

FUIC wedding cake. Now I'm going to assume that FUIC isn't the pommy clothing brand FCUK spelt incorrectly or the other four-letter variation that most people add the word 'Off' to immediately afterwards but is instead the deservedly world famous Farmers Union Iced Coffee.

FUIC is the lifeblood of South Australia, literally pumping through the veins of proud frog-cake, Haigh's and pepper pasty munching people. It is the cold milk coffee-flavoured beverage that has made South Aussies the largest consumers of milk per head of population on the entire planet. As such, it should also ensure that osteoporosis will be virtually unheard of in the driest state in the driest continent on earth. The humble brown nectar has even made its way up to the Northern Territory, thumbing its nose at the watery exrescence known there as 'Pauls', and here in Victoria, where it laughs in the face of the gluggy goo known as 'Big M'.

So, for a happy couple, sealing and celebrating their love match in a formal setting in front of their family and friends, a FUIC wedding cake is a grand idea. Classic, understated, top quality and full of flavour.

Boob shelf. This is a phrase I coined myself and it's rather nice to see that it is taking off. Boob shelves are owned by obese women who possess mammaries so large that they're pretty well sitting horizontally on their chests. Mammaries such as these give their owners the capability to rest cups of tea on top of them and sip without the use of their hands.

These poor women often try to disguise their breasty bulk by wearing large tops that tend to drape (or droop) downwards from the boobs - thus creating a sort of fabric verandah that sticks out way beyond where their hips or thighs should be. Such a top is often inexplicably paired with patterned leggings in an effort to distract others' attentions from their boob shelves but this has rarely been known to meet with success.

Rip out Vanilla Ice's blonde dreds (sic). This sounds like good advice, if rather violent.

Value of the Sale of the Century Stickpin. Having survived being a contestant on that game show back in 1997, I was invariably given a 'Diamond-set gold Sale Of The Century stick-pin from Bruce and Walsh jewellers' as a consolation prize. The diamond was too small for my naked eye to see and the gold wore off before I left the studio. My friend Ian (who won three shows and actually elected to leave and take his big stash of prizes with him) wore his as an earring exactly once before it broke.

So its value = Zero. Contestants were also given the Sale Of The Century boardgame to take home which was a poor man's Trivial Pursuit poorly glitzed up with flimsy hand buzzers and flashing lights. It was about as much fun to play as water skiing is for a kitten. Value = Again Zero.

Last, but certainly not least, we have the oh-so-mature search phrase, Backside Butt Bottom. I guess Dubya's got more time on his hands these days or there are some earnest medical students keen to venture into the specialist areas of proctology.

To be fair, I've used all three words rather liberally in this blog and will continue doing so. And yet, there's little doubt that the typist of those three words is likely to have felt a large measure of disappointment to find that it doesn't lead to an triple-xXx-rated Beautiful Buttered Buns subscription site, but here. Hah!