One Hand on the Clicker, One On... Never Mind
TV executives, the poor dears, have no idea how people stumble across their shows. They'd love to find out, of course, but the nature of their one-way broadcast medium only allows them to speculate that what caused you to stop your channel-up thumb spasming was the woman in the leotard.
Here at TeeVee we know better. Of course it was the woman in the leotard. If you deviant little freaks watch TV anything like you surf the Web, we're willing to bet that you spend an inordinate amount of time flipping channels, looking for aerobics instruction. With -- nudge, nudge -- no intention of losing weight.
Because of the way the Web works, we here at the TeeVee Command Bunker and Day-Care Center can see what you type into search engines to find us. The logs buried deep in our server record every sweaty little letter. And, quite frankly, it's the sort of thing we don't want our children to see, which pretty much blows the whole generational dynasty thing we had planned.
We'd like to say that the Internet works. We'd like to say that the boundless human quest for knowledge has been fulfilled millions of times over, as people use the greatest communications medium ever invented to better themselves in ways too numerous to mention. We'd also like to say, "No, no, Entertainment Weekly. We couldn't possibly accept another A rating." But we can't.
Thesis: You people are freaks.
Exhibit A: The top search term for this site for the month of May was "boobs."
Boobs. Not "erudite cultural criticism," not "amusing ruminations on broadcast media," not "Philip Michaels' ass," but "boobs." There were almost four hundred unique searches for the word "boobs" from various portal sites during May that landed bored thirteen-year-old boys on our doorstep, confused and horny. Read aloud, our server logs sound like recess at a junior high school.
For all our efforts to parlay obscure baseball references and violently inappropriate metaphors into shameless Internet popularity, all we really had to do was slap up a page that said, over and over again, "boobs."
"Boobs boobs boobs boobs. Boobs!" There. That guarantees that this article will be one of our most visited, for years to come, challenged only by "Ass Cracks and Cleavage," "Pamela Anderson, Totally Nude" and any piece that mentions Phil Michaels' ass, which was about half at last count.
This little boob-fest -- much more popular than the little-boob fest down the street -- would be the most depressing thing we could imagine if it didn't get worse. The second most popular search for May was "Tori Spelling nude," followed by "Tori Spelling" and... "big boobs."
It is only some consolation that the number of searches for "boob" -- singular -- exactly matched the number of searches for "Warren Littlefield."
But for all the deviant peculiarities of our audience -- for all the Tori Spelling fetishists; for all the boob men who fulfill every meaning of the phrase; for all the pubescent boys aimlessly wandering the Internet, gripping their manhood like divining rods -- there is one thing, one cardinal sin, that sickens us to the core. For all the adolescent depravity that's lodged in our server logs like a festering cancer, there's one thing that we simply cannot abide.
Searches for "Lee Horsley" outnumbered searches for "blow jobs."
That is just so wrong.
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