Ah, the magic and mystery of search engines. Despite the fact that we haven't told them about us, almost nobody links to us, and only a special elite visits here (yes, you), the search engines have found us.
In fact we rank first on Google and Yahoo! for the search terms news egest, transdimensional torment, the stench of our perversions, and uber flautist from lapland. Number one. In the world. Truly, we have arrived. (Admittedly, these are not popular search terms.)
MSN Live Search, or whatever it's called these days, has only indexed pages from a year ago which don't exist any more, and barely existed then. This despite them sending spiders to examine us morning, noon and night. We can feel them crawling over us as we sleep. Thanks, Bill Gates, philanthropist.
So, how else are we found? Well, a stroll through the logs reveals there have been some interesting search terms which have led here. On Yahoo! somebody arrived here looking for Mosquito & Menaces. Google directed an enquirer after el'chupracabra to us (yes, it's misspelt, blame Newsh). Lately, an individual in Venezuela typed into Google my passport is creased, and found us listed at number 2. Naturally. To this intrepid surfer - Hola! Que pasa?
But the deepest mystery is how a person got here searching for goldfish in a bag soaps. The backlink directed us to page 17 of the Google search, but bee-bay was not to be found there or on neighbouring pages, so it looks like we slipped down the rankings - some way below the pages called goat soap discussion, guest soap fairy, how to make a goldfish live for decades and what to take to Guyuna. It's a popular term, and where we fall now on the 800,000-odd results is anyone's guess. The only certainty is that someone wanted goldfish in a bag soaps real bad.
And how does this help one understand what we're about? One is none the wiser. Perhaps, then, a story.
Picture, if you will, this scene. A perfect summer's day. You recline in your deckchair in a meadow, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the sweetest of scents carried on the gentlest of breezes. Then - a movement. Over the brow of a hill hordes of elf warriors swarm towards you, their blood-curdling cries rooting you to the spot. They have been watching you for an hour.
In a moment, they are upon you, tapping you frenziedly about the head and face with their teaspoons. Then, as quickly as it began, the attack is over. The elves charge away, their victorious whoops ringing across the hillside, as they carry off your picnic basket and your golden labrador, Mister Flapdoodle.
This, dear reader, is how we plan to unhinge your mind.
And give Google a day or two, then search for Mister Flapdoodle is abducted. If bee-bay isn't listed at number one, you'll eat your hat.
