At the back of the hill

Warning: If you stay here long enough you will gain weight! Grazing here strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton. And you might like cheese-doodles.
BTW: I'm presently searching for another person who likes cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.

Tuesday, December 17, 2013


Today's top posts surprise me. Normally that is impossible. Web searchers find my blog by looking for the most unusual things, and predictably a large number of them are somewhat perverted. A lot perverted. The internet exists for THREE things: food, kitten pictures, and smut.
And conspiracy theories. Four things.
Plus delivery pizza. Five.
Five things.


I am interested in food. I cannot stand kitten pictures.
And I refuse to answer questions about smut.

This blog has featured food a number of times. As well as many sneering comments about felines, most specifically Hello Kitty. And, being a religious man with severe Calvinist tendencies, all puritanical and shit, I keep all smut secret, along with other depraved affections that I will deny having.
I am utterly clean. A veritable danged saint.
If your mom asks, I sure love Jesus.
In a non-sexual kind of way.
Oh holy crap yes.

Sorry, I was repressing something there.

Anyway, today's top blog posts are two.



In which I mention one of the last times my ex and I had dinner together as a couple, over three years ago. The relationship was already on the skids then, and though we've remained friends, fresh fish did not repair it.

The people who find this article are all from England, and unfamiliar with the differences between two delicious creatures. Which is odd, considering that they are entirely surrounded by water.

Perhaps it's the brief mention of excel spreadsheets that they find fascinating. It probably isn't anything culinary.



This is actually one of my own favourite recent posts. It's more or less about how smoking a pipe is utterly ladylike and proper, despite what disapproving relatives and anti-smoking health-nazis in Berkeley might think. Something that I've always found appealing is the intelligent and strongminded woman who decides that yes she will smoke a pipe. Dammit.

I also mention some favourite women authors.

I am incredibly relieved that today's readers are not perverts. Nor are they paranoid conspiracy theorists with a thing for Hello Kitty. Hello Kitty, as all fish-eating women who smoke pipes undoubtedly realize, is the primrose path to ruin, the beginning of the mental end, and a symptom of sickness and spiritual rot. Unutterably nasty, saccharine, smarmy, and immature.

If she smoked a pipe, Hello Kitty's favourite tobacco would be fish-flavoured, with an undertone of strawberries.
Rancid rotten strawberries.

NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.

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