Tonight I logged in to my little Mansion, eager to please the masses with yet another tale of my jet-set hillbilly lifestyle. I perused the stats, and noted that on Easter Sunday, 46 people were lured to my super-secret exercise in how to repel readership. Silly me, expecting them to arrive all eager to read the next installment of Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's backwoods adventures.
The number one search item was: does kent on amazing race have a disease
Well. I do not know. And this is not the place to find out. Give me those Erlenmeyer flask people any day. Even the ones trying to find out how to make a bong. Because at least I can kind of understand how those people arrived at the Mansion. But yesterday's searchers were off the hook.
The number two search item was: hillbilly bat houses
I do not harbor bats. Even Animal Husbandry H does not yet cultivate a colony of bats. We used to have a next-door neighbor beside my $17,000 house in town who had an adult daughter who lived in Columbia, Missouri, with an infestation of bats in her attic. She couldn't sell the house. She couldn't exterminate the bats. They are protected. Like a vampire, once invited in, bats are the devil to keep out.
I don't know why I'm so baffled. I guess the Easter-egg batting practice brought the bat people. But it has been a while since I spoke of Kent. And now that I'm giving them air, I'm going to get their seekers again. They're still easier to reason than...
Last month's number nine search item: "national conference of bresilian bishops"
In quotes, no less. I don't remember ever mentioning anything like that. I long for the simpler days, when my all-time top ten included...