Dear The Makers Of Cialis:

Can I call you Eli Lilly and Company? I hate to be so informal without the pleasure of having met you personally, but I feel like I know you already. I mean, you’ve put commercials of old people with boners in bathtubs onto my television for years causing me to think of old men peen for the rest of the day, which makes me feel as though I do know you, Eli Lilly and Company. We’re practically Christmas Card friends, now, aren’t we?

I get it now, Eli Lilly and Company, I do. If I had erectile dysfunction, I’d probably never enjoy sitting in the middle of the forest in a bathtub holding hands. If I had erectile dysfunction, I’m sure I wouldn’t be able to stroll in fields of wheat (or is it barley? I tried to scour the Internet for answers, but no one could tell me if erectile dysfunction = strolling in wheat OR strolling in barley. I feel like you should inform us of the proper fields to stroll through with our limp penises, Eli Lilly and Company). I also now know, thanks to your informative commercial, that if I had erectile dysfunction, I would never, EVER take a whimsical bicycle ride for two through a cobbled street.

These, Eli Lilly and Company, are all things I now know about erectile dysfunction.

These are also things my nine-year old son now knows, too. When he asks me, “Mom, what’s erectile dysfunction?” I simply tell him that it’s some confusing thing involving roving bathtubs in forests. He seemed satisfied, although he may have a life-long fear of roaming claw-foot bathtubs. I’ll send you the therapy bills, Eli Lilly and Company.

What I need to know, Eli Lilly and Company, is how one should call their doctor for erections lasting more than 36 hours because that seems, well, a little awkward, don’t you think?

Receptionist: “Hello, thank you for calling Your Doctor.”

Erection Guy: “I’ve had an erection lasting for 36 hours!”

Receptionist: “You’re a perv.” *hangs up* *files restraining order*

You see, Eli Lilly and Company, how this could be a little awkward for all parties.

I nearly called my own doctor to see if I could get a prescription for this Cialis, as I wouldn’t mind a leisurely bath in the forest (I do not have the same roving bathtub fear as my son), if only to get away from the short people who insist upon whining, “MOOOOOOOMMMMM,” every 2.3 seconds, until your actors, pretending to engage in a personal conversation with me (ME!) said that, “Cialis is not right for everyone.”

Well. Now. Talk about a bait-and-switch!

So, Eli Lilly and Company, I’m going strap on my black leather motorcycle jacket and join my friends in a guitar circle singing, “Vivaaaaaaaaaaaaa Viagra.”

Yours Always,

Aunt Becky

People who use “alot” rather than “a lot” will be banished to a small island where they will be forced to listen to the collective works of Captain and Tennile until they can demonstrate that they know that “a lot” is not, has never been, and never will be one motherfucking word.

Comic Sans will be banned to the alot island for being the stupidest looking fucking font, ever.

The commercial that begins “I have genital herpes….and I don’t!!” will be burned for all of the times it’s made me choke on my breakfast cereal because I then had to spend the rest of the day thinking about diseased genitals. STD’s aren’t something we should be ashamed of. Commercials that make me think of weeping sores are.

People who write blogs like Mommy Wants Vodka shall be exiled to star in erectile dysfunction commercials.

Any commercial that tells me to “have a happy period” should be forced to donate all profits to women’s shelters around the world. No one has a “happy period.” Even all those times I was like, “WOO HOO! GOT MAH PERIOD! I’M NOT KNOCKED UP!” It lasted for .04 seconds until I was all, “oh…my period. Ew.”

The word “Hubby” will be banished from the English Language for being too cutesy and making me nauseous.

All email programs will come with a Passive-Aggressive filter, and any that have a passive-aggressive tone will be immediately sent to cyber trash.

The Braggy Facebook Status Offenders shall be banished to MySpace.

The DMV will stop requiring a goat, three pails of milk and a kidney to renew your driver’s license.

All government employees will have to be polite and courteous or they will have their sassy mullets shaved as punishment.

Naptime shall be mandatory for every single person, every day of the week.

Pants will be optional.

Narcotics shall be manufactured to be non-addictive.

Anyone who regularly uses corporate speak with buzz-words shall be banished with the “alot” people to the very same island.

Mayonnaise* and thousand island dressing shall be napalmed off the planet for being an abomination.

Random ZOMBIE ATTACK! Drills shall be practiced.

The entertainment industry will stop making vampire-related movies and television shows. The trend is kinda played out, people.

Email programs will come with a “translate” feature allowing you to translate your email into:

• Zombie

• Pirate

• LOL! Cats

• Porn Speak

• Old Englishe

• Hipster

• Hippie

• Cheech and Chong

Richard Simmons shall be the national mascot.

Gladiators will make a fierce comeback.

Apple will make all of its products affordable to everyone.

All internet reference sites will have to be reputable with credible sources used as references for any statements said as facts.

People will stop arguing about breast v bottle feeding because they will finally realize that it’s really fucking boring.

APA format will be blown off the scholastic map. Or an actual reference guide will be invented.

*You Lovers of Mayo win. I won’t ban it.

——————

Your turn, Pranksters. What will you mandate when YOU rule the world?

John C. Mayer, you are providing the Internet with more happiness than I’d ever thought possible from someone who emotes to his guitar and writes songs about wonderlands and bodies and previously made Aunt Becky want to vomit. I hope that you know, John C. Mayer, that in the minds of 95% of people I know, John C. Mayer, you and I will be forever linked. That, John C. Mayer, is your legacy. Apparently, it is mine, too.

I only wish, John C. Mayer, that I had chosen a better, more douchy target to use for Pulling a John C. Mayer, like Dave Matthews, whom I still hate with the fire of a thousand flaming STD’s. Because the more I think about you, John C. Mayer, the more I really do like you.

So, Pranksters, we’re still going strong with the John C. Mayering of the Internet. How could we not? (I’m still adding posts to the original John C. Mayer call for posts page, so please, leave comments, links and track-backs if you have not).

—————-

I’ve gotten a couple of nervous comments about the new site, Band Back Together, and I wanted to make sure that you knew, Pranksters, that you are personally invited by me, Your Aunt Becky, to write there. A lot of the submissions that we’ve received thus far have been of stories that are very tragic and heartbreaking and I’m proud to have them over there as I think that the site is going to do so much good.

But.

I want you to know that even if your problems, your stories, don’t feel like they stack-up, and you don’t feel like they are as important as the ones you have read, you are wrong. I cannot begin to tell you how wrong you are.

Because you never know who is on the other end of that Google box, searching desperately for someone to connect with, someone who may have exactly the same problem that you face, and whether or not it’s “stacking up” against someone else, that’s not going to matter at all to the person on the other end.

And frankly, it doesn’t matter to anyone else either. This isn’t a Pain Olympics. There’s no judgment of who is more worthy of our sympathy and support. There’s no prize for Saddest Story.

We want your stories. We want you.

We’re none of us alone, remember. That includes you, not just the person who is deeper in the shit than you may be. Please, stop worrying about whether or not you deserve to be on the site because if you feel like you want to be there, you already belong there.

There’s light in every word, every single word you write, and somewhere, someone is reading what you say. You never know who is connecting with you and who you are helping when you open that blank document and start typing out your story. If one person – one single person – reads one post on the entire site and decides to get help, feels less alone, or makes a positive step, you know what?

We’ve done something good.

And there’s no way of measuring which post that is. It may be the one floating around your head. The one you’re afraid to write because you don’t think it’s enough. It is enough, Prankster.

So GO. And Write Hard, my Pranksters. Believe me, we want your stories. All of them. Old stuff, new stuff, any stuff you want to give us. We want you.

And while you’re there, please, pass on the word about the site.

———————–

Friday, I sold my car.

Not my Honda Odyssey or my CR-V, but my Acura.

I’d been meaning to sell it for years. It’s been sitting in the garage, unused, since Alex was born. It was impractical for driving my two crotch parasites around. Shoving three of them in there was laughable.

But this was more than a car for me.

I am a wanderer. This car was my lifeline.

Nights when I couldn’t sleep, it was me and my red car, nothing but endless black sky above and the road slipping by under my wheels, the hum of the engine keeping me company as I shifted seamlessly from second to third, third to fourth and finally fourth to fifth gear. The car and I were one.

The discs in my CD changer would flip quietly to the next as they each finished their set and we’d drive on into the night, wandering. Just me on my red horse. The nights were silent then, peaceful, the green glow of the dashboard my only company as the wheels turned on and on, the road whispering, beckoning, just a little further, kid, what’s down here, let’s take this right, you haven’t been here before.

I had a baby. Another. Yet another. The nights were complicated, full of colicky babies and ghosts. My car cried from the garage, come on kid, let’s go out, let’s take the night back, reclaim it for our own, let’s wander, just you and me, for old time’s sake. I’m gassed up and ready for you, kid, and you need me. I know it.

And I did. I still do.

That life, I miss that life more than anything. The wanderer is in my bones. Staying home, being Mommy, that’s something I do, but it’s not what my soul cries for at night, when the hours yawn on, the numbers on the clock seem to stand still and the road beckons me like a siren.

The van is a van. The CR-V is a truck. They won’t know me. They can’t wander. They don’t hug the road like a tight red dress, screaming with pleasure as I power-shift from second to fourth. They’ll never beg me hey kid, take the long way or go down that road down that way just to see what’s down there.

Eventually, I’ll get another car and I’ll start wandering again. I can’t deny myself forever; it’s in my blood.

The red car went to someone who will love it and for that I am happy. But my heart, my heart is sad.

It still longs to wander.

————

I finally got the links to my Ford Story: What Women Want interview, and it’s up over here, at We Know Awesome, if you want to take a listen. If I sound douchy, blame John C. Mayer and the tornado.

Pranksters, we’re still pulling a John C. Mayer on the Internet and it’s beyond successful. Google John C. Mayer and look at the first couple of pages. Since we got the term “Pulling a John C. Mayer” in Urban Dictionary, the whole Pulling A John C. Mayer prank is spreading like crazy. So keep on pranking, Pranksters. We’re going to keep on keeping on. HILARIOUS.

@mommywantsvodka on Twitter if you are Pulling a John C. Mayer (also: whomever is running #Pulling A John C Mayer on Twitter is hilarious) so that I can add you to THAT list, and I’ll add more of your blogs to the list of people who have been John C Mayer-d.  Clicking those links are good for SEO. Also: if you have a Digg account (I’m Mommywantsvodka), try and go through and Digg all of the posts that have been submitted.

Okay, ONTO Go Ask John C. Mayer!

Go Ask John C. Mayer

Hi Aunt Becky- John C. Mayer,

Thank you so much for posting my question to you regarding how the hell you managed with a little one in the hospital, etc. I am overwhelmed with the outpouring of support, thoughts and prayers from you and your Pranksters. I really want everyone to know (and you, of course!) that I am truly, TRULY thankful for all of their love and support. I just can’t figure out how the hell to say it! So, “thank you!” to you and to them. You have all touched our hearts.

Also the blog is at:  prayersforjillian.blogspot.com

I did a happy dance when I got this email. Thank you Prankster for coming back! My Pranksters really are the best people on the Internet, aren’t they? Without them, I wouldn’t have made it through Amelia’s first weeks. That’s not a question. We’ll be praying for you, love, and your sweet baby Jillian.

We’d love to have you over at Band Back Together, too, if you’d like to share more over there. I think you’d really find a good home there.

Much love,

AB

Dear John C. Mayer,

I am a writer and a photographer. My first DSLR was stolen (maybe by John C. Mayer) around Christmas and my boyfriend bought me a new camera to replace it. I thought he understood that the photographs I take are not just pictures to me, they are things I create, that are part of me. They are my passion.

So, this past weekend, I took some photographs (not pictures, not snapshots, photographs) of his daughter’s birthday celebration. I have also taken photographs of his son at motor cross races this summer.

Monday morning I discover that the photographs I had taken of his children were now posted on his FB page – without giving any credit to me for them. Without asking me if he could use them. Without telling me he was using them. And without apology.

Now, I don’t care that he put them on his FB page. They are photographs of his children. I am not saying he needed my permission to use them. I would have had no problem with any of this at all if he had just given me a heads-up about it first.  My photographs; my camera.

He figures he bought the camera so he has unlimited access to the camera and everything on it without having to ask at all.  It’s his, he owns it since he paid for it. His exact text message?  “I don’t believe this shit. Fuck you. I don’t have to ask. Those were of me and my kids and again I paid for the damn thing.  Come get the rest of your shit.”

When I told him my photographs are like my writing to me, I create both, he told me “That’s just ridiculous.” I feel as if he’s calling me, my photography, and my writing all ridiculous and stupid. Now, I have no desire to ever pick up that camera ever again because he was so flip about it.

Then my blog, which I’ve had since before I met him, got brought up into it as well. He’s never said anything about it, but now apparently his “friends” are all offended at what I write about him on my blog.  So now, he’s taking that away from me as well.

My passions, my safe places, my creative outlets have been tarnished and violated and destroyed in my eyes.  I have no where to go.

Am I wrong here?  Did I overreact?  Help.

Oh Prankster, it’s hard when you feel like your safe haven is violated, which is how I feel whenever I get a internet mole person (until John C. Mayer and I tell them to shut their whore mouth), and that feeling isn’t fun.

Let me guess, your boyfriend is not a creative-type, is he? Because creative people, like John C. Mayer, might understand where you are coming from. But since he’s not creative like John C. Mayer, you’re probably not going to make him understand where you’re coming from. The best you may get is that he’ll never take your photos without asking again because that means something to you.

And if you never want to use the camera again, well, that’s your call.

It’s hard, Prankster, to get over that violation of your creative space feeling whenever it happens, but you have a few options:

a) get a new blog to write on. Sure, it’s annoying to change URL’s and be all stealthy, but you know, if knowing people who are upset with what you write are reading you prevents you from writing, that’s that.

2) Go password protected. Pass out the password to your readers and John C. Mayer ahead of time and there you have your space! Peachy!

5-9er) Pull An Aunt Becky (John C. Mayer) and realize that haters be hatin’ and sooner or later, you have to come to terms with the fact that people who actually know you (versus anonymous internet mole people) and dislike you will read your blog and think mean things about you while they read it. They make even *gasp* MOCK you while they read it, but never, ever John C. Mayer, because he is a gentleman. You get used to it, I promise.

c) Let them win and stop all creative endeavors forever and ever.

John C. Mayer and I wish you luck, Prankster.

Dear Aunt Becky, John C. Mayer,

Six years ago I went through a Very Bad breakup with my high school sweetheart during our first semester of college. His parents decided that we weren’t going to be together anymore and yanked him out of the college we were both attending to send him to a different one.  We tried to stay in touch for a while, but it just went downhill from there.  It was truly one of the darkest periods of my life (my whole identity had become wrapped up in him and us).  Shortly after breaking up with him, I met my (now) husband.  We’ve been married for two and a half years, more or less happily (thanks, recession!).

I just found out that The Ex is back at the college for grad school.  I’m still local and I actually spotted him yesterday (he didn’t see me)(I’m not a stalker, he was walking away from the restaurant we were eating at)(shut up).

So basically, I’m still pretty fucked up about how the whole breakup went down.

I’m in therapy, but practically, what do I do?  I’m not sure I can take the whole “you may bump into him” every time we go into town, living not knowing how that encounter will go (my money’s on Not Well).  Should I get in touch with him just so it’s not a surprise to anyone?  I don’t know if he knows I’m still around.  How do I not make my husband crazy by being all stupid about my ex showing up?

Thanks,
Totally Not a Stalker (Promise)

Oh Prankster, I think we all have The One That Got Away, like John C. Mayer, don’t we?

I even have the outfit picked out (a vinyl catsuit!) that I’ll be wearing when I happen to run into him! I’ll be dressed as Cat Woman, which John C. Mayer likes, and he’ll be dressed like a homeless person. In all actuality, when I run into him, I’ll be wearing track pants and a ratty t-shirt and fresh from the gym so that I’ll smell like I just rolled in dog poo.

I may actually be mistaken for dog poo by other piles of dog poo.

He’ll probably be wearing an Armani tux. Like John C Mayer!

But the thing is, I’m not actually hung up on it. I’m genuinely over it and I don’t give a shit what I look like when I run into him. Unlike, of course, John C. Mayer.

It sounds like you have unresolved issues that you need to address with your past relationship and I think you need to take a hard look at what you hope to accomplish by reaching out to him. What’s the best case scenario? And the worst? I’m all for pulling out the skeletons in your closet and making them dance, but John C. Mayer and I want to make sure that you’re not setting yourself up for some major problems in your present.

Talk to your therapist and explain that you have unresolved issues. You don’t need to be skulking around and hiding from your ex, but you do need to be ready, I absolutely agree. And your husband needs to be ready, too. Your husband is your future and with the help of your therapist, and your husband, I’d bet that you can come up with a game plan.

Maybe reaching out first is a good idea, but not without those two completely aware of what’s going on. And maybe all you need to do is make a phone call to say “hey, I’m in town, don’t be surprised to see me” and nothing more than that.

I wish you luck, Prankster. It’s hard to face up to your skeletons and John C. Mayer and I commend your bravery.

——————–

As always, Pranksters, please fill in where John C. Mayer and I left off in the comments.

So, today I have a guest post, which is good for you, Pranksters, because you can get some time away from the constant John C. Mayer-ing (no you can’t) and work on pulling your OWN John C. Mayer Prank after you read one of the funniest guest posts I’ve had. I’m not just saying that because John C. Mayer and I found this after I was all, “dude, where was that super-funny guest post I had?” and then I found it in my folder that says “GUEST POSTS, MOTHERFUCKER” because that’s where John C. Mayer and I put guest posts.

It was too obvious.

But you need to read about the other Pranksters Pulling A John C Mayer here.

I have fallen to #4 in my John C Mayer quest to be #1 (damn you John C. Mayer’s publicist!) but am getting screenshots (email me one when you get to #1 or on Page 1 of Google) and reports that you are all victorious in your quest to be NUMBER ONE! when you Pull a John C. Mayer!

But better than that, Pranksters, look at what Prankster Kayde did.

Pulling A John C Mayer in Urban Dictionary. HAPPY SIGH.

I’d tried to get Urban Dictionary to add it myself, because frankly, they add fucking everything, and yet, uh, NO. Kadye PREVAILED, though, because she is full of the awesome.

You know what else is awesome? Band Back Together, the new group site. In a week, we have now 128 posts up and counting. It’s pretty amazing over there. Now, we have an Ask The Band section, too, which is a place to ask questions of the whole INTERNET and John C. Mayer. So, please, come have a look around. Stay awhile. Let me know what needs to be done over there.

I got a new button made because the other one was borky:

<a href="http://www.bandbacktogether.com/"><img src="http://www.bandbacktogether.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/09/button150.jpg"></a>

Then, FINALLY, my Toy With Me column, about Low Libido in Men, something I KNOW John C. Mayer and his Magic Peen don’t have any issue with.

And here I will shut my whore mouth and let my darling friend (not John C. Mayer) Meredith, who’s body is a wonderland and her awesomely awesome guest post which defies gravity take over.

——————-

This isn’t Aunt Becky, yo. This is Meredith (aka Mrs. Call Me Crazy). I just wanted to introduce myself and say, “Hello, Pranksters!”

Or would it be more fun with a British accent? ‘Ello, Pranksters (like ‘ello, Gov’na).

That was bloody fun! Rightio!

Isn’t it fun to speak with accents when you’re drinking? Do you think that’s how Madonna started with her fake accent? As I write this, I am drinking a Bass beer, so I will be British. When I drink vodka I am the drunken Russian hooker who is looking to become the next mail order bride (for John C. Mayer). You get the picture.

Anyway, I am so flattered that Aunt Becky has asked yours truly to post something on her blog. I feel incredibly famous. Like Amy Winehouse (but with bigger tits and flatter hair and less heroin-y). I’m really from Ohio, so I am not used to this kind of attention. I feel like I have won some sort of award (like John C. Mayer). Like I should be making an acceptance speech, “I would like to thank the two people who actually read my blog for stopping by and supporting me here. Hi Mom & Dad! Hit the rock, Jesus.” There, I feel better.

Mommy Wants Vodka is the best blog name I’ve ever heard. I just love it, love it, love it. When I see it, I am so jealous that I kind of want to punch Aunt Becky in the face. Why didn’t I think of a cool name for my blog? John C. Mayer would have helped me more.

So in honor of Aunt Becky’s spectacular ability to name things, I have interviewed a whole bunch of mothers for this post.

I have asked each mother, “What has your child done that has made you want vodka?”

These were my favorite the best responses…

1. My 2-year old stuck a turd up his nose. I would not take him to the hospital with a ball of poop up his nose, so my husband and I had to pick it out. He was gagging and throwing up the whole time from the smell.

2. I walked into my bedroom to find my son rubbing my Silver Bullet on his head. It was on and vibrating. I just walked away because I didn’t want to draw attention to it. He was 10. One day he’ll figure out what that thing was, and he’ll be very grossed out.

3. My son was potty training and as he was watching his big brother pee in the potty, he put his hands in the pee stream.

4. We took the iPod away (did it have John C. Mayer on it?) from our teenage daughter. She locked herself in our bathroom and refused to come out until we gave it back to her. Teenagers are crazy. And they can hold out for hours.

5. My 6-year old told another kid at school to “go fuck yourself”.

6. My son stuck his finger in our dog’s butt. Often.

7. After buying a bouncy ball out of a vending machine, my daughter bounced it into the plate of a fellow patron at our favorite restaurant. Food went flying everywhere. The lady whose dish was ruined cussed me out and told me I was a terrible parent. I cussed her out as well, but backed down as she pushed her chair out from the table and came at me with her cane.

8. Our teenage daughter, who forgot to open the garage door, drove her car right through it. She totaled the car and caused a $10,000 homeowner’s insurance claim. (John C. Mayer)

9. My husband was following a school bus on his way to work. There was a boy on the bus who was throwing books around, punching other kids, and wouldn’t stay in his seat. At one point, the boy turned around and looked at my husband. It was our son.

10. My toddler dumped a gallon of bleach on the living room carpet. Homeowner’s insurance doesn’t cover that. (John C. Mayer would have)

11. My twin girls decided to make Daddy’s new Saab a playground. They spent the afternoon climbing up on the trunk, jumping on the roof, and sliding down the windshield. This resulted in $3,000 worth of damage.

12. My fifth grader would forge my signature perfectly. I figured this out at parent-teacher conferences when the teacher said that she thought I knew about the in-school suspension and missed homework assignments.

13. My oldest daughter taught my youngest son to wave at Truck Drivers with his middle finger from the backseat. This went on for too long before I figured it out. I am sure people thought we were whack jobs as they passed us on the highway.

14. My son dumped baby powder all over his entire bedroom. It took almost a year to stop coming across baby powder.

15. My son smeared Ben Gay all over our hallway. It smelled like a nursing home in our house for weeks.

16. Our teenager shaved off his brother’s eyebrow while he slept. My poor son was ridiculed for weeks at school as it grew back in.

17. We were asleep when our 2 year old slipped out the front door at 6:00 a.m. and began walking down the street. The neighbor saw him and brought him back home.

18. Permanent marker will not come off of your leather couch. (Like John C. Mayer)

19. My teenage daughter sent naked pictures of herself to two boys on Facebook. They went viral around her high school. I found out when the police called me.

20. My nose has been broken. Not once, not twice, but three times due to being head butted during diaper changes. Thanks, Baby!

All right, Pranksters, now it’s your turn. Tell me, why does Mommy Want Vodka at your house? (besides John C. Mayer)

Oh, and if you like me, check me out at Life’s Crazy Joke. If you didn’t like me, Aunt Becky is coming back real soon (she lives here and stuff).

Cheerio, Pranksters! *in my best British accent*

Keep on keeping on with your John C. Mayer-ing of the Internet, Pranksters. I’ll be adding links all day.

(any additions of John C. Mayer were not of the original post)

After John C. Mayer came to my house and broke my van yesterday, because I’d forced John C. Mayer off The Twitter in a fit of Twitter Celebrity Blocking Rage, my day got infinitely weirder. I’ll spare you the gory details, but let’s say it involved trying to start a dead car by staring at the battery, scratching my ass, hoping that by sheer force of will, the battery would charge.

It didn’t. The John C. Mayer curse continued.

But then, because I suddenly had a brilliant flash of insight, I decided that I should see what happens when you stuff a post with the name John C. Mayer over and over again, like I did yesterday, when I wrote about how John C. Mayer had cursed me.

So I slipped “John C. Mayer” into the old Google Box and…

John C. Mayer's Publicist Hates Me.

Oh yes, out of 7,060,000 results, I am number 3 when you Google “John C Mayer.” I am right below his personal website and above his Wikipedia entry.

This, Pranksters, means that somewhere, John C. Mayer’s publicist is probably blowing an aneurysm. You have no idea the kind of money people pay to be this high on the search when you google something like John C. Mayer.

My life is officially complete, Pranksters. I only wish I could be Number One when you search Google for John C. Mayer.

But this, THIS Pranksters, brings me to what I think we need to do to The Internet this week. Pranking. John C. Mayer has taught me many things, up to and including, “not to fuck with John C. Mayer because John C. Mayer Karma is a MOTHERFUCKER.”

John C. Mayer has also taught me that messing with Google Search is full of the win.

Here is our mission for the week, Pranksters, should you choose to accept it, and it’s also a brief lesson on SEO tips (I was going to give you a lesson on Watermarking your Pictures in Picnik, but Picnik bit the bucket today because it’s buggy as hell) brought to you on behalf of Aunt Becky and her imaginary friend John C. Mayer:

Choose a Target you don’t normally talk about on your blog, and get yourself onto the front page of Google Search. You cannot choose John C. Mayer. He’s mine, Pranksters and I will cut you for John C. Mayer.

I’ll include a Mr. Linky at the bottom and next Wednesday, you, me, The Pranksters and John C. Mayer will meet back and compare notes. This is going to be EPIC!

Let’s begin, shall we?

SEO stands for Search Engine Optimization, which is a way of making your website more visible to Google or other search engines. It’s an internet marketing strategy and that people use to get their site to be on the first page when you search for things like “John C. Mayer.” Because people searching aren’t going to be digging through 8,000 pages to see what you wrote if you’re at the back of articles about John C. Mayer, they’re going to check the top couple pages that mention John C. Mayer.

People pay a fuckton of money to be on the first page of searches about their subject, like John C. Mayer, and to get on the first page by Pranking, well, I think this will be a delicious joke, Pranksters. John C. Mayer, I hope you approve.

The first thing you want to do is think about the things people might search for when they’re looking for your Target (like mine, John C. Mayer). If you choose a person, like John C. Mayer, maybe just a couple of John C. Mayer’s songs, like “Gravity,” or albums like “Battle Studies” or news items, “John C Mayer quits Twitter.”

These are the things you’re going to have to put into your post. If it’s a person, like John C. Mayer, or Justin Beaver, you can probably just stick with their name, but you want phrases, like John C. Mayer rather than single words, like douche, or dillhole.

If you choose a famous person, USE A MIDDLE INITIAL.

Use the phrases in the posts that you write about your target as often as you can. Like I did, when I wrote about the curse of John C. Mayer. I hadn’t INTENDED for the John C. Mayer Curse to turn into a Prank, but I think even John C. Mayer would approve of it. Plus, since you’re doing a Prank and not trying to actually draw readers about the Target for good, you can explain what you are doing to your readers. I’m pretty sure the Lovers of John C. Mayer are going to be pretty fucking pissed when they see what I’ve said about their beloved John C. Mayer.

Add some links to sites that include your Target, like their Wikipedia Page, nearish to the top of the article and name it as such. See, this is John C. Mayer’s Wikipedia page.

Submit your article to Digg, Stumble Upon, Twitter, Facebook, and all of those annoying social bookmarking sites. Do the same for the rest of the Pranksters that you see doing the same prank, so we can all work to support each other on this.

Add a picture to your posts, really, it doesn’t have to be a picture of your Target; it could be a picture of my fake cat Mr. Sprinkles, but name it Your Target’s Name. Like I named this picture John C. Mayer:

Mr Sprinkles + John C Mayer

Add tags to your post, too, with your Target’s name and all of the search terms you’re using in the post. I’ve added John C. Mayer tags to my post, even though I never tag my posts, just because I want to make sure that I give as many heart attacks to as many publicists as possible.

Cross link your posts, if you’re doing a series of posts about your Target. I linked back to my previous post about John C. Mayer and I’m doing it again here, just for effect. Apparently, Search Engines like it when you cross link between posts on the same website. And since I’m trying to increase my John C. Mayer Karma, why not?

I’m sure there are a kajillion other SEO tips, but since I normally don’t bother with the SEO stuff, I’ll let you fill in what YOU know the comments, Pranksters.

So, let’s get our PRANK on. Add your blog to the bottom Mr. Linky if you’re going to play along at home AND leave a comment letting us know who your target is, so we can laugh. Also, throw a John C. Mayer into the comments for me and let’s work together to Prank the Internet. This is going to be EPIC!

Thanks, John C. Mayer. I owe you one.

I randomly wage war on celebrities in the same way that I marry them. Anonymously. Because, who the fuck am I?

It’s mostly on The Twitter, or randomly to people that I happen to be chatting with, and it’s one of those things that you either find endlessly endearing or endlessly annoying, and frankly, it don’t matter none, because I’m not changing. Like my hatred of Angelina Jolie. It burns, even though I’ve tried to overlook it, while I’ve gazed upon her pillowy, do-good, sanctimonious cheating whore lips, I simply can’t.

It’s the same way I’ve pledged to love, honor and repay Dexter Morgan, the murderous fictional antihero television character, for the rest of my life. We’re getting married even though he’s a fake person. It seems easier than having a real husband, you know?

Last night, in a fit of rage, I Tweeted about how John C. Mayer was bullshit. Because he is. You know why? I’LL TELL YOU.

I had to listen to that fucking, “Your Body is a Wonderland,” song for years on the radio and I am telling you that it is one of the worst, most annoying songs I have ever heard in my entire life. You know what’s a wonderland? BEATING THE SHIT OUT OF SOMEONE WHO WROTE SUCH A WHINY PIECE OF DOUCHE ROCK. Like John C. Mayer!

*bam* *thwack* Whose body is a wonderland now, bitch?

Every girl I knew was all, “oh my GOD that song is soo….amazing. It’s like he just…read my mind! I love John C. Mayer and want to make babies with him! They’ll be sensitive babies, like John C. Mayer!!!!” Then, they’d cry.

And then my head exploded into a pulpy mass because that song is so fucking stupid.

My hatred was mighty.

Then, I was watching the Dave Chapelle show, and who should appear, but John C. Mayer himself. And…John C. Mayer, he was funny.

Pranksters, I don’t need to tell you that this enraged me further. I don’t think that someone who writes, like John C. Mayer did: “One pair of candy lips and your bubblegum tongue, uh uh uh,” is allowed to be funny.

But I let it go as a fluke. Dave Chappelle drugged him. That was the only explanation I could think of that made any sense. Or maybe it was osmosis–particles of funny went from an area of higher concentration (Dave Chappelle) to an area of lower concentration (John C. Mayer). Either way, I put it out of my head.

And when “Heart of Life” came out and I heard it for the first time, I had to download it in super-stealthy secret mode. How could I possibly tell the world that I liked a song that had been written by someone who I’d called “as horrible as mayonnaise?”

Simply put, I couldn’t.

The icing on the John C. Mayer cake came when I finally ate my piece of humble pie and signed up for a Twitter account. I’d been mocking Twitter as the most worthless, narcissistic thing since blogging for months. I mean, I cried, how could anyone really want to know when I went to Target? Was I supposed to say things like, “I have to take a shit, PLZ RT?”

It was probably a full year before I realized that certain celebrities also had Twitter accounts. Despite my aforementioned Television Husbands, I don’t actually follow many celebrities, mostly because I’m not a starfucker, but at some point, it came to my attention that John C. Mayer had a Twitter account.

A-ha! I cried. Victory will be MINE!

Most of the celeb accounts are pretty vanilla OR they show that the star is a blithering moron, and this, I was sure, would show me that John C. Mayer had bad grammar! John C. Mayer must spell “a lot” as “alot.” Then I could go back to feeling smugly superior about how much better I was than John C. Mayer and all would be right with the world.

Then, the unthinkable happened. My world came crashing down around me. I read John C. Mayer’s Twitter page. And JOHN C. MAYER WAS WITTY.

I could hardly tolerate the humiliation of knowing that my fake archenemy John C. Mayer was smart. And funny. And motherfucking witty.

It wasn’t fair! I wailed, that someone so douchy could be so fucking witty. But there it was, in 140 characters or less. John C. Mayer. Witty. Funny. Pithy. Smart.

John C. Mayer was someone I could see myself being friends with.

But last night, I went on a Twitter Rampage:

I routinely go through and block celebrities who won’t know or care that I block them because really, why the fuck not? I block and reblock Justin Beaver constantly.

Pants are totally overrated. Like condiments. And John C. Mayer.

Well, karma is a motherfucker. Not only did my server die, then, this morning, John C. Mayer broke my car. The TRANSMISSION on my car.

So, John C. Mayer, I’m sorry. I think you’re fantastically witty and terribly funny and it pains me to say that I’d love to be friends with you.

Even if that song sucks fucking ass.

————-

And then? There’s this (I didn’t get this today, though, because John C. Mayer still hates me), in response to the blogger who stole all those posts from people, including my Mother’s Day post.

So that? Is proof that sometimes you do win.

Even when you piss off John C. Mayer.

I bought the domain months ago, but I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with it. I mean, I knew I wanted to turn it into a GROUP blog because, well, like I need another fucking place to spew my drivel on the Internet, right? But I felt like, as with Mushroom Printing, the blog needed some sort of focus. Because just being all, “uh, here’s a blog for…uh…us,” seemed like it was a little broad, and every time I mentioned it to other people, they looked at me like I was pretty stupid.

Which is pretty much par for the course, but you know.

So, then I’m like, SPECIAL NEEDS PARENTING! That’s an idea!

But then I realized that it was too focused.

So I was all, SPECIAL NEEDS PARENTING + PTSD! That’s even better!

But that sounded too much like peas and carrots.

Then, I made it as broad as I could, without being all, “IT’S A BLOG, YO. FOR US!”

I said, “It’s a group blog, yo, for us, AND I WILL MODERATE AND EDIT COMMENTS.”

Actually, it’s a place for anyone, and I do mean anyone, because you Pranksters know it’s never exclusionary like that, to share our stories. It’s maybe a little vague sounding, I know, but the premise of the site is that it’s a place where we can strap on our hot pants, spray the Aqua Net, roll around in some glitter and Get The Band Back Together.

It’s a safe place, you see, where we can share our struggles and triumphs, our joys and our sorrows, and help each other through. It’s what we do best, Pranksters, and I know that through our collective experiences, we can help the people who otherwise may not have anyone else.

The site is a work in progress, so I’ll appreciate anything you have to say about it.

Genuinely, I want to know what it still needs.

What you need to know is this: anyone can contribute, of course you can fucking swear, and you can add old posts all you’d like. Just please edit them so that we know who you’re talking about because it’s not the same audience.

The blog is run on WordPress, much like Mushroom Printing, so simply register, WordPress will send you a password, and from there you can post until your fingers are worn to wee nubs. The process is explained in more nauseating detail over there, because, well, OBVIOUSLY I had to show you how to do it.

The site is called, of course, Band Back Together, and there’s a corresponding Twitter account and even a fancy pants Facebook fan page!

So together with my home-slice Heather Spohr, from The Spohrs Are Multiplying, I’d like you to help me crack open a bottle of 1995 Krug “Clos Ambonnay” Brut Champagne, the most expensive champagne Google I could find on the hull of our new blog, Band Back Together.

If you get sea-sick, please, puke on Heather, not me.

So let’s shimmy into our leather pants, do our best Whitesnake impression, and get on the tour bus, Pranksters. Will you help us Band Back Together?

Also: I dedicated the site to someone who I’ve been trying to write about for years.

Dear Aunt Becky,

I have a blog (that I tend to forget about pretty frequently…  but I’m trying to change).  I think my problem is the whole commenting-conversation thing.  How should I reply to comments?  Email?  The same thread?  On the person’s own blog on a totally unrelated post?

I don’t really think most people (or maybe I’m just a jerk) go back over and over to check further comments on a post they commented on so my response would basically be lost forever.  But on the other hand I don’t want people to feel obligated to talk to me if I email them in response.  I just want to be able to be “Hey you, you’re recognized.  Thanks.  You deserve a cookie.”

How can I do that without being too pushy/annoying?

Good question, oh Prankster, my Prankster (mostly because it’s a question I can answer without having to work my pea-sized brain too hard)! I’ll be very anxious to hear what my other Pranksters say about this, as well.

So when I first started blogging, I was all, Imma respond to comments in my comments! And it worked out well, because the people who read my blog were the people who’d followed me here from Mushroom Printing, where we always had a dialogue back and forth. It was fancy, until I got readers who weren’t the same as people who’d been to my wedding and had likely seen me streak naked around my house while drunk.

Then I realized that it was probably a massive waste of time to respond to comments in my comments because who the hell wants to come back and sit on a blog and hope and pray that the blog owner is responding? Answer: like 2 people.

So I stopped.

THEN, I felt like a douche, because I was all, I READ MY COMMENTS AND DRAW PUFFY HEARTS ON THEM PLEASE KNOW THAT I LOVE YOU COMMENTERS!

So I tried emailing people with the email addresses you left. But since you didn’t always know MY email address, I got a lot of, “and who the fuck are you?” emails.

Then I cried. I wore sadpants for a long, long time.

THEN! I found out about this awesome new plug-in called WP-Threaded Comments! And I installed it! THEN I WORE HAPPY PANTS!

Because I could respond to comments! And if you leave an email address like, ‘gofuckyourselfauntbecky@gmail.com’ and I respond with, “Oh, I love you, wise commenter, can we make babies?” I don’t know when the email bounces!

The end!

Dear Aunt Becky,

I have to be friends with women I wouldn’t normally be friends with- their husbands are my husbands’ buds, and we all get together every weekend.  I’ve tried making my own friends, but it’s hard when you don’t really have a hobby and suffer with a mood disorder.  I’ve also tried being genuine friends with these women, and it’s not terrible, just not *me.*

So, I’m looking to go on this Aunt Becky’s Family Reunion Cruise, and I don’t want to let them know about it.  Nothing personal, I just don’t want to be on a boat with them.  We tried an “all girls” vacay and it failed miserably and ended in drama.  I’d rather go on my own and make my own friends, anyway.

Does this make me a bad person?  And how do I explain that I’m going on a cruise (without the Hub nonetheless) and didn’t mention it to nor invite them?

So, Pranksters, this is a good time to remind you that WE’RE GOING ON A MOTHERTRUCKING BOAT. It’s Aunt Becky’s FAMILY REUNION and you’re freaking INVITED so get your ass on a boat with us! The details are here! It’s cheap! And you’re COMING!

When you’re with us, you’re fucking FAMILY, so you’d best act like you LIKE IT. Get your ass on that boat! It doesn’t matter what kind of bits are between your legs. EVERYONE IS WELCOME.

Except, of course, the bitches that this Prankster is talking about. THEY are not invited because they sound like royal assholes.

So, Prankster, back to you, now that I’ve put away my megaphone. Of course you are not a bad person. I once made the mistake of going on vacation with two other girls and it was a fucking nightmare. I’ll have to recount the story sometime. *shudders*

Here’s what you do, if you have to mention it: tell you’re friend you’re going with some people from the INTERNET. Say it like they do on To Catch a Predator. Like we’re going to be plying you with Zima (gags) and condoms and slipping you roofies, rather than pranking and merrymaking on the high-motherfucking-seas.

Tell them it’s some sort of timeshare thing (scares everyone) and that you’ve been conned into selling Mary Kay or Pampered Chef or one of those 4-day long candle party things. Or maybe you’re selling a kidney. Or an arm. Or drug trafficking! Illegal arms deals!

Or you could tell them that you’re going with some bloggers.

Which is the fucking scariest suggestion of all.

*shudders*

Pranksters? Suggestions?

Dear Aunt Becky,

I have been a quiet follower of yours for quite some time. I think I’ve been drawn to following because of what you’ve gone through with your little girl. Now, I won’t pretend for one second that I have a clue what you’ve gone through, because really, I don’t. My son Athan, had heart surgery when he was 5 days old, was released from the hospital at 10 days old and has been doing quite well ever since.

When I first started following you, I thought, “Wow, I can empathize with her,” if only on the tiniest of levels. The thing is, in few short months, we are expecting a little girl we’ve named Jillian. I know your little Amelia had a neural tube defect when she was born, that required her to be in the hospital for far too long after she was born. My little one is facing a very severe congenital heart defect that will require several surgeries and far too much time in the hospital also. We have a 3 1/2 year old son, Oliver and 2 year old Athan and I have no clue how we’re going to manage all the time in the hospital, the stress, the decisions, etc.

My question is this: How the hell did you do it? How the hell do you still do it? How did you/do you maintain a “normal” life, if that’s even possible? I have started a blog- (There was a URL here, but it’s not functioning anymore), so that I can release some stress, while letting friends and family know what’s going on.

Some days I don’t feel like talking to anyone, and I know I don’t owe anyone anything, but I still feel like I should at least let keep them in the loop. In comparison to you, I am shit on your shoes when it comes to blogging, but I’d really appreciate if others could at least take a look and say a quick, simple prayer for her. Can you please make a quick note one day for people to take a look? I’m not expecting followers, but would appreciate any little prayers we can get.

Thank you,
Sincerely,
Hurting Mama (aka, Nikki Janik)

Oh Prankster, there are tears pouring down my cheeks right now, and I’ve got to be freaking out my neighbors with my ugly cry and you know what? FUCK ‘EM! Of course we’ll pray for you and your little Jillian! I wish your blog link worked so we could visit you properly.

I hope you’re reading this and know that we’re all sending you and baby Jillian all the love and light and prayers that we have.

The only way I know to get through hell is to keep going. You’ll make it through, even though you won’t know how. I don’t have your email address or any way to contact you except through my posts, but if you need a shoulder, I’m here, okay? I’ll be keeping you and Jillian in my prayers. Much, much love to you both.

I’m sure all my Pranksters will be, too. They’re full of the awesome, my Pranksters.

—————-

This seems like a good place for me to tell you that I have a spot for you, Hurting Mama, in case you did shut down your blog. It’s a place for all of us, actually. I’m quietly announcing it today, and I’ll loudly announce it tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that and I’ll beg you, all of you, Pranksters, to help me announce it.

It’s called Band Back Together, and it’s a group blog for stories like yours, Hurting Mama. It’s a place to go to share our stories, old and new, and you’re all welcome to use it.

I’m a little shy about it, because I’ve worked really hard on it, but I hope you dig it. It’s not quite done yet, but do let me know what it still needs.

And please, Pranksters, fill in where I left off in the comments. And be sure to love on Hurting Mama. She could use it.

Since plagiarism the shit-storm yesterday, I’ve been trying to knock the three brain cells in my head around the idea of stealing someone else’s stuff and passing it off as my own.

This had actually happened to me before, right after I delivered Amelia and came home from the hospital with my sick baby, and it was only a couple of paragraphs that had been snatched. Frankly, I had bigger fish to fry and didn’t give a shit about my stuff being stolen then.

So I knew it was only a matter of time before it happened again. Not because I am some awesome fucking blogger–I’m not–but because that’s what happens on The Internet. The comments prove that it’s only a matter of time before someone steals your stuff.

That’s a shame, because I think the best part of blogging, besides being able to say things like, “ball bag” and “meat curtains” is the ability to riff off each other. You know, like be inspired by one another? You read this from X blogger and go and write about it on your blog, and then inspire Y blogger to write about it, and pretty soon you have a hundred takes on the same topic. That pretty much rules.

And that’s not going to stop because some plagiarizer stole some stuff from me. This won’t be the last time someone steals something from me, and frankly, I don’t care anymore. I got my hackles up, I’m a little annoyed by it, but in the end, we all know who wrote that piece. It wasn’t some talentless hack who steals other people’s stuff; it was me. YOUR talentless hack, Aunt motherfucking Becky.

And I was reminded of how My Pranksters are seriously, bar-none, the best people on the planet. You all better know that I’ve got your back, too. You don’t fuck with Aunt Becky, but you ALSO don’t fuck with Aunt Becky’s Band of Merry Pranksters unless you want the wrath of a thousand steaming loads of dog shit on your doorstep.

You’ve been warned.

ANYWAY.

So, this is what I’ve learned, and what you’ve taught me about protecting your stuff online:

1) Put a copyright notice in your footer. See, I have one that says,

“Stealing gives you herpes. – © 2010 Mommy Wants Vodka.”

Hehe. See, hopefully now, she’s got a scorching case of FACIAL herpes that you just can’t hide. Not those cute little cold sores, NO, the LESIONS of DOOM.

ANYWAY.

2) Ask that the offending party remove the post or picture. Sometimes, people post things without realizing that it’s not in good taste to republish your work without asking. I don’t actually care if you use my stuff, so long as you ask me and credit it back. It’s my work, yo, not yours.

3) Contact the hosting company. Domains have to be registered to a person, so the host of the website will have the person’s name and information. A directory like WHOIS will look up any domain and tell you who it’s registered to and you can file a claim with the hosting company.

In the event that your thief is hosting a Blogger/Blogspot blog, they are being hosted by Google. Google has a very strict anti-theft policy.