I know we’ve had a tumultuous relationship – we’re like when a tornado meets a volcano or um, cheese meeting macaroni, or something poetic, John C. Mayer. Whatever, John C. Mayer – I’m not the singer – YOU are.
For years, John C. Mayer, I despised you. Not because I knew you, John C. Mayer, or even because you, John C. Mayer had done anything personally to me.
Except that you, John C. Mayer did. You wrote that stupid “You’re Body Is A Wonderland” song. I mean, John C. Mayer, how many times do I have to hear my girlfriends ovulate all over the place when that stupid song comes on? How many torturous nights, John. C. Mayer do I have to hear my sappy girlfriends be all, “I *love this song – John C. Mayer wrote this about ME and now I want to have his sensitive babies,” before I snap, John C. Mayer?
Answer, John C. Mayer: about two hundred times.
And frankly, how dare you, John C. Mayer, sir, have the audacity to be both funny AND play the guitar like that? It’s unfair, John C. Mayer, because despite how much, I wanted to hate you, John C. Mayer, I simply cannot. Your humor, John C. Mayer is not a fluke, and you, John C. Mayer, are someone with whom I’d like to be friends.
A photo taken during the John C Mayer Prank, complete with my fake cat, Mr. Sprinkles.
Today, John C. Mayer, I checked to see where I ranked on Google. It’s been over two years (I think) since I Pulled a John C. Mayer on the Internet – certainly my page rank must’ve gone down. After all, John C. Mayer, I do not write a blog about John C. Mayer – instead, I prefer to write narcissistically about, well, me. That is what blogging is all about, right John C. Mayer?
And yet. And how. And this:
Screen shot from today. I beat out John C. Mayer’s blog AND Wikipedia. John C. Mayer totally loves me.
Anyway, I’m sure that your publicist, John C. Mayer would like me to die in a fiery blaze started possibly by a “malfunctioning kitchen appliance,” because WHOOPS! Behold the Power of the Pranksters, John C. Mayer!
But I’m a little afraid, now, John C. Mayer, that while your publicist may want to murder me with a pitchfork, that you, John C. Mayer may be in love with me. Now, I know what you’re thinking: who isn’t in love with John C. Mayer and his luscious mane of hairs? The answer would be me, John C. Mayer. I am not in love with you. While I do respect your kickin’ guitar riffs and may (or may not)(I’ll never tell) own several of your songs, I am not, John C. Mayer, in love with you.
But you, however, are stalking me John C. Mayer. Why would I say such a thing, John C. Mayer?
Because I got this in the mail. No return address. Just this. Now when I saw that I’d gotten mail, John C. Mayer, I got all happy in the pants because who doesn’t love PRESENTS? (answer people who hate the color blue, baskets of kittens, and/or lemon meringue pie).
Yes, that’s right. I got an unmarked life-sized poster of you, John C. Mayer. And I cannot think of a soul who would send this picture of you, John C. Mayer, rocking out besides, well, YOU.
Which means that you’re clearly stalking me, John C. Mayer.
And while that’s well and good – who can resist a chick who gardens in a cocktail dress and chainsaw? – I must inform you that sending me a life-sized poster of you, John C. Mayer is not the quickest way to my bubble gum lips.
Besides, John C. Mayer, I’m engaged. To a Twitter Dog, Dublin Cook.
DON’T JUDGE OUR LOVE, JOHN C. MAYER.
P.S. You might want to try sending diamonds next time, John C. Mayer. Works better on loosening up the vaginal bits than a life-sized poster of you, John C. Mayer.
So it’s your turn. Link up, Pranksters, and help each other by leaving comments wherein you use THEIR celebrities name a lot in the comments, use Stumble Upon, Facebook, retweet them, you know – let’s get Google good! Let’s get PRANKING!Comments should look like this to get more traction with Google:
“Aunt Becky I can’t believe you’re pulling a John C. Mayer again. John C. Mayer will rue the day that John C. Mayer wrote “Your Body is a Wonderland.”
I submitted a question once before and your answer was pretty awesomesauce, so I thought I’d have a another go at it.
I’m (I think) what you bloggers call a lurker. I read several blogs every day but I don’t think I’ve ever commented. A lot of the time I’m several days behind or I just don’t feel like I have anything interesting/relevant to add to whatever discussion is taking place but sometimes I just realize that it’s kind of weird to be sitting in my living room with my coffee reading up on some stranger’s life!
I don’t want to be a creepy non-contributing lurker. Is it as rude and weird to just sit there creeping on blogs without commenting or should I suck it up and make comments every once in awhile? I follow the blogs because they are interesting to me, have excellent writing or because I can relate.
I’m not a total weirdo recluse, I promise.
Thanks in advance for your complete awesomeness!
Oh, Dear Prankster, I don’t think you’re a weirdo recluse for not commenting. Not a bit.
It used to be that blogging “currency” (if I may)(and I always motherfucking may) was comments. It’s always been a little controversial to put up a donate button/tip jar* therefore a comment was the next best thing.
Since people began to read blogs in their readers (Google Reader, Feedburner, etc), commenting has gone the way of the condor. If the condor is actually dead. If he’s not, then I just lied. If you have a full feed published to your reader (which you should), people just read there.
The obvious answer would be to publish a partial feed so people click through, but partial feeds piss people off. For good reason. From a reader’s point of view, bloggers should make their blogs as accessible as they possibly can. EVEN IF IT MEANS LOSING A FEW CLICK-THROUGHS.
Also killing comments is that there are a number of commenting systems that are, flat out, a pain in the fucking ass to use. I read hundreds of blogs. If it takes me twenty minutes to figure out HOW to leave a comment, guess who loses a comment?
And frankly? I don’t care. You don’t have to comment. I love comments, don’t get me wrong, but I’m happy enough to know my lurkers (and six kazillion robots) are out there.
And, lurkers, if you ever want to speak up, please do (or send me an email: firstname.lastname@example.org). I’m beyond happy to make your acquaintance.
*don’t hate the player, hate the game.
Dear Aunt Becky,
Did you know there’s a new sitcom on ABC called “Happy Endings?” Whether you knew is important, Aunt Becky, because I recently watched a DVR’d episode of said show, and not once, but TWICE, they stole your “Shut Your Whore Mouth” phrase. I do not know if you are secretly working on this sitcom and put it in there so only your lovely Pranksters would recognize it, or if the writers stole your phrase.
So, if you are a secret writer on Happy Endings, kudos–I heard your phrase and recognized your handy work. If you are not, then you might want to go EYE OF THE MOTHERFUCKING TIGER on ABC.
I want some fucking royalties, ABC. Now.
Do NOT make me unleash The Pranksters on you, ABC, because I so totally will. And, ABC, do you KNOW what they did to John C. Mayer? They made him a VERB.
ABC, you don’t want that.
I’ll be expecting your check in the mail, ABC.
Aunt (motherfucking) Becky
Hey, Aunt Beck!
Was wondering…are your tees cut for chicks? You know, a little fitted, a little more narrow at the waist, more of a cap sleeve?
The nosy, and possible purchaser, want to know!
Excellent question, inquiring Prankster.
Fashion Cut shirts = girls shirts = more fitted and tightish around the waist. Now, let me tell you something and don’t get all vain about it when you order one. BUY ONE SIZE UP. Just trust me.
That said, they make your rack look TREMENDOUS.
In which case you’re a dude. Then you probably want to go with Unisex.
Imagine my horror when I pulled up iTunes to download Tom Jones songs for Vegas this weekend (you ARE coming, yes?)(the answer is, of course, obviously) and iTunes told the WHOLE WORLD, or at least, my living room, that I owned some John C. Mayer songs.
I mean, how can I OWN HIS MUSIC after the shit I’ve talked about him? After our “Pulling A John C. Mayer” prank, I’m still number two and three for searches for John C. Mayer:
It goes to show that you really cannot trust everything you read on the internet. Hell, I might be a tiny, tiny man living in my parents basement playing Dungeons and Dragons all day and NOT ACTUALLY Your Aunt Becky. You just never know.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
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.
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:
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…
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:
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!