Palace service interruption.

Over the past week or so, I’ve been doggedly working on a few half-assed rants that at this moment remain unfinished.  It’s not “writers block” exactly.  It’s more like I find myself wrestling with an issue — which is not at all unusual — but somehow in my efforts to write something approximating a clear and accurate picture (with good fact citations) inorder to infotain my Many Tens of Loyal Readers™, I would instead find myself lost, off in the mists and deep in the woods somewhere, and frustrated with the (my?) lack of clarity and inability to see how all of the pieces fit together.  Normally the more I read about and research an issue the clearer the picture becomes to me, even though paradoxically it also becomes much more nuanced and complex at the same time.  You know: more like actual reality.  (We’re not Fox News, here, people: idiots need not apply.  Well, except for positions in the Palace Kitchen, where idiocy is a job requirement.)

But lately this just isn’t the case; I get bogged down and frustrated.  (Sure, I’ve had some stressful shit going on recently.  Maybe that’s it.)  Anyway, I’ve saved these crappy draft posts and will look at them with fresh eyes this week, hoping that where I went awry will instantly jump out at me, and my obliging neurons will immediately serve up an easy and obvious fix.  Or, alternatively, I’ll realize what a hopeless mess they truly are and banish them to oblivion, for the good of all concerned.  Fortunately, while I have been wandering around in the weeds and muck the denizens of the internet have graciously provided some clarity of their own as to exactly, precisely what it is they desire when they click on a link to the Palace.  Here are the top searches this past week that led ‘netizens to our fabulous gates:

  • cake man raven red velvet cake recipe
  • muscle girl rape
  • flag of ecuador to color
  • prayers to god

Now as loyal readers well know, we truly aspire to be a full-service Palace.  That is, we endeavor to provide our guests with anything and everything their hearts desire — provided, of course, that it coincides exactly 100% with whatever it is we feel like doing.  But just as one cannot be all things to all people, one’s Palace cannot be, either.  We must draw some lines, determine some priorities, maintain some standards, and enforce some goddamn boundaries—all at our capricious whim.  To give you some idea of the shape such whims tend to take, witness our sincere efforts to meet the needs of our new Palace readers:

closeup slice

yum.

cake man raven red velvet cake recipe:  A perennial favorite search term that leads directly to Iris the Idiot’s Kitchen and an insufferably long-winded, bloviating post explaining in excruciating detail and with plenty of pictures how to make the best goddamn red velvet cake known to humankind thus far.  (Srsly.)

__________

muscle girl rape:   FUCK.  OFF.  NOW.

__________

flag of ecuador to color:  Here you go.  I just ran a picture of the bright and beautiful flag of Ecuador through a few filters, and hope that the result will suffice for all of your flag-of-ecuador coloring needs.  (It lost some of the fine detail in the process, but as you apparently prefer to work in the crayon medium, this is probably a good thing.)

__________

prayers to god:  Hmmm.  Okay, this is a tough one—it’s been a while.  Let’s see:

Dear Jeezus:  If you wanted us to worship you, how come you won’t even bother to do us the favor of existing?  Anxiously awaiting your response.  Thanks in advance.  Oh!  I almost forgot:  Amen.  Also:  Hallelujah!  And…um…peace be upon you.  P.S., Hey Jeezuz?  Why are so many followers of you and your dad such epic, ginourmous doucheweasels?  Also, what’s up with all the gay-hatin’?  I mean, you had two dads, and yet you supposedly turned out all right.
: |

Dear Vishnu:  Congratulations!  You are totally kicking Christ’s ass!  As it is a tenet of my faith that it is generally prudent to, you know, “go with a winner,” I am hereby praying to inform you that I am now your devoted follower… at least until some other god comes along and kicks your ass, obviously.  (I’d keep an eye on that Thor if I were you.  He is a badass.)

Dear Aphrodite:  I do apologize to your Goddessishness, but right now all I can think of are the lyrics to the Frank Sinatra song Fly Me to the Moon:

Fly me to the moon
and let me play among the stars
Let me see what spring is like
on Jupiter and Mars
In other words, hold my hand
In other words, baby kiss me

Fill my heart with song
and let me sing for ever more
You are all I long for
all I worship and adore
In other words, please be true
In other words, I love you

Welcome, new readers!  (Except for you muscle girl rape fans. You’re all probably a bunch of conservatives anyway. Go away and stay away. )

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