Have you ever thought of a really great title for a paper, an essay, a short story or a blog post, but then slowly realized the cumbersome burden of then having to find a way to create a story deserving of such a great title? Such is the case with this particular blog post.

There's no question the title is a solid 10 on a 10-scale. "How Beastiality Saved My Marriage." That's the kind of title that moves copy, my friend! But finding a way to justify the title with a worthy post is the difficult part.

Mr. Fabulous recently complained that my blog was lacking in beastiality references. Such stinging criticism is hard to take, but after several painful hours of honest introspection, I had to admit the little prick had a point. Make no mistake--there are beastiality references. I can think of at least two, here and here. But that's certainly, by anyone's standards, not nearly enough. Not by a long shot.

A peek at my Statcounter account proves it. I see queries for poop jacuzzi, picture crabs vagina and too fat to fit through, but shockingly few for subjects dealing with beastiality. People seek me out for tampon removal pictures, but it's becoming painfully obvious to me that when readers have questions about the tender intimacy that can sometimes occur between man and squirrel, they do not come to Karlababble.

At times like this, I have to hang my head and wonder if it's all been for nothing. I've slaved here at this computer, week after week since June of 2005, baring my soul in my struggle to come up with words of wisdom and beauty to inspire the masses--and the sudden, difficult realization that I've missed the mark by such a wide berth is...well, disheartening, to say the least.

The small consolation that now, after this post, I should get quite a few internet search hits for beastiality (having repeated the word just enough times to catch Google's attention), still seems like a case of 'too little too late.' Maybe I should just stop the madness and give up blogging altogether. I mean, what's the point? I don't know. Have you ever have one of those days when you just feel like nothing you do is good enough? Maybe I should see a therapist. It appears I've reached a crossroads in my life, and it may do me some good to talk to someone, or perhaps get a boatload of medication prescribed to me, or at the very least, have a sordid, degrading affair with the therapist. And if all that fails, maybe dabbling in beastiality will prove to be just the elixer I need to soothe my shattered soul.

Do any of you out there have a particularly attractive pet you could send me a photo of? A pit bull with some muscular shoulders, or a parakeet with a nice, tidy set of tail feathers? I've had my eye on Anonymous Coworker's cats for some time now. He parades provocative photos of them across the internet, showing those felines off like the eye candy they are, making me think he knows exactly what kind of amorous feelings he's inciting in some of his love-starved readers. I may have to give those furry little sluts just what they've been asking for.

Labels: The internet--it's more than just pornography, The mentally ill love Karlababble