Imelda needs…

It’s Wednesday, which means it’s time for Whatever takes my fancy.  (And no, the picture is not what takes my fancy: it’s my reaction to what’s below…)

Today it is one from the vault.  A few years ago, among my mates, anyway, there was a craze for Googling your first name, followed by the word ‘needs’ and seeing what came up.

I don’t know how this worked for other people, but on the day I did it, it was as if the interwebs were trying to tell me something.  Regard:

Imelda needs an army and an elderly husband behind her to get anything done.
Apparently I am the origin of the question, ‘you and who’s army?’

Imelda needs a loan of US $225
Well, natch – who doesn’t?

Imelda needs a loan for $8000 MXN
This is getting silly now.  What’s with all the money-grubbing, all of a sudden?

Imelda needs to develop discipline and patience in order to achieve her aspirations
Okay, now it’s a little creepy.  Do you actually know me, Google?

And following that one, this one immediately after it made me completely lose it…

Imelda needs to write soft porn bodice ripper novels
Google has spoken! nuff said!

Imelda needs to be disciplined
Put this together with the previous two and one beverage alert is just not enough…

Imelda needs financial support
Until she starts selling the soft porn, anyway…

Imelda needs new shoes
Again, with the ‘doesn’t everybody?’

“But Imelda needs those shoes
Alright, already, I get it!  New shoes!

Miss Imelda needs to come a-knockin’ on Scotland’s door.
And now, for something completely different…

It’s silly!  It’s pointless!  But amusing… at least to me.

Do yours! Go on, you know you want to…

Tell me what you find! 🙂

Let’s Pretend This Never Happened

Imagine, if you will, a young girl, growing up poor.

Imagine that she has a chronic, undiagnosed anxiety disorder, a taxidermist father with a yen for roadkill and some very curious ideas about what makes a good puppet (and the time of night at which is appropriate to share said puppet).

Imagine she has a series of pets which… well, let’s just say that the pet experience is not entirely usual.

And all she wants is to fit in.

In the hands of Steven King, it would be a towering, terrifying horror story.  (At least, I imagine it would.  Growing up has not made me any more able to read Steven King’s novels than I was when I first encountered them as a squealy 11-year-old.  Loved ‘On Writing‘ though.)

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