Dear Sir (or Ma’am, but I’m guessing ‘Sir’):
When you search for “‘tiny cat pants’ fat bitch” or “‘tiny cat pants’ sloppy bitch,” and you then click on results that bring you to Tiny Cat Pants, I can see that you’ve been using those search terms. If, in the future, you’d like to see if anyone else thinks I’m a fat bitch or a sloppy bitch, you have a couple of semi-honorable ways to do that and a couple of sneaky ways.
One, you could email me and ask if you’re the only person who thinks I’m a fat, sloppy bitch. I would then, of course, know who you were and have your IP address and all your email header information, so maybe that doesn’t appeal to you. Two, you could leave a comment here asking if you’re the only person who thinks I’m a fat, sloppy bitch. I would, again, have your IP address, so, if that would lead me to any interesting realizations, perhaps that’s not a good option for you.
Or you could choose to be sneaky. You could email folks and say “Oh, I heard that someone is running around the internets calling Aunt B. a fat, sloppy bitch. Who would do such a thing?” and folks might email you back and say “It wasn’t me, but god. Isn’t she?”
Or, perhaps the most simple, you could just not click on search results that bring you here, because I assure you, other than in this post, there’s no place on Tiny Cat Pants where I’m calling myself or anyone else a fat, sloppy bitch.
But, in case you’re wondering, yes, yes I am. I am a fat, sloppy bitch.
Worry your pretty little head about it no more.
Love,
Aunt B.
p.s. I know it’s a hard concept, but “Tiny Cat Pants” is the name of this blog. “Aunt B.” is the nom de plume of this blogger. Tiny Cat Pants is not a person. It is a blog and therefore can neither be fat nor sloppy nor a bitch. It’s a little like you wondering if a piece of paper with some words written on it is a fat, sloppy bitch. No, see, you want to know if the author is a fat, sloppy bitch, not the medium.
Tiny Cat Pants 
Ten bucks says it’s Campfield.
I can only hope.
My lord. We survive drive-by hootings* only to get them from the dang Internet.
Hey. Search for Campfield and “little tiny ….” Just IMAGINE the Google results. And only a few would say ” … brain.”
If people searched for “tiny cat pants” and “smooches,” though, the Internets would explode.
*that is not a typo
Ten bucks says it’s Campfield.
That was my first guess as well.
Heh. I often worry about what people make of my internet searches. If I need a particularly heinous quote from a comment thread, or something really weird from a post, and I want to reference it, I’ll usually do a bunch of searches for [name of blog or writer] [heinous quote] or the like.
My guess was whatshisface who’s disappeared from 6MB. It’s not any of the rest of them tho, the rest have more class than that.
My guess was whatshisface who’s disappeared from 6MB. Brian McSmantix?
He’s more ballsy than that, to be honest.
It just seems to me to be something that a 40 year old single man who drives an old Honda, lived (or lives, I’m not sure) with his mother and does martial arts and motocross would do on a lonely night after he feels picked on.
Brian McSmantix is many things, but passive-aggressive he is not. Other people, on the other hand….
Hey, our car is an old Honda, and I don’t do internet searches like that.
The old Honda is a mere piece of the puzzle.
I left out things like “Hangs out at the Citizens Police Acadamy” and other ingredients of the soup that is he.
I had an old honda that I loved until a drunk hit-and-runner totalled it outside a bar which is no longer there.
Bar’s gone. Car’s gone. Driver was gone too. Maybe it didn’t happen after all.
Brian McSmantix is many things, but passive-aggressive he is not. Other people, on the other hand….
Yeah, true. Good point.
I’m gonna have to bet against Campfield tho. It just doesn’t strike me as something he’d think of to do.
The more I think about it, the more I think it’s not Campfield, for two reasons. 1. He knows I’m Aunt B. and 2. He knows how to find me in real life, if he just placed a call to Kara Watkins.
I am positive it’s not Smantix (or Brian or whatever he’s calling himself today) because he’d just call me that if he wanted to call me that. He’s not going to weasel around trying to find folks that might agree with him. Say what you want about him, he’s not shy with his opinions.
Same with the rest of the Six Meat Buffet guys.
So, as much as I wish it were Campfield, I just kind of doubt it.
It just doesn’t strike me as something he’d think of
As much as I’d love to be right, you have a solid point there.
Maybe this mystery person is in fact searching for information about Mrs. Wigglesbottom. She’s a bitch, she can be sloppy, and I sure hope you haven’t been over feeding her.
I will admit though that now I’ve done the search just to see if there’s anything “real” out there.
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Kat, I did the same thing. :)
Maybe someone has a fetish for a fat sloppy bitch *wearing* tiny cat pants?
Wait. “Brian” is “Smantix”? Gack, I should pay more attention. I just thought he was some new dude.
I only go there to read Cranky anyhow.
What makes you think they were looking for you, B? I’m a fat sloppy bitch and I post here all the time. Or maybe I’m trying to say “I am Spartacus.”
heh. I am Spartacus.
love it.
Wait. “Brian” is “Smantix”?
Yep.
I’m clutching my side here… can’t catch my breath… laughing too hard.
So what’s the verdict? Is someone writing about B as a fat sloppy bitch?
No, not that I could find.
Weird. When I did the search, all I found was AuntB calling herself those dirty words. It’s like someone remote controlled you, AuntB, using the Google and made the search result find something from the future.
OK, now I’m freaking out. I’m about to google: Christian Grantham Zillionaire.
Maybe even: Christian Grantham 6’2″ hot swimmer’s build model zillionaire
This is what I got for Google on the hit for that search. (Also this.
This blog is also the top hit for tiny cat pants made of awesome.
Rock on, honey. Excellent response to what is clearly an idiot.
Love reading you in my feedreader! Local bloggers rock!
Suzanne
Way up in White House