WordPress provides me with the search engine terms people use to find my site. Some of the phrases are less predictable:
confidential
hundred dollar bills
animals made of shells
redi whip cartoon
bansky bubble letter nyc
blue film screenshot
bouncing on each other
Other terms are a little more predictable:
voyeur
voyeur at water park girls
jill janus bad
hot girl selfie 
phone sex
nadine velaquez sex scene
nymphomaniac real sex scene
titanic orgy
furries sex
Fedex: How can I help you?
McPhed: I have a complaint.
Fedex: Do you have a tracking number?
McPhed: 8049 2194 25
Fedex: 8149–
McPhed: (Tersely) 8049 2194 25
Fedex: Okay, yes. (Pause) What can I do for you, sir?
McPhed: Do you see the record of the account?
Fedex: Yes, sir.
McPhed: You see that package was returned to the sender and that the contents of the package were spoiled?
Fedex: I apologize for the inconvenience.
McPhed: I don’t want an apology.
Fedex: I’m sorry to hear that.
McPhed: What are you going to do about this?
Fedex: You’ve filed a complaint.
McPhed: I’ve filed three complaints.
Fedex: I’m sorry for the inconvenience, sir.
McPhed: Stop apologizing.
Long pause.
McPhed: I’d like to speak with a manager.
Fedex: One moment, sir.
Music plays. Phone clicks. Phone goes dead. McPhedran calls back.
Fedex: How can I help you?
McPhed: I would like to speak your manager.
Fedex: Can I assist you, sir?
McPhed: You hung up on me. I want to speak with your manager.
Fedex: I apologize for any inconvenience.
Long pause.
McPhed: Hello?
Fedex: Yes, sir?
McPhed: I would like to speak your manager.
Fedex: I need a tracking number, sir.
McPhed: Do you have any idea how many times I’ve called Fedex?
Fedex: I’m sorry for the inconvenience, sir.
McPhed: Is that all you people know how to do? Apologize?
Fedex: I’m sorry for the inconvenience, sir.
McPhed: I would like to talk your manager.
Fedex: One moment.
Music plays. Phone clicks. Phone goes dead. McPhedran calls back.
Fedex: How can I help you?
McPhed: You’ve hung up on me twice now.
Fedex: I’m sorry for the inconvenience, sir.
McPhedran replies with a series of expletives. Long Pause.
McPhed: Is there anyone who will address my concern?
Fedex: What is the problem, sir?
McPhed: You were supposed to deliver a package. You failed to do that and the contents of the package were ruined.
Fedex: I’m sorry for the inconvenience, sir.
McPhed: Forget the apologies. It’s a business. That’s why I am calling you. You failed to do what you said you would do.
Fedex: We cannot give you any financial compensation, sir.
McPhed: You let nine pounds of smoked salmon rot in your warehouse. That’s your responsibility.
Fedex: We do not assume liability for the contents of the package.
McPhed: What do you assume liability for?
Fedex: We cannot give you any financial compensation, sir. I’m sorry.
McPhed: How many times do I have to tell you to stop apologizing?
Fedex: Okay, I won’t do that again. (Pause) Is there anything else?
McPhed: What else could there possibly be?
Long Pause. McPhedran hangs up.
I just need this drink to be content. 
Just that, the refreshment, the alcohol in my blood at the right percentage. 
Ah, yes…there! I am content, genuinely and truly so.
It’s nice to feel like this, to have everything set, the holidays approaching, the weather cool and crisp, all emails answered, assignments managed, my work going fine. 
My Bad Side will be published one day, The Ark is finally coming together, and the first draft of Glenayr is almost there. Friends and family are healthy – Micaela happy and More Art prospering – and the Leafs are actually winning.
Yes, everything is all right…although, now that I think about it, the Leafs could be more consistent, especially in the defensive end.
And, well, my brother won’t talk to me, and More Art could use more grant money. Glenayr lacks a clear antagonist, and, to be honest, The Ark will be impossible to finish. 
An email from Fedex? Claim rejected? Damn it, I forgot to call my doctor, and I have to set up the website for next week. Yeah, and it’s going to snow.
What? And the bar is closed? 
No, that’s not good.
I hear what you’re saying. I do. I honestly understand. But here’s the thing. You need to listen to me. Just listen. And don’t say anything back. Okay? Are you listening? Good. 
The first thing is that I appreciate you trying to reach out, but you need to respect my personal space. And spare me the guise of thanking me for making the effort. It just doesn’t ring true. I am not interested in a phony relationship without attempting to solve our real problems. 
It is my belief that you and I can’t solve our issues alone. It isn’t a matter of perception; it’s just straight-forward reasoning. It’s too painful to interact with you in a deep way. You cause me nothing but pain.
You said it yourself. You don’t trust me and therefore cannot open up. And so, by your own admission, your suggestion is doomed to failure, right? 
And if you don’t like what I have to say, don’t ever call or email me again! Don’t worry, I won’t contact you first.
I left my mother in her room to talk to the nurse. A television played in the distance.
“Will you take me to dinner please?” A sharp voice beckoned from a darkened room as I passed.
I continued on, glancing into the rooms.
“Will someone take me to dinner?!”
A black and white film was on the television, something with Gregory Peck, in the next room. A sign on the next door: Leave This Door Closed As You Have Been Told.
I found a young woman, in an elf green outfit, sorting papers on a cart at the end of the hall.
“I have a question about my mother.”
She looked startled, the papers lolling forward. “I’m not a nurse.”
“She had a fall this morning.”
“I’m the director of social programs.”
“Is the nurse around?”
“She will be here soon.”
I paused. “And there’s a woman that wants to be taken to dinner. She seems a little upset.”
“The nurse will be here soon.”
I went back, looking in briefly at Gregory Peck and then the frail legs in the bed, long and white, the rest of the body hidden by the half-open door.
“Will someone please take me to dinner!?” The voice was more strident now, desperate.
I stopped and looked in at the woman against the far wall, alone in her big dark room.
“She told me that someone is coming.”
“Oh.” She sat rigid, her eyes sunk in. “Thank you very much!”
I wondered who the woman thought I meant by ‘she’ as I got on the elevator, always there, ready for my escape.
The glass doors slid suddenly open, loose along the tracks, allowing out the thick, perfumed air. The reception area was deserted, the line of grey pillars, each tied with a plush red bow, tapering down the long and empty halls. I stepped inside, rubbing the foamy blob of liquid soap between my hands, and paused at the tree, perfect, artificial and green.
“Good evening.”
I looked around and then in amongst the baubles of the tree, half-expecting a specter to come out.
“Bracing weather.” The disembodied voice was raspy and friendly.
I circled the branches to find an elderly man in a wheelchair, a thin tartan blanket draped down. His eyes were wide, a clear green, his smile crooked and sincere. “Here for a visit?”
I felt the twist in my hips, impelling me to leave. “My mother.”
He nodded slightly, a ragged scab covering the back of his head. “She will be pleased to see you.”
I realized that the blanket hung flat against the wheelchair, that he had no legs, that he must have had countless surgeries and was only smiling in pain. “Yes.”
His arms lay still across his empty lap. “Carry on.”
I sidled away awkwardly, surging around the corner to where a woman stood, dressed as an elf.
“Hello.”
We waited for the elevator. 
“It must be hard to work here,” I said. “Especially around Christmas.”
“I’m not a nurse.” She pressed the clipboard tight to her green felt blouse. “I’m the director of social programs.”
The doors opened and we got in.
“Floor?”
“Six.”
She got off on the third. “Merry Christmas.”
He tried to stay low key.
But he was hungry. 
And he needed a walk.
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