As evidenced by…well…this very website, people tend to put random shit on the internet. Not surprisingly, it seems that people search for a lot of random shit on the internet as well.
Here are some highlights of the search terms used to find my blog a few days ago:
“what sunglasses do female cyclists where” (sic)
“how to become a stronger breakaway rider”
Seriously? What the hell? If we assume that Google is good enough to capture the essence of this blog, I find that collection of search terms unsettling. At least the last one is flattering…I think.
Anyway, that was merely a quick, semi-humorous warm-up for this next bit regarding internet searches and the fringe fetishes they unearth. Allow me to digress for a bit; fear not, I’ll come back to the fetish part in a moment.
Because of the peculiarities of eligibility allowed by USACycling, collegiate cycling teams are composed of a motley crowd of individuals. According to the rules, any registered student is allowed to race collegiate events, which means that eighteen-year-old newbies often race side by side with creepy, aging graduate students. OK, perhaps “creepy” is a bit harsh — and rather redundant, given that it’s implicit in the word “graduate student” — but that’s mostly because I don’t like to think of myself in those terms now that I’m entering my fourth year of post-graduate education.
My experience at Stanford Cycling was no different. In fact, two of the cycling team members with whom I’ve stayed in frequent contact since I left college were graduate students at the time. Today, I’d like to share a rather interesting story about one of them.
Leon Bucky — the internet pen-name of said friend — was a hard-partying graduate student when he wanted to be. One of his finest performances at a cycling team party began with a truly “epic” vodka pour (diluted with an insignificant volume of cranberry juice for coloration more than anything else), rose to a crescendo as he rode a teammate’s carbon fiber racing bike on the roof of the dorm, and ended with him haggardly awakening the following morning, huddled under a towel on my dorm-room floor looking like a hazed fraternity pledge.
Anyway, at one such cycling team party, Leon tussled with a now-famous, serious female cyclist; the end result was a beer-soaked crotch. It was nothing out of the ordinary, really, but it had far-reaching consequences.
The photographs from this party were uploaded to an obscure and infrequently-visited team website, where they were forgotten for many years.
A few months ago, Leon and I engaged in a nostalgic G-Chat session. For about an hour, we pored over photographs from that lost era of Stanford Cycling, sending links back and forth, retelling the stories behind each image, and giggling about our former lives as collegiate cyclists. It was all very uneventful until the strange fetish stuff came out.
Yep. It turns out that the “long-forgotten” photograph above had been making the rounds of the wet-pants fetish world.
Leon has written about the whole ordeal on his own blog — a site typically dominated by fatherly, PG-rated posts about his wonderful family — and I recommend you head there to read about the details.
Here are some highlights from our G-Chat session, right as we began to realize how far along his “celebrity status” had progressed, unbeknownst to anyone including him. (This next bit is nearly identical to a comment I left on his post. Plagiarism is more fun than creativity.):
Me: but seriously
ANYONE that has a wet pants fetish
has looked at your wet crotch
Me: because that’s the FIRST thing you would google
Seriously, if you Google image search for “wet pants,” it returns a bunch of non-employer-friendly images and Leon’s crotch shot. It’s ridiculous. Note that, in spite of his usual well-written style, Leon LOLs on G-Chat like a high school girl. Anyway, here’s the best part of our 550-line exchange:
Leon: Or look, here I am TOO!
http://www.milf-thing.or******** [URL censored]
I’m right next to FERGIE.
Me: does someone sit there and just earch the internet
waiting for photographs of wet pants
that they get turned on by?
im f*&king laughing my ass off here
Leon: Me, too.
Leon: I think I just woke the baby. [Yep, he has two kids]
Me: you’re on milf-thing.com
Leon: I KNOW. HOLY SHIT.
Me: im losing it over here
I haven’t laughed that hard in years; as I said, I was losing it. I think it had something to do with the fact that I was internet-chatting with a grown man while searching for strange porn fetishes involving said grown man. Fancy that.
There are a few lessons to be learned here: First and foremost, be careful what you allow to be put on the internet. You never know when you’ll become famous for something you never intended. Also, don’t go to parties with collegiate cyclists. That’s a good general rule to live by.
In other news, I made an…interesting decision this morning.
On a scale from “One” to “That Was Hella Stupid,” where does that decision lie? I have a sneaking suspicion that I’m going to be cursing myself at about 6am on Saturday morning.