By Gene Weingarten
Sunday, May 27, 2007
It's pretty hard to find a phrase or expression that is not out there somewhere on the Web. I know. I've tried. No matter how unlikely it may seem that anyone has ever put certain words together, someone, somewhere, probably has. When I Googled the exact phrase "Santa Claus nude," I got 278 hits.
It's tricky. For example, I tried Googling "unintelligent Jew," which not only denies a ubiquitous cultural stereotype but uses an unusual adjective to do so. I figured I was safe, but this is what came right up: "I have yet to meet an unintelligent Jew."
More failures followed. After a while, I got mad and decided to do something about it.
Want a phrase that doesn't appear on Google? Try searching for the Magritte-inspired, epistemologically impossible sentence "This phrase doesn't appear on Google." You should find only one hit, and that hit is from the very paragraph you are reading. When I wrote this, before it was archived, that sentence was nowhere on the Web.
Voila. The assault begins.
When a phrase cannot be found on Google, I call it a Googlenope. Once a Googlenope is discovered and written about, it is no longer a Googlenope.
Every single exact phrase that follows could not be found on the Web before today:
Queen Elizabeth's buttocks.
Caviar 'n' taters.
. . . much to Paris Hilton's embarrassment . . .
I was helped by the federal government.
I (heart) my zygote.
. . . that nappy-headed ho, Barbara Bush.
Next, boil the toast . . .
If you take off your bra, I'm calling the cops.
Jesus loves you for your money.
Rove should just shut up and look pretty.
I believe dust mites have souls.
This lobster must have been Roman Catholic.
Plush Osama doll.
I'm fixin' to solve me the Shimura-Taniyama conjecture.
The best pork chops in Jerusalem.
Rajneesh Roosevelt III.
Billy Bob Nussbaum.
Please accept these underpants as collateral . . .
I owe my life to unprotected sex.
I'm going to be concentrating on my home-wrecking now.
Bad, bad Leroy Moskowitz.
Thor adjusted his mascara.
Richard Cheney in '08.
Nelson Mandela is a doo-doo head.
My grandchildren are so ugly.
The Iraqi Regis Philbin.
Hey, this tastes like aardvark.
Laura Bush's secret tattoo.
I'll take Deaths by Autoerotic Asphyxia for $400, Alex.
Hot cheese sundae.
Cancer, heart disease and zits.
"I'm Stephen Hawking and I'm a Capricorn."
Pizza with Condoleezza.
Dogs playing poker and mah-jongg.
The dainty Hillary Clinton.
Acid klezmer band.
Wearing only a codpiece and a sombrero.
Cancer of the bellybutton.
The yodeling librarian.
George W. Bush's subtlety.
Sonnets by Elmer.
Lou Dobbs's hash pipe.
The sensual feel of the speculum.
Sören "Porky" Kierkegaard.
The billionaire manicurist.
I should note that I sought, and used, the help of Post colleagues in assembling these lines. Several of my co-workers dryly suggested that I would find zero Google hits for "Gene Weingarten is hot." Actually, they were wrong. There was exactly one. Unfortunately, it began this way: "I know it's sick and unnatural, but I kind of think . . ."
Gene Weingarten's e-mail address is firstname.lastname@example.org.
Chat with him online Tuesdays at noon.