The thing about the Internets is that you can’t always find what you want right away. Sometimes wayward visitors make their way to PCR, and I want to make sure they feel welcome.

So inspired by an earlier post by my man Tony, I dug through my stats log (as if I don’t pore over my stats daily) (actually, I don’t) and found a bunch of wayard searches for information that this site doesn’t necessarily provide. Today, I rectify that:

//rapping weed without wrapping paper

I recently and randomly ran into Quazar, who does the music for Weeds, but there’s no rapping as far as I know. By the same token, there’s no wrapping paper on the show either, so we’re halfway there.

For what it’s worth, I am a big fan of Martin Donovan, think Mary-Louise Parker is ace and find Kevin Nealon’s stoned yuppie schtick pretty hilarious, so have enjoyed that show, but also find it kind of uneven and think it’s done a little that thing like Fonzie with the water skis.

Sorry I can’t be more help on this front.

//i wish i was a punk rocker to read on paper

Well, you can find some instructions on how to be a punk rocker here. It’s easier than I thought… Anyway, just print ‘em out and yr home free.

Yr welcome.

//characters names in the outsiders on cover

Hmm. I’m not sure what yr getting at here, but w/r/t the Coppola film, I’m told Johnny dies in the end.

Sorry I can’t be more help on this front.

//scary clips of goats

Yr welcome.

//cialis

Really? Is it so difficult to find C1A! L15! on the Web that somehow you thought this would be the place to look? People send me like a hundred e-mails a day trying to sell me the stuff.

Bottom line: yr just not trying hard enough.

//jakarta after dark bars for sex

Actually, I kind of take back the thing about all my wayward visitors being welcome.

//anna nicole smith new york magazine

I’m really not familar with what yr talking about here. Nope. Doesn’t ring a bell.

Sorry I can’t be more help on this front.

The other night, just as I was nodding off to sleep, my mind was filled with a vision.

This vision was of a young Billy Joel perched precariously atop a minaret, singing “Scenes From An Italian Restaurant” but pausing at the end of each verse to flail his arms, just barely maintaining his balance. In the midst of Messr. Joel’s struggle, he’s overtaken by a pack of flying wolves.

It went something like this:

(more…)