Our Culture Smells Like Almonds

by Jonah Goldberg

So I was thinking of making a joke about how a certain candidate is mortally wounded and perhaps is starting to garner the smell of death around him. I wanted to say he smelled of almonds but I wasn’t sure that that’s what mortal wounds smell like. So I hit the Google machine. I started to type in something about “wound” and “almonds” and the auto-suggestion said “My wound smells like almonds.” Why not? That should work, I said to myself. So I clicked on that. Here’s the #1 result on Google. It’s from a Yahoo Answers message board.

My wound smells like almonds?

I was at a swingers party last weekend for men and women intersted in bondage when I slipped and fell on the wet floor giving me a huge gash in my right arm. The wound has not closed and is blackish green around the edges and smells like almounds. If and when do I need to go to the docter?

I know, I know. You’re stunned at the mere suggestion that the wet floor at a sex bondage party might have been less than wholly sanitary.

Still, the next time your grade school kid is researching something innocuous and comes back with the a question about something, er, less than innocuous don’t be shocked.

“Daddy, what’s auto-erotic asphyxiation?”

(P.S. as I broached in last week’s G-File there’s no G-File today. Home-stretching on the book. But I’ll probably beat back the writer’s block gods around here and on Twitter today a little bit.)

The Corner

The one and only.