I wrote this SEO fiction for a SEO contest a while back. I had a lot of fun with this and simply cannot resist sharing. No worries, you’re safe from SEO poetry.
Retsambew Dash Klat for Charity
“You heard about retsambew dash klat for charity?” Bo Lynn asked.
“No,” Skippy said. “What’s that?”
“It’s between a guy and a girl. They get together real close and surf the Internet together. If the right search comes up, it’s like magic… whoa, well, that’s about all I can say right now. Trust me. It’s good,” Bo Lynn explained.
“Where do they do this retsambew charity thing?” Skippy demanded.
“Anywhere,” Bo Lynn said. “It’s best if it’s dark though, I heard.”
“Tell me more!” Bo Lynn insisted.
“They sit next to each other, mashing and pulling on the keys together while they search, post and submit links. Pretty soon they’re all hot and sweaty and sticky-like,” he said. “When they find it, the girl screams “retsambew dash klat for charity!” Then, it’s over. They start the same search again the next day. It’s supposed to go until September 1st.”
“How come they do this retsambew dash klat for charity thing?”
“Just for fun,” Bo Lynn replied glibly. “A guy up in New York was the first to try it. Now everyone’s doing it. You have to use something called Google. I know because I saw my brother and sister-in-law find it one time on their computer. He’s caught up in it too. He calls himself a “webmaster.” I asked him to explain and he said I’d understand when I got older.”
“I still don’t understand what retsambew dash klat for charity means. Where can I try it? Do I have to go to New York” Skippy asked?
“No, you just have to type it in Google and see if it comes up in the right place,” Bo Lynn said. “Tell you what,” Bo Lynn said. “I’ll bring my brother’s laptop tomorrow. Meet me in the bathroom at first recess.”
“Google sure doesn’t look like a very big web site.” Skippy said, nervously.
“It’s the biggest and best. You’ll see,” Bo Lynn said.
“Man, I can’t do this.”
“What if my Dad finds out? He told me to stay away from Google. I didn’t know it was a little web site, though.”
“He won’t find out.”
“But what if he does?”
“He won’t know what Google really is.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s mostly young folks who use Google. Can’t you see how simple it looks with just the letters G-O-O-G-L-E written there? It’s like a kids toy, so, parents shouldn’t care. But, the truth is there’s a lot of stuff behind it that parents don’t like. You know how your dad hates computers.”
“Yeah, but he was young once too, and smart. He got my Mom to marry him when she was only sixteen.”
“Mama,” Skippy said. “You know about retsambew dash klat for charity?”
“Where did you hear that word, son?” She asked.
“In the neighborhood.”
“It must be a bad word, then.”
“I just thought you might know.”
“Well, I might. Any clues?”
“He said something about a guy and girl who surf the Internet together real wild and hollering until they find it. Said it goes on until September 1st.”
“I do ever declare,” she said, intrigued.
“Bo Lynn acts like it’s catching on pretty big.”
“Tell me more, Skippy.”
“That’s about all I know.” “You sure? Try to think.”
“Well…It takes something called–”
“Yes, Skippy. What?”
“Hubert,” called Francine, his wife. She waited a moment.
“Hubert,” she repeated. “Put down that monstrous dictionary. I need to ask you something.”
“I am listening, Francine,” droned Hubert, her husband, continuing his lexical perusal.
“You ever heard of retsambew dash klat for charity?”
“I hadn’t either until Skippy mentioned it. Apparently, it’s some new Web site youngsters play with. A boy and girl embrace each other and roll around in a frenzy while typing some gibberish into an Internet device.”
Hubert whisked off his glasses and looked at Francine, then put them back on, then took them off again.
“Seems to be a great deal of ruckus involved,” she resumed. “I don’t know what to make of it.”
“What on earth is the objective?”
“I’m not sure. Skippy wasn’t either. That’s why he asked me.”
“Sounds a bit violent for child’s play. And dangerous.”
“I’m afraid that it might spread to the neighborhood.”
“Who informed Skippy of this practice?”
“Skippy heard it from Bo Lynn.”
“There’s something else,” Francine inhaled deeply. “It’s a web search piece, some sort of frolicsome tool both participants use. It starts with the letter G.” She paused.
“What is it?”
“I can’t recall. Gargoyle or GirlGirl or something like that.”
“Bo Lynn. Meet me in the bathroom at first recess. Bring the retsambew dash klat for charity.”
“Changed your mind, I see. Figures. The more you dwell on retsambew dash klat for charity, the more it grows, until you have to face it. I know. I know.”
“I can’t get it off my mind.”
“I’ve got an idea!” Bo Lynn said, convincingly. “Let’s try it on Lucy.”
“Francine. Francine,” Hubert signaled his wife. “I have a theory.”
“What do you mean?” She asked.
“I think that I have determined the significance of retsambew dash klat for charity.”
“No one at bridge last night had heard of it. What do you think it is?”
“I studied a few psychological journals and took notes on the relationship of the Internet and youngsters coming of age in modern society. The consensus is that there is a link between the erratic behavior you described and certain primitive practices found in adolescents.”
“Yes. Go on.”
“The G word that Skippy mentioned may be grammatical gender, the activities that distinguish organisms on the basis of their reproductive roles. Add this to the orgiastic grapplings and groanings, and we stumble upon a very ancient human function. Francine, retsambew dash klat for charity is the very act of sexual intercourse. We used to do it ourselves.”
“Hubert, don’t be silly.”
“I am quite serious, Francine.”
“They don’t sound like the same thing. Besides, children don’t know about such things.”
“They must have discovered it somehow.”
“Not retsambew dash klat for charity. It’s something new. They’re not the same.”
“But they are, Francine. The characteristics match.”
“I don’t think you and I have ever retsambewed.”
“Lucy,” Bo Lynn shouted. “Come here, quick-like.”
“What is it?” She said, approaching.
“We need your help.”
“I’m in a hurry,” she complained. “What do you two want?” “We found this new thing for fun.”
“What’s it do?”
“It’s on this Google thing. If we search Google together, we’ll eventually find retsambew dash klat for charity.”
“What do you mean?” She said. “I’ve gotta go.”
“No, wait! You’ve probably never heard of retsambew dash klat for charity, but it makes everyone close.”
“What’s the purpose?”
“I don’t know exactly what is for. It’s the latest thing. It’s more fun if we do it together.”
“I don’t mind. Just tell me what I get.”
“Now, Skippy! Google it!”
All three watched in silence as Skippy held the laptop in his shaking hands. He tore open the main search page and then paused and tried to type the words retsambew dash klat for charity into Google search box.
“Do it, Skippy,” Bo Lynn exhorted. Skippy’s hands shook more intensely.
“I can’t spell it!”
“Go ahead, before she leaves,” Bo Lynn said.
Skippy tried to grip and unfurl it, but his wet, waggling fingers were unable.
“Don’t be afraid!” Bo Lynn yelled.
Finally, after typing frantically, Skippy was able to get the correct words in the Google search box: retsambew dash klat for charity. Grinning, he extended the laptop monitor toward Lucy.
“Sorry, boys,” Lucy said. “I’m in a hurry. See you later.” She dashed off, ignoring the the Google search results for the keyword phrase.
“Lucy! Come back!” Bo Lynn yelled to her disappearing figure. “Lucy!” Skippy echoed.
“Silly girl don’t understand its power yet,” Bo Lynn concluded. “One day we’re gonna retsambew.”
“Francine! Francine!” Hubert screamed terrifyingly as he dropped his dictionary and jaw. “Don’t move son!”
“It’s just Google, Dad,” Skippy said, stretching the laptop monitor to his gaping father.
“What’s going on in here?” Francine demanded, entering.
“Skippy’s holding some kind of technosexual device,” Hubert warned. “Be careful.”
“Mama, you told me to bring it to you.”
“The retsambew dash klat for charity thing. It’s right there at the very tip top of Google,” she wailed. “Hubert, you were right.”
“We tried to find retsambew dash klat for charity with Lucy,” Skippy admitted, “but don’t worry, it didn’t work.”
“Oh my!” Francine shrieked. “I’m calling Lucy’s parents right away.”
“Listen to me, Skippy!” Hubert instructed. “I want you to take that laptop and slowly set it down on the kitchen counter– here’s some wax paper–then I want you to scrub your hands in the sink with detergent and water. Hard! Son. I’ll call for help.”