What People Type When Nobody Is Watching

The search logs for this site read like a document recovered from a parallel civilization. Whatever combination of words built this place’s Google footprint apparently signals something to a very particular kind of lost soul—someone who typed "sex with the uncle" into a search bar and ended up here, presumably without finding what they came for.

A statistically improbable number of queries involve German TV presenter Tine Wittler in scenarios I won’t detail, except to note that multiple distinct individuals searched variations of "Tine Wittler, do it with me" and "Tine Wittler, do me"—two people, same longing, separated only by preposition. Alongside her: the person who needed a "sexy photo of Nora Tschirner for free," that "for free" working very hard at the end there, and whoever asked whether someone named Gesine doesn’t like Yannick anymore, implying a whole drama I’ll never know the conclusion of.

Then the ones that almost scan as poetry: "whistling bird at the moment of death," "cobra with sledgehammer," "emancipated women, hairy," "whipped cream or chocolate sauce." Someone searched "I’m slowly sliding my hand into her pajamas"—not a question, a dispatch. Another typed "we haven’t seen each other in a long time and I don’t give a shit," also not a question, just a fact that needed to exist somewhere outside a person’s skull.

My favorite might be the one asking why the Little Prince doesn’t have to be sad even though there are so many roses. A real question about a real book, sincerely typed, that found its way to a website about pop culture and weekends in Berlin. Or: "being happy is a feeling state one likes to have." Or, devastating in its simplicity: "I have feelings too, damn it." And then, four entries later in the logs: "the ugly Marcel."

The internet is full of people typing the private half of a thought they’d never finish out loud. Some of them end up here. I can’t help any of them, but I appreciate the company.