What A Mess

I just got off the phone and while I was putting my cell phone down, I knocked over a cup of water. Not all of it spilled out so I put it to the side while I cleaned up the mess. I spilled some of it in my keyboard, so I immediately turned that upside down to drain the water. After cleaning up the mess with a towel, I turned the keyboard back over to white the keys off. I got the idea to test if there was any more water between the keys by putting my lips on the keys and sucking to see if any water came up. Nope, no water. What did come up is a bunch of hair and crumbs, which I spit into the towel I used to clean the water. I put my keyboard back and reached down to grab something and knocked over the cup again, spilling out the remainder of the water, this time mostly on the floor.

I laughed hysterically at my list of blunders and reflected on an earlier time in my life where I would just be furious.

Gross

I just found a hair in the salad I made. I’m never eating here again.

New Cellphone

A couple of months ago my friend’s cousin (a single mother) had gotten a new cellphone. After a long day of work, she placed her phone down on the counter and started watching T.V. when her son came to her and asked if he could play with her new phone. She told him to not call anyone or mess with text messages and he agreed to do so. At around 11:20pm when she was getting tired, she decided to tuck her son in and go to bed herself. She proceeded to his room to see that he wasn’t there. She went to her room to find him sleeping on her bed with the phone in his hand. Browsing through her phone, she noticed only minor changes such as a new background, banner, etc. and headed towards the picture section. She began deleting the pictures he took when she came across the last one taken by someone else above him. It shows the left half of what seems to be an elderly woman’s face.

Why you should never talk on the phone in the bathroom

All in all, it hadn’t been a good day. Bad traffic, a malfunctioning computer, incompetent coworkers and a sore back all made me a seething cauldron of rage. But more importantly for this story, it had been over forty-eight hours since I’d last taken a dump. I’d tried to jumpstart the process, beginning my day with a bowl of bowel-cleansing fiber cereal, following it with six cups of coffee at work, and adding a bean-laden lunch at Taco Bell. As I was returning home from work, my insides let me know with subtle rumbles and the emission of the occasional tiny fart that Big Things would be happening soon. Alas, I had to stop at the mall to go Christmas shopping. I completed this task, and as I was walking past the stores on my way back to the car, I noticed a large sale sign proclaiming, “Everything Must Go!” This was prophetic, for my colon informed me with a sudden violent cramp and a wet, squeaky fart that everything was indeed about to go. I hurried to the mall bathrooms. I surveyed the five stalls, which I have numbered 1 through 5 for your convenience:

1.Occupied.

2.Clean, but Bathroom Protocol forbids its use, as it’s next to the occupied one.

3.Poo on seat.

4.Poo and toilet paper in bowl, unidentifiable liquid splattered on seat.

5.No toilet paper, no stall door, unidentifiable sticky object near base of
toilet.

Clearly, it had to be Stall #2. I trudged back, entered, dropped trousers and
sat down. I’m normally a fairly Shameful Sh1tter. I wasn’t happy about being
next to the occupied stall, but Big Things were afoot.

I was just getting ready to bear down when all of a sudden the sweet sounds of Beethoven came from next door, followed by a fumbling, and then the sound of a voice answering the ringing phone. As usual for a cell phone conversation, the voice was exactly 8 dB louder than it needed to be. Out of Shameful habit, my sphincter slammed shut. The inane conversation went on and on. Mr. Sh1tter was blathering to Mrs. Sh1tter about the sh1tty day he had. I sat there, cramping and miserable, waiting for him to finish. As the loud conversation dragged on, I became angrier and angrier, thinking that I, too, had a crappy day, but I was too polite to yak about in public. My bowels let me know in no uncertain terms that if I didn’t get crapping soon, my day would be getting even crappier.

Finally my anger reached a point that overcame Shamefulness. I no longer cared. I gripped the toilet paper holder with one hand, braced my other hand against the side of the stall, and pushed with all my might. I was rewarded with a fart of colossal magnitude – a cross between the sound of someone ripping a very wet bed sheet in half and of plywood being torn off a wall. The sound gradually transitioned into a heavily modulated low-RPM tone, not unlike someone firing up a Harley. I managed to hit the resonance frequency of the stall, and it shook gently.

Once my *** cheeks stopped flapping in the breeze, three things became apparent:
(1) The next-door conversation had ceased
(2) my colon’s continued seizing indicated that there was more to come
(3) the bathroom was now beset by a horrible, eldritch stench. It was as if a gateway to Hell had been opened. The foul miasma quickly made its way under the stall and began choking my poop-mate. This initial “herald” fart had ended his conversation in mid-sentence.

“Oh my God,” I heard him utter, following it with suppressed sounds of choking, and then, “No, baby, that wasn’t me (cough, gag), you could hear that (gag)??”

Now there was no stopping me. I pushed for all I was worth. I could swear that in the resulting cacophony of rips, squirts, splashes, poots, and blasts, I was actually lifted slightly off the pot. The amount of stuff in me was incredible. It sprayed against the bowl with tremendous force. Later, in surveying the damage, I’d see that liquid poop had actually managed to ricochet out of the bowl and run down the side on to the floor. But for now, all I could do was hang on for the ride.

Next door I could hear him fumbling with the paper dispenser as he desperately tried to finish his task. Little snatches of conversation made themselves heard over my anal symphony: “Gotta go… horrible… throw up…in my mouth… not… make it… tell the kids… love them… oh God…” followed by more sounds of suppressed gagging and retching.

Alas, it is evidently difficult to hold one’s phone and wipe one’s bum at the same time. Just as my high-pressure abuse of the toilet was winding down, I heard a plop and splash from next door, followed by string of swear words and gags. My poop-mate had dropped his phone into the toilet.

There was a lull in my production, and the restroom became deathly quiet. I could envision him standing there, wondering what to do. A final anal announcement came trumpeting from my behind, small chunks plopping noisily into the water. That must have been the last straw. I heard a flush, a fumbling with the lock, and then the stall door was thrown open. I heard him running out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

After a considerable amount of paperwork, I got up and surveyed the damage. I felt bad for the janitor who’d be forced to deal with this, but I knew that flushing was not an option. No toilet in the world could handle that unholy mess. Flushing would only lead to a floor flooded with filth.

As I left, I glanced into the next-door stall. Nothing remained in the bowl. Had he flushed his phone, or had he plucked it out and left the bathroom with nasty unwashed hands? The world will never know.

I exited the bathroom, momentarily proud and Shameless, looking around for a face glaring at me. But I saw no one. I suspect that somehow my supernatural elimination has managed to transfer my Shamefulness to my anonymous poop-mate. I think it’ll be a long time before he can bring himself to poop in public — and I doubt he’ll ever again answer his cell phone in the loo. And this, my friends, is why you should never talk on your phone in the bathroom.

STFU you idiots

I would really enjoy slapping the fuck out of every person who thinks any of the following:

• jesus is coming back
• obama might be the antichrist
• socialized medicine leads to the gov’t taking away our freedom
• capitalism is good for america
• rod b never did anything good for illinois
• abortion is wrong
• drugs are bad
• every woman should have at least one child
• dogs are smarter than cats
• nickelback is the best band ever, and/or
• “I love that ‘rock star’ song”

A new text message

Oh great, I got a new text message. I wonder who it’s from. Could be anyone, I’m pretty well liked.
.
.
.
.
.
Oh man it’s from Verizon. I’m such a loser.

:(

Things that make guys instantly lose interest in girls

Speaking on behalf of guys I just want to say we’re not perfect, nor do we demand perfection in our partners…eh fuck it. Yeah I’m pretty much perfect and here’s a list of things that make a guy instantly lose interest in you girls.

• Gapped teeth or otherwise look like a horse kicked your face in.
• Excessive swearing like a sailor is a turnoff.
• Girls that think they need to have a “slutty phase” in college. Taking 7 sweaty college dicks at once is not being adventurous, it’s being a whore.
• Artsy girls who take it too far to make sure you know that they are in to art.
• Heavy drinking or excessive drug use. I can like a girl who will have some fun, but if she’s drinking it like water, I know it won’t end up being a good relationship.
• Clingy; seriously, we don’t need to be together EVERY WAKING MINUTE or talk on the phone every couple of hours.
• Smokers; their house stinks of stale tobacco, their car stinks of stale tobacco, and they stink of stale tobacco.
• Fat; curvy is fine, but you’re not curvy you’re FAT.
• Stupid; looks fade, but stupid is forever.
• Facial Hair; if you have it, don’t shave it, wax that shit. There’s no room for girls with stubble.
• Drama queens; not everything is about YOU and chances are, nobody else cares about what you have to say.
• A significant need for validation and/or complements; seriously if you’re not confident enough in yourself, nothing I can say will fill that gaping void.
• Girls who can’t initiate or keep a decent conversation going; I’m not here to be your fucking entertainment 24/7, a bit of give and take thank you on this.
• Massively oversized clits. Just no.
• Girls who criticize me for wearing sunglasses indoors or when it is dark. I LOOK MOTHERFUCKING PIMP!!! So I can, so I can.

America would like to take this time apologize

America would like to take this time to say sorry for:

• Paris Hilton
• Perez Hilton
• The drug war
• The war on terror
• The Brady Bunch
• MTV, after they started showing The Real World
• Sarah Palin
• George W. bush
• Ruining Star Wars
• Ruining Indiana Jones
• Suv’s
• George W. Bush
• Elmo
• Emo’s
• Bacon Flavored Mayonnaise
• Country music
• Johnny Knoxville
• All Boy bands
• Lindsay Lohan
• George W. Bush
• Guantanamo Bay
• Iraq War
• Leaving Saddam in power in the first damn place
• Baseball player’s Contracts
• Basketball players All of them Going back to Denis Rodman
• Ruining Harry Potter with Shitty movies
• Remaking classic movies into shitty ones
• Tila Tequila
• That Stripper that gave you crabs
• Golf courses in deserts
• 2 girls one cup(not sure if it’s ours but still)
• MetroSexuals
• Trying to ban gay marraige
• PETA
• Canceling Family guy and Futurama in the first damn place
• Soap Operas
• Dane Cook
• George W. Bush
• Oprah/Dr. Phil
• Shitty Public Schools
• Wiggers/KKK/Rednecks
• All republicans( Especially George W Bush)
• All Democrats(except Bill Clinton Keep Smoking and Fucking Billy!!!)
• Ralph Nader
• Global Warming
• and of Course GEORGE W.Bush

I hate my job

My job is so fucking unbelievable. I’ll try to sum it up by first telling you about the folks I work with.

First, there is this supermodel wanna-be chick. Yeah, okay, she is pretty hot, but damn is she completely useless. The girl is constantly fixing her hair or putting on makeup. She is extremely self-centered and has never once considered the needs or wants of anyone but herself. She is as dumb as a box of rocks. I find it surprising that she has enough brain power to breath.

The next chick is the complete opposite. She might even be one of the smartest people on the planet. Her career opportunities are endless yet she is here with us. However, on the attractiveness scale, she is a zero. I’m not sure she even showers, much less shaves her “womanly” parts. I think she might be a lesbian, because every time we drive by the hardware store, she moans like a cat in heat.

But the jewel of the crowd has got to be the fucking stoner. And this guy is more than just your average pothead. In fact, he is baked before he comes to work, during work, and I’m sure after work. He probably hasn’t been sober anytime in the last ten years, and he’s only 22. He dresses like a beatnik throwback from the 1960′s, and to make things worse, he brings his big fucking dog to work. Every fucking day I have to look at this huge Great Dane walk around half-stoned from the second-hand smoke. Hell, sometimes I even think it’s trying to talk with its constant bellowing. Also, both of them are constantly hungry, requiring multiple stops to McDonalds and Burger King, every single fucking day.

Anyway, I drive these fucktards around in my van and we solve mysteries and shit.

See them?

Fucking Eye Floaters. Why won’t they go away? I hope you have them too and haven’t noticed them for a long time. Now you’ll see them again and be just as miserable as me.

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