It's been almost a year since my last blog post and here I am again seeking more punishment and/or approval from the limited number of people who:
a) know this blog exists
and
b) actually take some time to read it and post a reply
My birthday is fast approaching (my 36th birthday to be exact) and here I sit like a lot of people these seemingly unfortunate days; jobless, painting my house, and creating a new Twitter account although for the life of me I don't know why.
Twitter is basically Facebook minus everything except the status updates. Brilliant! I wish I knew how to steal ideas so effortlessly, but I usually end up thinking "Nah, that'll just be stupid/pointless", but there's always someone to prove me wrong and to make all the money I should have been making.
So now I can post a note to the world with every move I make. Some examples from the Twitter site are things like: "Susan's running late for her meeting", "John is watching the baseball game", "Kelly is going to the grocery store", "Francine just bought a huge freakin' dildo and can't stop smiling that little secret smile" all in an attempt to make people feel more 'connected' to me and vice versa. Because letting all the people in my life (and by 'people' I mean the people who are nosey enough and have enough free time to constantly receive updates) know every move I make during the day (and by 'move' I'm mostly referring to eating, reading, and then getting rid of things I've eaten sometimes while still reading since, on a percentage basis, those three things probably take up the biggest chunk of my time) I'll feel closer to them and they'll feel closer to me and the whole world will be a happier and better place for it.
To let them know what I'm doing in between all those blog posts, emails, and FB/MySpace updates that I used to post until I realized how much time it was taking up and how far behind work, chores, and LIFE I was falling.
Before I realized that it's more fun to have my 'Friends' over to my house and crack open a bottle of beer/wine/whiskey and update them on my status in person (depending on the number of children present, I can usually swear more and I don't feel so bad about it).
Before the novelty wore off and I finally realized I preferred seeing the expression on my friends' faces instead of any variation of :-)
Before I realized how disconnected and antisocial all this connectivity and social networking was making me feel.
This is truly the dawning of The Age of Aquarius my friends...no doubt about it.
I think the most telling thing about the people behind Twitter and their new Internet/social networking 'app' is that they chose to call it "Following".
Oh well, at least they didn't call it "Stalking", then I'd really be creeped out.
Gotta go now, haven't updated my status in awhile. Somebody's watching, I mean Following, I mean...er...waiting?
Eat your veggies. Your mother really does love you.
TTYL.
:-)
P.S. I made up that one about Francine above, but if you are Francine I think I have a few D batteries around here somewhere if you need them, but you probably bought the plug in kind, didn't you? you naughty little kitty ;-) MEE-YOW!
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Friday, April 25, 2008
What are you thinking?
Ever wonder why you're doing what you're doing and even what exactly it is you're doing when you're doing what you're doing?
Ever wonder why you wonder?
That's probably the most collosal conundrum of them all.
I'm thinking that it's the thinking that gets our knickers in the proverbial knot rather than the actual thing itself that we're profoundly pondering. Around and around our minds we perpetually promulgate the same old ideas, thoughts, random musings, worries, insecurities, fears, likes, and dislikes until they manifest a "life of their own" so to speak...I mean, think.
But is it REALLY all that bad? Or are we just, for the most part, bored? Bored of doing the same old thing over and over again, going to the same chair in the same office day after day, talking to the same people, living with the same family, eating the same meals, sleeping on the same pillow, etc., etc. ad infinitum.
How much of the problem is "them" and how much of it is us?
Spice it up! Eat a jalepeno! Buy a new pillow! Do something with that boring old family that you haven't done before or done in a long time! Ask (firmly) you're husband/wife/goat to get into a new position 'cause you got some lovin' to do and that tired old "lay on your back and let me bestow my blessed pleasure upon you" crap just ain't gonna cut it tonight!
Do something different. Do lots of different things.
Quit your pondering and start performing.
You will be glad you did.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
To Blog or not to Blog...ahh what the heck?
After a few of the comments I received related to the fecal fairy tales I've posted (only 2 really, and 1 that questioned the lack of handwashing afterwards), I've started to wonder why I write blogs and really, what is the point?
I think I write my blog for fun and to have a moment or two of creative realease in an otherwise busy-yet-boring workaday week we call life. I generally only ever write blogs while I'm at work, stealing five to ten mintues to usually write about something that has just happenned or an idea/phrase that struck me as funny just a few moments before. It breaks up the uninterrupted spreadsheets spooled in front of my eyes from 9 to 5 and I usually get back to work feeling happier and little more productive for the rest of the day. Most people who've read my writings seem to get a good chuckle or two (some have had much better, some much worse) but overall it seems to be a win-win-win situation for all invovled.
Taking a little step back I think that the blogs haven't been (at least for the most part) about the obvious subjects they're centered around (bathroom visits, avoiding work, installing a washingmachine, or faking things) but rather an examination of the strange and often funny behvior surrounding those events. The things people do when they don't really think anyone is paying attention or even when they know people are paying attention (myself included). I wouldn't go so far as to collectively call them a treatise on human behavior since that would be offending anyone who's actually ever written a treatise and affords too much importance on the trivial little paragraphs I've amateurishly strung together mostly for my own, sometimes for other peoples', amusement. They are an honest examination, as much as I can muster, of what I've seen and the way things have made me think on a day-to-day basis.
In the end I think a blog acts as a diary of sorts mainly because while they do convey some tidbits of information or 'facts', they are for the most part opinion-based and opinion-biased no matter how neutral anyone truly claims to be. That is the best we can hope to expect from blogs and most everything else in the world these days. There are much better blogs our there than mine and much worse for sure, but collectively, if you could include a large enough sampling of them, I think they act as one of the only really true snapshots of the human condition (of the affluent, computer-connected world at any rate).
That's my two cents, at least, and that's my blog.
I think I write my blog for fun and to have a moment or two of creative realease in an otherwise busy-yet-boring workaday week we call life. I generally only ever write blogs while I'm at work, stealing five to ten mintues to usually write about something that has just happenned or an idea/phrase that struck me as funny just a few moments before. It breaks up the uninterrupted spreadsheets spooled in front of my eyes from 9 to 5 and I usually get back to work feeling happier and little more productive for the rest of the day. Most people who've read my writings seem to get a good chuckle or two (some have had much better, some much worse) but overall it seems to be a win-win-win situation for all invovled.
Taking a little step back I think that the blogs haven't been (at least for the most part) about the obvious subjects they're centered around (bathroom visits, avoiding work, installing a washingmachine, or faking things) but rather an examination of the strange and often funny behvior surrounding those events. The things people do when they don't really think anyone is paying attention or even when they know people are paying attention (myself included). I wouldn't go so far as to collectively call them a treatise on human behavior since that would be offending anyone who's actually ever written a treatise and affords too much importance on the trivial little paragraphs I've amateurishly strung together mostly for my own, sometimes for other peoples', amusement. They are an honest examination, as much as I can muster, of what I've seen and the way things have made me think on a day-to-day basis.
In the end I think a blog acts as a diary of sorts mainly because while they do convey some tidbits of information or 'facts', they are for the most part opinion-based and opinion-biased no matter how neutral anyone truly claims to be. That is the best we can hope to expect from blogs and most everything else in the world these days. There are much better blogs our there than mine and much worse for sure, but collectively, if you could include a large enough sampling of them, I think they act as one of the only really true snapshots of the human condition (of the affluent, computer-connected world at any rate).
That's my two cents, at least, and that's my blog.
Friday, October 12, 2007
"Poogasm" or "Another Kick at the Can"
Sorry to return to another detestable diatribe on defecation, but some things I just can't comprehend.
I understand fully the pleasurable pinnacle a person can obtain when the push-and-pinch provides a plethora of piquante relief hormones pulsating through a person's pipeline (pick a peck of pickled peppers 5 times fast).
I also understand how during that same superpowered sensation someone could squeak a sigh of satisfaction when surfing solo in the salle de bain (sick a seck of sickled seppers 5 times fast?).
What I fail to comprehend is what the people who exhale these exhortations think they're accomplishing, if anything, when they do it in the presence of proper persons in public?
The multi-orgasmic moans and musings emanating from their mouths following happy clappy flappy flatulence in their seemingly less than soundproof stall is digusting to the point that they may as well be copulating with a corpulant corpse for all I could care.
The juxtaposition of a joyous moan or grunt immediately proceeding presumptuous plumbing plugging poo pumping is just perplexing. Odd enough to make one want to garrulously giggle but, not wanting to be apprehended at all by the poo pusher, one has to use extraordinary sound stifling personal powers lest, Heaven help us, you be harrowingly had.
What's worse? Being lavishly loud while tooting to the tune of number two, or noticing someone else's excremental excitement?
I just don't know and there is the ridiculous rub of it all.
Today's blog is brought to you by the letters A, D, P, S, E, F, M, C, G, H, L, T, and R with minor sponsorship from the rest of the alphabet too.
I understand fully the pleasurable pinnacle a person can obtain when the push-and-pinch provides a plethora of piquante relief hormones pulsating through a person's pipeline (pick a peck of pickled peppers 5 times fast).
I also understand how during that same superpowered sensation someone could squeak a sigh of satisfaction when surfing solo in the salle de bain (sick a seck of sickled seppers 5 times fast?).
What I fail to comprehend is what the people who exhale these exhortations think they're accomplishing, if anything, when they do it in the presence of proper persons in public?
The multi-orgasmic moans and musings emanating from their mouths following happy clappy flappy flatulence in their seemingly less than soundproof stall is digusting to the point that they may as well be copulating with a corpulant corpse for all I could care.
The juxtaposition of a joyous moan or grunt immediately proceeding presumptuous plumbing plugging poo pumping is just perplexing. Odd enough to make one want to garrulously giggle but, not wanting to be apprehended at all by the poo pusher, one has to use extraordinary sound stifling personal powers lest, Heaven help us, you be harrowingly had.
What's worse? Being lavishly loud while tooting to the tune of number two, or noticing someone else's excremental excitement?
I just don't know and there is the ridiculous rub of it all.
Today's blog is brought to you by the letters A, D, P, S, E, F, M, C, G, H, L, T, and R with minor sponsorship from the rest of the alphabet too.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
LifeChat
LifeChatTM
What to Say to Get What You Want
Personal Interactions Edition
ISBN: 0385468555
(Also available: Business Interactions Edition, Kids Edition, Dealing With The Elderly Edition)
Synopsis: LifeChatTM is more than just a book or instructional manual, it is the path to professional success and personal freedom!
Modeled after the Choose Your Own Adventure style of book we all loved as children, follow our unique, easy-to-learn, highly effective system and YOU TOO can achieve the success you only ever dreamed of but never thought possible.
We've included an excerpt below to whet your appetite.
Pick up our book at your local bookstore or newsstand today and start living your dream!
Excerpt: Page 14 - Husband to Wife Communication: Butter Her Up
Sample starter script: "Honey, you are a strong, intelligent, independent, and beautiful woman. I am a million times blessed to know someone like you. Thank-you for being you. It would be an absolute honour if you would...(turn to Page 69 for action options)."
Excerpt: Page 69 - Interraction Action Options
Sample action script 23: "...provide oral pleasure to my male member."
Sample action script 36: "...toss my salad."
Sample action script 23: "spank me like a schoolboy. A naughty, naughty schoolboy."
(see Page 126 for Counter Objection Responses)
Excerpt: Page 126 - Counter Objection Responses
Sample counter scipt 325: "Yes, of course I will freshen up first."
(see Glossary for deinition of bolded terms)
Excerpt: Page B-23 - Glossary - Section F
Sample Glossary Term: "Freshen Up: To cleanse via bathing, showering, or washcloth generally with specific focus on malodorous regions including armpits, neck, feet, and genital region(s). In the case of washcloth use this activity is sometimes also referred to as 'Prostitute's Penance' or 'Hooker Wash'.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Hand Washing, Attentiveness, and Intelligence - Things People Fake
Ever wondered why people pretend the things they pretend? In some cases it makes sense (i.e., politicians - that should be self-explanatory), but most of the time it just kinda makes you scratch your head and wonder 'why?'.
Faking Attentiveness
This is probably the most understandable of the list of things people fake. It wouldn't do you much good if you decided to nod off for a nice nuzzly nap in the middle of an "important" staff meeting where your boss/supervisor/CEO is going to reassure everyone that they have absolutely no intention of laying off anymore employees or plans to close any offices in the immediate future.
As a word-to-the-wise everyone should realize that no one every really needs to make "plans" to close an office or layoff workers. They just show up at a "high level" meeting one day where someone asks aloud 'anyone got any ideas on how we can save a million or so in payroll?". Someone always invariably answers, 'well, we could close the Scranton office', they all mumble and nod, and that's that. The 'high level' meeting participants then proceed to pat each other on the back and give each other bonuses that total a little more than a million for their stellar work and ability to 'think out of the box', 'rightsize their operations', 'generate investor capital', yadda, yadda, yadda.
Other areas where faking attentiveness is somewhat understandable and/or necessary since not paying attention would cause disastrous distress levels in the people you're interacting with include:
a) childrens' school plays right up until and immediately after the 3 seconds your kid actually gets to walk around the stage pretending to be toothpaste or give the Virgin Mary a gift of Frankinsence that looks a lot like the empty box of RitzBits you put in the trash last week with a few cotton balls and paint slapped on as a disguise. The rest of the time you just gotta grin, say "oh yes, s/he's wonderful", and pretend to care as the other parents surrounding you extol the virtues of the existensial exuberance inherent in their son/daughter's protrayal of a tree, rock, or other such obtuse object.
b) while listening to your husband/wife/significant other babble on about some work-related crisis that really isn't more important to you than the Happy Days or Laverne and Shirley rerun you're trying to watch (The Fonz on a surfboard and still wearing his leather jacket...Go Fonzie! Go! Look out for that shark! Ahhh, Carmine, you singing fool, where are you now? Rags to riches and back to rags again, I presume.)
c) during sex when you might be thinking of the list of groceries you need to pick up on the way home from work tomorrow or trying to delay orgasm by thinking of baseball or your grandma's dentures that she accidentally left on the edge of the sink right before you had to go in for your morning visit that's gonna take at least 10 minutes (I still have the emotional scars from that one). You probably should at least appear to be interested in whichever of your partner's body part(s) are in contact with you at that moment. You may also want to try and make eye contact, but that depends entirely on your physical orientation and whether or not you've removed the gimp mask/blindfold/duct tape yet.
Faking Intelligence
This one is a bit of a grimy grey area to say the least. On the one hand people have successfully faked knowing something about something to the point where they make CEO. In that scenario, even if you royally screw up they'll still give you a multimillion dollar golden handshake on your way out the door so, really, who's the smarter one then?
Unless of course you get caught while you righteously rip off the masses and get sent to spend some time at the local penitentiary where everyone enters by the 'back door'...wink, wink, nudge, nudge. Mind you, depending on your personal procilivities, you might view it as an extended stay at Club Med or Hedonism - Prison Edition. You might get lucky and end up in the cell next to Martha's. She could let you know exactly what ointment you should use for that chafing that turned into a funny looking rash and how to make it from rhubarb and toothpaste...'it's a good thing'.
On the other hand, most people who fake intelligence don't have a hope in hell of making CEO or a clue where to begin so much so that they try to make themselves seem smart by using as many 'big words' as they can think of. For most however, the biggest words they can come up with are 'marmalade', 'authorized', or 'unaccepatable'. They particularly like that last word as anyone who's worked in any service capacity would know the phrase, "well that's just unacceptable" and recognize it as the last refuge of the terminally 'tarded twits who like to argue and complain about everything under the sun. I think one of the true measures of someone's lack of intelligence or just plain stupidity is to record how long they'll argue over a penny in the price of whatever it is they're buying. Once they break the one minute mark they should be allowed to put a handicap sign in their car, they need as much help as we can give them.
Faking Hand Washing
Now this is the one that causes me the greatest amount of conceptual constipation I've ever had the misfortune of experiencing.
Why? Why? Why?
I have witnessed, first hand, people using the restroom (usually while at work during my quarterly meeting with the Department of Wastewater Management - see previous blog for details) and only after they realize that someone else is in the restroom with them, they decide it necessary to give the impression that they are sanitary souls and fake washing their hands.
You, I, and anyone else would know they're faking because in the microsecond that they turn the tap water on/off there is no possible way that they could even get their hands off the tap and under the water to even accidentally dislodge a miniscule microspec of the microorganic mites dining on their digits.
Again
Why? Why? Why?
If you're going to take the time to turn the water on, why not get your hands wet, add some soap, give a little rub, rinse 'em clean, and dry 'em up? Would they rather walk around the rest of the day with the festering fecality of their brief restroom repose? Does it add spice to their dull leftover lunch? Did they pick out a particular peanut they wanted to give a second chew to? Lastly, who exactly are they trying to kid? I mean, come on, Ebola didn't spread on its own, you know.
My head is spurriously spinning due to the lack of logic so I'm going to shut my brain down for a while and get back to work. I have things that I pretend too, you know.
Faking Attentiveness
This is probably the most understandable of the list of things people fake. It wouldn't do you much good if you decided to nod off for a nice nuzzly nap in the middle of an "important" staff meeting where your boss/supervisor/CEO is going to reassure everyone that they have absolutely no intention of laying off anymore employees or plans to close any offices in the immediate future.
As a word-to-the-wise everyone should realize that no one every really needs to make "plans" to close an office or layoff workers. They just show up at a "high level" meeting one day where someone asks aloud 'anyone got any ideas on how we can save a million or so in payroll?". Someone always invariably answers, 'well, we could close the Scranton office', they all mumble and nod, and that's that. The 'high level' meeting participants then proceed to pat each other on the back and give each other bonuses that total a little more than a million for their stellar work and ability to 'think out of the box', 'rightsize their operations', 'generate investor capital', yadda, yadda, yadda.
Other areas where faking attentiveness is somewhat understandable and/or necessary since not paying attention would cause disastrous distress levels in the people you're interacting with include:
a) childrens' school plays right up until and immediately after the 3 seconds your kid actually gets to walk around the stage pretending to be toothpaste or give the Virgin Mary a gift of Frankinsence that looks a lot like the empty box of RitzBits you put in the trash last week with a few cotton balls and paint slapped on as a disguise. The rest of the time you just gotta grin, say "oh yes, s/he's wonderful", and pretend to care as the other parents surrounding you extol the virtues of the existensial exuberance inherent in their son/daughter's protrayal of a tree, rock, or other such obtuse object.
b) while listening to your husband/wife/significant other babble on about some work-related crisis that really isn't more important to you than the Happy Days or Laverne and Shirley rerun you're trying to watch (The Fonz on a surfboard and still wearing his leather jacket...Go Fonzie! Go! Look out for that shark! Ahhh, Carmine, you singing fool, where are you now? Rags to riches and back to rags again, I presume.)
c) during sex when you might be thinking of the list of groceries you need to pick up on the way home from work tomorrow or trying to delay orgasm by thinking of baseball or your grandma's dentures that she accidentally left on the edge of the sink right before you had to go in for your morning visit that's gonna take at least 10 minutes (I still have the emotional scars from that one). You probably should at least appear to be interested in whichever of your partner's body part(s) are in contact with you at that moment. You may also want to try and make eye contact, but that depends entirely on your physical orientation and whether or not you've removed the gimp mask/blindfold/duct tape yet.
Faking Intelligence
This one is a bit of a grimy grey area to say the least. On the one hand people have successfully faked knowing something about something to the point where they make CEO. In that scenario, even if you royally screw up they'll still give you a multimillion dollar golden handshake on your way out the door so, really, who's the smarter one then?
Unless of course you get caught while you righteously rip off the masses and get sent to spend some time at the local penitentiary where everyone enters by the 'back door'...wink, wink, nudge, nudge. Mind you, depending on your personal procilivities, you might view it as an extended stay at Club Med or Hedonism - Prison Edition. You might get lucky and end up in the cell next to Martha's. She could let you know exactly what ointment you should use for that chafing that turned into a funny looking rash and how to make it from rhubarb and toothpaste...'it's a good thing'.
On the other hand, most people who fake intelligence don't have a hope in hell of making CEO or a clue where to begin so much so that they try to make themselves seem smart by using as many 'big words' as they can think of. For most however, the biggest words they can come up with are 'marmalade', 'authorized', or 'unaccepatable'. They particularly like that last word as anyone who's worked in any service capacity would know the phrase, "well that's just unacceptable" and recognize it as the last refuge of the terminally 'tarded twits who like to argue and complain about everything under the sun. I think one of the true measures of someone's lack of intelligence or just plain stupidity is to record how long they'll argue over a penny in the price of whatever it is they're buying. Once they break the one minute mark they should be allowed to put a handicap sign in their car, they need as much help as we can give them.
Faking Hand Washing
Now this is the one that causes me the greatest amount of conceptual constipation I've ever had the misfortune of experiencing.
Why? Why? Why?
I have witnessed, first hand, people using the restroom (usually while at work during my quarterly meeting with the Department of Wastewater Management - see previous blog for details) and only after they realize that someone else is in the restroom with them, they decide it necessary to give the impression that they are sanitary souls and fake washing their hands.
You, I, and anyone else would know they're faking because in the microsecond that they turn the tap water on/off there is no possible way that they could even get their hands off the tap and under the water to even accidentally dislodge a miniscule microspec of the microorganic mites dining on their digits.
Again
Why? Why? Why?
If you're going to take the time to turn the water on, why not get your hands wet, add some soap, give a little rub, rinse 'em clean, and dry 'em up? Would they rather walk around the rest of the day with the festering fecality of their brief restroom repose? Does it add spice to their dull leftover lunch? Did they pick out a particular peanut they wanted to give a second chew to? Lastly, who exactly are they trying to kid? I mean, come on, Ebola didn't spread on its own, you know.
My head is spurriously spinning due to the lack of logic so I'm going to shut my brain down for a while and get back to work. I have things that I pretend too, you know.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Poop Chute Toot Toot
Its a little disconcerting when you walk into your office restroom facilities (most lovingly referred to in our place of work as 'The House the Poo Fairy Built') and all is quiet. You get a little relaxed, maybe make a little more noise than usual, maybe slam the stall door a bit harder than you intended, and let out that exhilarant exhilation of, "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..." as you sit your bare buttocks on your throne-of-choise's cold plastic seat.
Sidenote for the squeamish: for brevity's sake I've left out the details of the paper-spreading ritual and the whistling of 'Old Susanna' that usually acts as soundtrack.
The source of my disconcersion (that's probably not a word, maybe it should be consternation?) comes when after all this excessive noise making and possibly a little flatulence just prior to your intial push-and-pinch (or push-and-plop for those of you with looser sphincters than I), you hear in the stall adjacent a muffled, 'sniffle, sniffle, cough, cough'.
'Egad!', you think to yourself, 'there's bears in them there woods!'
Once busted you do what every normal, relatively young, selfrespecting person does and mentally switch your ass to stealth mode and try to quietly sloop and ploop the rest of your delivery into its watery resting place all the while hoping to the heavens the chili you ate for lunch doesn't make a rumbling return anytime soon.
Sidenote #2: I mentioned "relatively young" in the paragraph above only because I've had the pleasure of passing my thoroughly digested munchables, along with some thoroughly undigested peanuts and corn, on to the treatment plant while the stall next to me was being occupied by a gentleman that was neither young nor apparently selfrespecting 'cause he let the shit fly like he was late for his own funeral. His advanced age and relaxed muscular structure also caused some unnecessary and quite clappy flappiness that was just uncalled for and more than a little embarassing.
At the end of it all, what made things that much more disconcerting and odd was the fact that after completing my quarterly review with the Department of Wastewater Management, washing (with soap) and drying both hands and all my fingers, and walking out of the Poo Fairy's abode, the coughing sniffler (who was there before I entered) was still sitting (I hope) in his stall coughing and sniffling with no end in sight.
There's gotta be some kind of fetish in there somewhere. I just hope he wasn't offended by the hints of rapini and asparagus I left behind. After all, I wouldn't want to be rude.
Sidenote for the squeamish: for brevity's sake I've left out the details of the paper-spreading ritual and the whistling of 'Old Susanna' that usually acts as soundtrack.
The source of my disconcersion (that's probably not a word, maybe it should be consternation?) comes when after all this excessive noise making and possibly a little flatulence just prior to your intial push-and-pinch (or push-and-plop for those of you with looser sphincters than I), you hear in the stall adjacent a muffled, 'sniffle, sniffle, cough, cough'.
'Egad!', you think to yourself, 'there's bears in them there woods!'
Once busted you do what every normal, relatively young, selfrespecting person does and mentally switch your ass to stealth mode and try to quietly sloop and ploop the rest of your delivery into its watery resting place all the while hoping to the heavens the chili you ate for lunch doesn't make a rumbling return anytime soon.
Sidenote #2: I mentioned "relatively young" in the paragraph above only because I've had the pleasure of passing my thoroughly digested munchables, along with some thoroughly undigested peanuts and corn, on to the treatment plant while the stall next to me was being occupied by a gentleman that was neither young nor apparently selfrespecting 'cause he let the shit fly like he was late for his own funeral. His advanced age and relaxed muscular structure also caused some unnecessary and quite clappy flappiness that was just uncalled for and more than a little embarassing.
At the end of it all, what made things that much more disconcerting and odd was the fact that after completing my quarterly review with the Department of Wastewater Management, washing (with soap) and drying both hands and all my fingers, and walking out of the Poo Fairy's abode, the coughing sniffler (who was there before I entered) was still sitting (I hope) in his stall coughing and sniffling with no end in sight.
There's gotta be some kind of fetish in there somewhere. I just hope he wasn't offended by the hints of rapini and asparagus I left behind. After all, I wouldn't want to be rude.
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