Friday, June 30, 2006
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 pick up an order for the wife. 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:
2. Clean, but Bathroom Protocol forbids its use, as it's next to the occupied one.
3. **** smeared on seat.
4. **** and toilet paper in bowl, unidentifiable liquid splattered on seat.
5. No toilet paper, no stall door, something growing near base of toilet.
Clearly, it had to be Stall #2. I trudged back, entered, dropped the trousers and sat down. I'm normally a fairly Shameful ****ter. 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. ****ter was blathering to Mrs. ****ter about the ****ty 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 ass 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 ass 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; and (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 ****-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 ****-mate. I think it'll be a long time before he can bring himself to **** in public -- and I doubt he'll ever again answer his cell phone in a bathroom. And this, my friends, is why you should never talk on your phone in the bathroom.
Now that you've stopped laughing, I will tell you that this wasn't me. I read this on one of the message boards I frequent, which would explain the "*".
I've heard some people have gotten it in their email. Either way, it's golden. By far the funniest thing I read today. Well done whoever did this one. Reminds me of the Ryan's Steakhouse Story.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
It's a gem of a sitcom on FX, whose 2nd season begins this Thursday with back to back episodes. It's not your typical sitcom, it's more in the style of Curb your Enthusiasm and Entourage. It's the type of show that should be on HBO.
The best way to describe this show is, "it's so wrong, it's right".
I just hope the addition of Danny DeVitto doesn't screw up this show
Here are some promos that I think are hilarious.
The link to the main site: http://http://www.fxnetworks.com/shows/originals/sunny/
Click on the video clips and watch the Vietnam one as well as the Confession one.
Genius show. Check it out. Thursday at 9 (central) on FX.
Saturday, June 24, 2006
Pictures of my new humidor. It came in about a week ago, but I could never get here in time for the UPS man to deliver it to me. I finally picked it up yesterday from the Leasing office (Damn if the cute girl wasn't there either).
It's a little bigger than I thought it would be, but I think it will work. It is sweet looking. Very sharp. The humidor came with 5 free cigars, which is cool, but I'm not sure of their quality. Either way, it's a good starter kit. Now I just need to fill it with some Cuban's or something. Let me know if you have a source.
Bring some Scotch and we can have a smoke.
Friday, June 23, 2006
..and to make things not completely worthless, I will show you her:
Thursday, June 22, 2006
I've been blogging for a while on myspace, and I wanted to move them over to a more dedicated site, cause myspace seems to have all kinds of problems with it. I may also move over some of my earlier posts, just so that they're here as well.
I'm not exactly sure what I'll do with this blog though. I'll probably just ramble on about what I do, or what I play. I'll probably do a little venting here. Maybe it's interesting, maybe not. I do know that lately, I like to practice writing.
One thing I do know, is that everybody likes to waste time at work, so why not here?
So check in from time to time, and have a glass of Piss Warm Chango, cause that's all I serve here.