A True Who-Dunit

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The following narrative is based on true events that occurred in the Summer of 2009.
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“Holy shit…is that a skull?”

I have to admit, I was hesitant to uncover what I already knew was in there.

However, we had already started this adventure.

It was too late to back out now.

I used the primitive tools at hand to dissect away the outer casing…the shell…the..the…(my GOD…what WAS this..?)

…that held unspeakable horrors inside.

*crunch*

Me: “Ugh. I think…I think I’ve found something.”

The people around me gathered in for a closer look.

*crack*

Yep. I’ve found something alright.

It’s just a matter in deciphering WHAT.


However, I knew coming in that I would be discovering...

...death.

Or, more precisely – what death has left behind.

My tools felt clumsy in my hands. I dropped them in favor of utilizing my hands to explore further.

Piece by piece I pulled the outer casing away.

I could smell the odor of decay and…something else…

*crunch*

Bone.

I could see through the dusty membranes…

...BONE.


Me: “Wow. Look at THIS.”

I picked up one of the sharper tools and began peeling away at the rest of the layers adhered to what I know knew was the bone of…

Me: “OH. Gross. It’s a friggin’ skull.”

It was a skull.

Entombed in this crusty sarcophagus was, at the very least, a single skull.

But there was, unfortunately…more.

Much more.

As I continued digging, I uncovered several small ribs…

…then a hip bone…

…and then…vertebrae.

The next skull I found was much bigger…the top of it caved in with incredible force that had – undoubtedly – caused the victim’s demise.

A hip bone came into view.


Me: “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Ex-wife: “OH..suck it up you wuss…this is cool.”

(on a related note: Ex-Wife for Sale!)

Daughter: “I think it’s a mole.”

Son: “I think it’s a bird!”

No – it wasn’t a mole…

...it wasn’t a bird.

According to “Owl Pellet Bone List” – this was some type of other rodent.

Yep.

Owl vomit.

Sorry…owl PELLETS.

My ex-wife happened to come home with 5 packages of owl pellets.

I have no idea where she got them.

(I’m sure she told me at one point – but I typically ignored her so I have no idea).

Apparently, owls can’t digest the bones of things…so they basically cough them up in giant hairballs that slightly resemble my gonads prior to my discovery of manscaping.

Yep – my balls looked like owl puke.

LOOK OUT, LADIES!!


Owl pellets.

This was my Sunday night.

That, and yelling at my daughter to OH MY GOD KEEP YOUR HANDS AWAY FROM YOUR MOUTH!!!

mmmm…rodentlicious.

I wish my ex-wife would have stopped bringing shit home.

Sorry...I mean 'puke.' I wish she'd have stopped bringing puke home.

I hate science.

What I Did in Child Impact Class

What's the answer to the title of this post?

Hint: It had nothing to do with paying attention to Child Impact Class.

Let me explain.

As part of the divorce decree, my ex-wife and I had to attend a MANDATORY seminar called the "Child Impact Program" which had more to do about how to treat your kids during and after a divorce and much less to do with how hard you can hit them before they cry.

I was thinking, like, a medium speed closed-fist punch and/or a 5 mph bump with a subcompact sedan but then the teacher was all "Are you serious?" and I'm all, "Ha. Um. No." and then he turned all red and was pretty adamant about being serious here because this was, after all, about the mental health of the children during this very difficult time.

Oh.

THAT kind of "impact."


So..noting the seriousness of this class, here is how I spent my 3-1/2 hours when the ex-wife (OOPS..my "Co-Parent") and I weren't making fun of other people or getting yelled at for "disrupting the class."

Teacher = ASSHOLE.

Anyway...here's what my 3-1/2 hours of fucking around consisted of:

(click to enlarge images)


Right.

So, basically I started doodling as I'm wont to do when I'm bored or at work (redundant).

Next!


Once again, my fascination with fangs comes out and I'm not sure where that comes from because I'm totally Team Jacob but I have to tell you the picture of the teacher is pretty much spot-on except in this sketch he's not expressing his disappointment in me.

Next!



My ex-wife didn't think the "raising kids" thing was funny so I took the time to write next to it, "not funny" with an arrow just so I could apparently remind myself that - sometimes - she still doesn't get me.

Next!



So it was during the above doodle (SUCK IT, PICASSO) that my ex-wife and I were laughing at something and I wasn't even looking up because HAVE YOU SEEN HOW AWESOME THIS DOODLE IS?! and the teacher yelled at us for not paying attention.

Again..

Teacher = ASSHOLE.



So, by the time I was putting the finishing touches on my tornado/muppet scene on the back cover the teacher was wrapping up and we left class learning one valuable lesson:

Getting divorced is a PAIN IN THE ASS.

Next time, I'm bringing a sketch pad.

Wrapping Up the Week - September 26, 2010

Just in case you missed another fun-filled week on Mental Poo...

My Posts from this Week:

I get a lower lumbar MRI and all I get are these images of praying mantis and Reese
Witherspoon and Carrot Top.

Seriously.

Oh..you have AIDS and Typhoid Fever? Google thinks you're lucky!!

This is why I use Bing.

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Moments in MENTAL POO History:


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A year ago this week on 'Mental Poo':


I love lying to my children SO MUCH.

..and this is why:

Because they pull crap like this in the dugout of their baseball games.

I write a post about taking my daughter on a rollercoaster but it includes images like this:



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Two Years Ago this week on 'Mental Poo':


Shit like this is why I no longer really get email from my friends.

Or have any, really.

I give you a story from my college days which involved me, a drunk girl, and socks drenched in urine.

College. SUCKED.

My daughter and I share one thing in common: WE BOTH CAN'T FIND OUR NAMES ON KEYCHAINS!!!

The horror of it all.

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Three Years Ago this week on 'Mental Poo


Don't ever ever ever never ever never ever talk to me in the men's room.

Ever.

I can't stress that enough.

I decide to get a vasectomy. The journey begins here.

The hazards of riding a motorcycle are strife with things like canteloupes and bookcases.

The vasectomy odyssey continues...this time, with balls the size of grapefruit.

Yay me.

I kind of freak out the girl giving me the vasectomy consultation.

Sadly, this is not the first time I've written that sentence.

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Some funny stuff that's not mine that I read this week:

Speaking from the Crib freaks out and this honestly isn't the first time but it MAY be the first post that doesn't involve her freaking out about her hair.

Amazing.

How Suzy doesn't have her own talk show is well beyond me. But at least I'm not telling her how to get there.

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There you go, folks.

Some new shit, some old shit.

That should keep you busy.

See you on Monday.

Moog out.

Do Ya Feel Lucky, Google? Well Do Ya...Punk?

I'm on Google the other day and searching "Typhoid Fever" (don't ask) when I notice...

THIS:


I'm feeling lucky?

Color me crazy but if you're Googling 'Typhoid Fever' it's either because you know someone who has typhoid fever or YOU have typhoid fever from that crusty girl you sat next to on the airplane or you have to do a report on typhoid fever and unless you stand to inherit a shitload of money from the person dying of typhoid fever then I'm pretty sure you're NOT FEELING LUCKY.

Then I started thinking about other things you'd Google when this wouldn't be appropriate.



I think this is a hands-down case of 'not feeling lucky, Google, you asshole. I have AIDS you prick.'



Jesus, Google.

Could you be a little more cruel?



Ah.

The morning after 'Google of shame.'

But on the flip side:



Forget Google, dude.

You update your Facebook status and Tweet that crap.

Amateur.



FYI, I also tried Googling 'My vagina' here but nothing comes up and OH GUESS WHAT apparently our IT Department checks our history so now all those geeks think I have a vagina.

Which is okay because I'm getting MUCH better tech support now.

And..lastly...



And then I closed my browser after Googling "I was used by a guy" and "I have aids" and "typhoid fever" and "my bum is" and "I need to quit gambling" and "my balls" and went back to work.

And didn't get fired.

I guess I am feeling lucky after all.

Carrot Top Disturbingly Lives with Reese Witherspoon and is Causing My Back Pain! I think.

A while ago I had back surgery because that's what you get when you can't poop without screaming and not for the good reason (tacos) but for the reason that your sciatic nerve is crushed like Elin Nordgren's sexy sexy heart.

But I had some lingering pain (thank you, age 42 you giant piece of shit!) so I had another MRI.

Which I looked at.

AND IT SCARED ME.

Why?

Because apparently I have people living in my spine.

Take my hand...follow me...I'll show you.

Don't worry. I washed it.

MRI #1: Dilbert vs. Reese

(click to enlarge all images)



What the...?

My first impression is this:



But I think this is more accurate:



Then I scroll down along my spine.

Is anyone else in here getting horny?

MRI #2: SAY IT AIN'T SO!





Well..if Carrot Top IS living in my spine...I suppose that explains all the agony.

MRI #3: I can only hope my back doesn't contain aphids





Great.

Now I'm all itchy.

MRI #4: Things go downhill from here









Great.

So now I'm thinking that my residual pain is caused by a shitty comedian or a praying mantis eating imaginary (I HOPE) back-aphids or potentially Epstein's giant afro is scraping against my sciatic nerve.

Then my doctor tells me that he looked and it's just scar tissue and then showed me the MRI:



Huh.

Not sure how I missed that.

Signed,

Epstein's mother.

Wrapping Up the Week - September 19, 2010

Before I start today...

This week marks the - wait for it - THIRD ANNIVERSARY OF MENTAL POO!!

*cricket

Shut up and go by a mug.

Jesus.

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Just in case you missed another fun-filled week on Mental Poo...

My Posts from this Week:

I rolled the dice and only did ONE POST but that's because it was amazing and included pictures like this:


Can't blame me, really.

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Moments in MENTAL POO History:


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A year ago this week on 'Mental Poo':


Part Two of the one where I shaved my chest.

LOOK OUT, LADIES!!

I go back to fighting in karate class and all I get is this severe degenerating back pain and sarcasm from my ex-wife.

Yay me.

Part THREE of the one where I shave my chest except THIS TIME I DEBUT MY FIRST-EVER COMIC STRIP!!!

It's a thing of beauty.

Much like my bare, hairless self.

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Two Years Ago this week on 'Mental Poo':


I'm a good neighbor.

And by 'good neighbor' I mean 'bad neighbor who calls the cops on his other neighbors regretting to remember that he has to live with them in the same neighborhood.'

My friend Kristin guests posts for me and promptly disgusts me with stories of her pooing.

AGAIN.

Wtf, Kristin.

I recall the time I started to shave my balls. Because a guy asked me to in my comment section (that's not why I shave them..it's why I wrote about it..just for clarification.)

All kinds of wrong there, really.

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Three Years Ago this week on 'Mental Poo


My VERY FIRST Post which is an extremely lame 'introduction to me.'

God I sucked.

Ah. Shit starts to go wrong with the blog. NOW we're feeling more ass-holish!!

My very first REAL POST which received ZERO COMMENTS WTF about going to the local Renaissance Fair(e).

It iseth cooleth yet the peopleth thereth are fucked. eth.

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Some funny stuff that's not mine that I read this week:

This is the second week in a row that "Steam Me Up, Kid" is down here (that's what he said) and I'm pretty sure she's trying to take over my blog.

I WILL HAVE NONE OF IT.

Well..maybe some of it.

That's what SHE said.

Narm loves swimming!!! Yay Narm!!

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There you go, folks.

Some new shit, some old shit.

That should keep you busy.

See you on Monday.

Moog out.

Motivational Filler - Gambling

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Motivate THIS.

(points at crotch)

Nothing to see here today...

...except a custom "motivational poster" made by yours truly over at Big Huge Labs.

Seriously...

...I have no idea how I made it over 40 years without finding this thing.

Here's today's poster for you (click to enlarge (that's what she said)):


BITE HIM! BITE HIM IN THE LEG!!

Ugh. He's just DROOLING on him.

He has teeth, right?

If you want to see all of my custom posters, click here.

You can also purchase Authentic "Motivate THIS" Mental Poo Merchandise at the 'Mental Poo' store, or click any of the images below to be taken right there.







Yeah. I'm in it for the money.

Duh.

Moog out.

How One Man's Facial Hair Changed History

So I'm at work the other day testing software as I do for approximately 1 hour per 40-hour work week (I keep this hectic pace up only every other week so as not to exhaust myself).

I'm customizing my web pages that customers will see when they have their INTERNET ACCESS DENIED, MOTHERFUCKER when I realize that I'll probably get fired because I configured it so that what pops up on my "Access Denied" page is this:

(click to enlarge all images in a separate window)



Then I start thinking, "Man..that guy looks kind of badass" but it's ALL BECAUSE OF HIS MOUSTACHE which is now basically a style that NO ONE can wear anymore so thanks a LOT, Hitler, for completely ruining a look for the rest of us.

And now I'm wondering if all his millions of soldiers and psychopath followers and neo-Nazi jackass skinheads would even bother listening to this prick if he had just..

..picked..

..a different..

..facial hair style.

???

LET'S GO TO THE TAPE!!

The Original



No doubt here that the original Hitler moustache is pretty no-nonsense and just says to the world, "You know what, world? Fuck you. I'm not even going to grow the ends of this thing. I'm just going to cover my philtrum with a little bit of hair and even though my hair is parted to the side I still look pretty gangsta."

The Handlebar



Being an evil mass-murdering dictator, NOT going with the handlebar look was a good decision on Hitler's part because if you have a handlebar moustache people pretty much assume that you're either a barber or circus ringmaster or you own a popcorn factory.

No one's taking a bullet for you if you have a handlebar moustache and all you can offer is Butter Lite Microwaveable kernels.

No one.

The Goatee



If Hitler had a goatee I'm more inclined to think people would follow him only if he could speed up their Internet access or maybe score them some free antivirus software or some shit.

Chin Pubes



A derivative of the goatee where nerds like myself who had goatees simply looked at the hardest part of the ensemble to manage (the moustache part) and just said, "Fuck this noise" and BAM shaved off the moustache leaving only the dangly beard part to grow and grow and honestly, dude, you look like shit.

If you have chin pubes the only people who are going to follow you into battle are the ones who think that "battle" here actually means "gay bar."

Jesus, dude. You look terrible.

Muttonchops



Muttonchops Hitler would actually be shunned from society, probably dying alone in an alley wearing only Crocs and smoking a blunt.

Unless you can back muttonchops up by singing for Motorhead or shooting three adamantium claws out of the knuckles of your hand the only thing that muttonchops tells the world is, "I've completely given up on trying to look remotely attractive."

The Jack Sparrow



I was on the fence with this one because the dangly beard ponytail things mixed with the soul patch AND the bandanna kind of scream "BRING IT ON, POLAND" but then you add the moustache on top of it and Hitler's look just immediately turns into a bad Halloween costume and you just want to reach out and rip those dangly things off his face.

Dear Hitler: You sir, are no Captain Jack.

The Hulk Hogan



Creepy.

Technically, Hulk Hogan Hitler is a derivative of the classic 'handlebar' Hitler look but once you drape that mother around the sides of your mouth and add the bandana and Ray Bans there is NO WAY IN HELL that the next time you step up to that podium and flex your little Hitler biceps that people aren't going to be throwing their lederhosen at you and tearing the shit out of the rest of the Eastern Bloc.

Conclusion

Sadly for world history, this guy chose one of the two possible facial hair styles that almost allowed him to dominate the world but was shitcanned by a couple of US Presidents (FDR and Truman) who each HAD NO FACIAL HAIR so maybe that's the most badass way to go in general.

Just like I have it now.

Fear me.