Feeling Flushed

Back in the day (my very first week here at Mental Poo), I wrote my OWN bathroom law:

Thou shalt not hold a conversation in the men's room.

I neglected one very important rule, however, which I recalled during one of my very own recent experiences.

I hate having bathroom 'experiences.'

I'm going to start wearing Depends Undergarments so I don't actually have to go INTO the bathroom and can thus avoid such things.

Coworker: "Hey...what's that smell?"

Me: "My bad. Sorry. Someone sent me a funny Will Ferrell video on YouTube and I didn't want to get up."

Depends Undergarments ROCK.


Regarding my rule, here goes:

If you see a clogged toilet brimming with poo-stew, DON'T TRY TO FLUSH IT.

Jesus. H. Christ.

I had this lovely experience last week when I myself had to squash out a yule log.

My entry into the first bathroom stall was apparently shortly after an elephant had gone in there with a new, improved, colon cleansing formula.

Me (opening stall): "GOOD GOD!! WTF?! Who did this ... the Hulk?!?"


Poo: "SHUT THE DOOR!!"

Yes.

It spoke and had it's own intelligence.

Me: "Sorry."

The toilet was brimming with butt stew and obviously clogged so I simply suppressed my gag reflex and happily (not really) moved to the next stall.


As I'm sitting there making dookie, in walks a guy in a pair of loafers.

He casually strides into the clog-stall.

Loafers: "HOLY MOTHER OF CHRIST!!"

My heart sank because, with no stalls left, I know in my heart what's going to happen next. However, because of the "no talk" rule in the men's room ... I'm not allowed to try to stop him.

Loafers TRIES TO FLUSH IT.

Oh. No.

What happened next, I do not wish on my worst enemy.

Except maybe Rachael Ray.

I hope this happens to her A LOT.


I hear the inevitable flush.

*FLOOOOOSH*

Of course, the giant, animated turd of the Apocalypse refuses to flush...

...and immediately starts overflowing INTO MY STALL.

Me: "AAARRRRGGGHHH!!!"

For the next 15 seconds, I frantically try to expel my own remaining dookie as fast as possible AND wipe said dookie before the overflowing poo water and little brown canoes reach my shoes.


******************
Side story:

I used to work for a civil engineering firm a while back.

One of the engineers there overflowed the toilet, and came running frantically into the boss' office.

Scott: "QUICK!! QUICK!! I NEED A PLUNGER!! THE TOILET'S OVERFLOWING!!!"

There is a pause as my boss slowly looks up at him.

He clasps his hands together firmly on his desk, leans forward, and ever so calmly looks at Scott and replies:

Boss: "Are there little brown canoes?"

Awesome.
*******************

Back to me...squishing and wiping as fast as my little anus and tiny hands could go.

It was like Indiana Jones and Raiders of the Lost Ark ...

... except instead of being chased by a giant rolling boulder, it was a flood of poops.

I'd like to see Indy get out of this one.


The moral of the story:

People:

Abide by the rules.

Live by the Rules.

And if you see my feet in the stall next to the clogged one, DON'T FLUSH THE FUCKING THING.

The odds of seeing me though are slim to none these days.

Depends Undergarments.

The bathroom of the future, baby.

Bathroom of the future.

More Shit People Send Me

If you're a long time reader you know that I do karate with a guy named "Brian" who, sadly, was defeated by Jesus during our first-ever tournament but I avenged his death/humiliation by rising to the occasion and kicking Jesus' ASS.

Because that's what friends do.

Right before they make fun of their friend's lackluster effort on a blog. Again.

The more you know.

Brian works in those big yellow scoop-type-truck things (Tonkas) when he's not having his ass handed to him by lesser people like myself during sparring class.

FYI..in this video I'm the guy in the tank top because nothing says 'class' like 'tank top.'


How bad is your headache after that?

Please note that this was the second video my daughter took which, honestly, is a lot less funny than the first.

So I'm at work and my phone buzzes and I check it and it's a picture text from Brian with NO SUBJECT and just this:


Um.

Thanks?

So I sent him back this:



To which he replies:


Brian doesn't send me pictures any more.

Probably a good idea.

I caption because I CAN

My tattoo witch friend, Lisa, posted this picture on Facebook for whatever reason.

I don't question what Lisa posts because:

a) She puts tattoos on me and you NEVER want to piss of THAT person, and
b) She is an actual witch and - you know - fuck being a newt, right?

Regardless, if you're my friend on Facebook then you know I will put stupid shit on things you think are serious whenever I can.

This was no exception, so - upon seeing this - I just started throwing captions at it:

There.

Don't worry, I'm fully prepared to have a ladybug or some shit put on my body next time I'm at her tattoo studio.

Gonna be tough tattooing a newt, though.

But she's a witch. They can do anything.

"Hey..um..you got a little something on your face."

In our storyline of my college disasters, I offer to you some advice:

If you’re ever partying in someone else’s dorm room…

HIDE THE MARKERS.

Let me explain.

Back in college, every Thursday night was party night. This is because some kids went home over the weekends and - much like work - no one does anything on Fridays anyway so of course on one of these happy Thursday party nights I drank so much that I blacked out.

Like OUT OUT.

The following morning, I woke up in the middle of the floor in my friend's room...still fully dressed and feeling like I had been on the receiving end of a Whack-A-Mole hammer.

My buddy Spike greeted me. He was smirking.

“Good morning. How you feeling?”

Me: “Eh…okay…”

I managed to somehow get myself upright and stumbled past him…

Me: “I’m…going to wash up.”

I grabbed my things, and headed for the shower room down the hallway of the dorm, saying hi to everyone else who was up as I walked by.

Maybe 5 or 6 of my friends talked to me on the way.

I stepped into the bathroom…and grabbed hold of one of the sinks.

I was sick. WAY sick.

After heaving a bit into the sink, I managed to raise my head…

…and look at my face in the mirror.

WHAT. THE FUCK.

I had cat whiskers.

I had Spock eyebrows.

I had tic-tac-toe drawn on my right cheek.

I had a big red dot on my nose.

I had a moustache.

I had the acronym “NFL” (Nice F*cking Life) on my left cheek.

SONOFABITCH.

"Oh no no NO NO NO"

I start the water, grab my towel and start rubbing.

…and rubbing…

…and rubbing…

MOTHERFUCKER ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?!?

Nope. Not kidding.

Permanent marker.

OH COME ON!!

I grab my stuff and go back into Spike’s room…

…fully aware now that not only did HE KNOW that I looked like this when I woke up…but that everyone who said “hi” to me in the hallway knew the same thing.

Ugh.

Me: “Dude. The fuck! How could you let them do this to me?!”

Spike: “Hey..hey…I stopped them from pulling your pants down.”

Ah. Small favors.

Apparently, as I lay there unconscious on Spike’s floor, a crowd had gathered around to doodle on me.

At one point, the RA (Resident Assistant) came in to find out what was going on. He looked at everyone in the room, defiling me.

They all stopped, a room full of drunk college kids with markers in their hand hovering over a blacked-out sexy midget guy.

Oh, shit.

Busted.

Then the RA grabbed the marker from one of the accomplices.

“My turn!!”

…and started doodling himself.

Asshole.

So, back to the shower I go.

As I keep trying to scrub away, I unbutton my shirt to get into the shower…

Oh…

Oh no…

A big red heart drawn on my chest…

Even more tic-tac-toe…

The word “Asshole” scrawled across my belly.

Again…

PERMANENT MARKER.

I hate people.

I rubbed my face and stomach until I shed my skin trying to clean that shit off.

In the end, I looked like an Oompa Loompa:

Short.

Red.

And I like to sing about chocolate and row boats.

…that last part doesn’t fit the story. Scratch it.

Anyway…

I don’t think I ever drank that much again…

But my buddy, Pete, did.

At which point, we shaved his head as soon as he blacked out.

True story.

Not once, but we shaved Pete's head TWICE. You'd think he'd learn after the first time but no.

So I guess things could have been worse.

Thanks, Spike…for keeping my pants on.

Although, I would have found the joy of manscaping a long time ago.

The Stinky Fun Factory

Today, I give you a short glimpse into what it's like to be my friend.

..and then...

Why you really really really might not want that privilege.

Here is a snippet of some Instant Messaging that happened out of the blue with my friend, John, the other day.

Enjoy.

***********************

midgetmanofsteel: Have you ever pooped rectangles? Because I just pooped a rectangle...like a PlayDoh Fun Factory and squishing it out the little rectangle hole. How does that happen?

John: dude

***********************

That's how I said 'hi' to John.

Popping open his Yahoo Messenger window, telling him that I just shit a rectangle.

Seriously...I shit a rectangle.

I'm not sure how this was physically possible.

And I needed answers.


I believe this conversation took place around 9:00 a.m.

Good morning, Johnny!

Had coffee yet? You have?

Then let's talk about my rectangular shit!

But John, who is self-proclaimed 'King of all things shit-related,' didn't disappoint me:

***********************

John: I might have to think about that

John: I'm going into a meeting, I will ponder it during the meeting

***********************

He will ponder it.

This begs the question:

What's a friend?

Is a friend someone who stands by your side, and lends understanding and compassion when you need them most?

No.

No...a friend is someone who will forget about his career and, instead, contemplate the inner workings of the human body including, but not limited to, your bowels, colon and sphincter muscles to answer the question of how you were able to shit out a geometric shape that morning.

THAT, my friends, is a true amigo.

This is also probably why I have very few of them.

I should probably think about revising that definition.

Whatever.


(yep...one that's one of mine)

**** the IM picks up again later that day ****

John: so, is it like a piece of charcoal?

midgetmanofsteel: charcoal? Jesus, man. How big do you think my asshole is?

John: no I meant charcoal square

John: like rounded edges. Like what you put inside a grill.

midgetmanofsteel: no - more like a Twix bar, but way longer.

John: oh

***********************

Oh.

I get...'Oh.'


That's the last I've heard from John on the subject.

It's been months.

I'm guessing he's still pondering it.

He's a good friend.

I think.

Ron hurts, Facebook people. Ron hurts.

I was sitting in my house drinking alone and watching football because that's what you do when you're a single dad when it's winter and you just dropped your kids off at their mom's house and you're out of Celexa.

Great. NOW I'M SAD. Mainly because I'm at work, but whatever.

So I was sitting there in my all-alone stupor when I heard the faint *bling* of my Facebook Messenger pop up on my laptop.

So I got up and waddled over to find a message from one of my Facebook friends who I've never met and - honestly - have no idea who this person really is other than a fan, I'm assuming.

So, of course, this happened:

Poor Ron.

Someone should go cheer him up.

But not me. I'm drunk and still out of Celexa.

..and yet, somehow, my Facebook Friends count keeps going UP. ???

After the success of my "Facebook Friends Posts", I give you yet another entry into what is becoming one of my more popular series here on this blog.

Plus. It's easy to do and I'm wicked lazy.

So this is what you're missing if you're not my friend on Facebook.

Enjoy.

Shit like this is primarily why I don't get anything done at work.

I like it better this way, actually.

**********************

Find me on Facebook here.

Find me on Twitter here.

Find me in the ceiling tiles of random women's restrooms here.

Voices in my head and kielbasa software

I have a love/hate relationship with the software developers where I work.

You see, my job is to find bugs (flaws) in pre-released software and report them to software developers so they can fix it before it goes out.

Yes. I'm responsible for product quality. I DO see the irony in this.

Case in point, this IM conversation between me and one of them - Larry - recently, where I had to tell him that a bug I approved as 'fixed' was actually still broken:


Larry didn't seem amused at that.

Go figure.

Shortly afterwards, though, I had a bug to look at where I needed to test the Polish language version to see if it was right.

I'm not Polish.

I don't speak Polish.

Hence, this:


Then he assigned the bug to some guy in Poland to see if it was fixed, clearing the way for me to write this post because that would have taken up, like, 15 minutes of my time.

Small miracles, people.

Facebook - OMG I'm such a dick sometimes.

After the success of my "Using the Term 'Facebook Friends' rather loosely," and then the second installment, and even a third and fourth, I now give you a fifth entry into what is becoming one of my more popular series here on this blog.

Plus. It's easy to do and I'm wicked lazy.

So this is what you're missing if you're not my friend on Facebook.





















Shit like this is primarily why I don't get anything done at work.

I like it better this way, actually.

**********************

Find me on Facebook here.

Find me on Twitter here.

Find me in the ceiling tiles of random women's restrooms here.

This is how I keep myself entertained at work

A while ago, I sent out this Tweet:


Some people think I make that shit up but - in my defense - I'm pretty sure I'm borderline certifiably insane so just to prove it to you, well..

Here you go.


I'm so glad people here have a sense of humor.

Word.

Pissing off news stations on Facebook, one comment at a time

I've decided to turn my Facebook assholishnessicicity (trademark pending) into a regular series because, well, a post is a post.

If you're a friend of mine on Facebook then you may or may not know that I have an amazing ability to have amazing abilities.

One of these amazing abilities is commenting inappropriately on serious stories.

A while ago I did my first post on some of my responses to the local Fox News Channel's Facebook status updates.

It proved to be pretty popular so I did a second one and, well, a third and then a fourth and a fifth....

And, well...here we go again.

However, this time I've branched out and just started doing this all over the place.

Why should Fox News have all the fun.

Enjoy.

*******************


























*************
So I guess I'll keep on doing this shit until someone over at Fox 25 News in Boston (waves to Gene Lavanchy) hires me as an on-the-spot correspondent or starts paying me to write this stuff.

Doubtful, but worth a shot.