I'm too old for this shit.

*Update July 1st/08. Knight from Knights Ramblings asked for a picture of my injury. Here you go, hope you enjoy!
The skill of riding a bicycle is never forgotten. Once you've built the neural pathways in your head, you can always just get on a bike and ride.

That doesn't mean that you can't get rusty, which I found out the hard way yesterday.

A friend of mine called me up and said "hey, let's go mountain biking!" and I said "Great Idea!"

So, I dusted off the old Rockhopper, sped off down the road and met him near his place.

The first thing I'd like to affirm is the extreme benefits of not smoking. I haven't had a cigarette for almost three years now. However, I smoked like a fiend the ten years before that. And for the better part of those ten years, one of my favorite hobbies was mountain biking.

The first ride of the season was the worst. Halfway though I'd be huffing, puffing, trying desperately to get my lungs to inflate from being welded shut from a winters full of tobacco smoke abuse. It was so bad asthmatics were throwing their inhalers at me telling me I needed it more then them. I even got offers of oxygen from those fat old people on scooters. Yea, it was bad.

Not this time around. It's been years since I've been on that thing, and I was peddling away like it was nobodies business, and nary a flung inhaler came my way.

Kiddies, if you are a dirty fag sucker, quit now, right now. Trust me, you'll thank me for it later.

My friend and I hit some nearby trails to test out our prowess. We went in like lions but came out like pussycats. Well, not so much him but me.

See, I had a little accident while trying to ride over a log. It was wet, the ground was muddy, and the log moved under my bicycle unexpectedly. My wheel caught in the log, throwing the bike to the ground. I went with it as my shoe didn't want to come out of the toe clip, and two-hundred pounds of Mike came crashing down hard, gut first into the very (sharp) end of the handlebar.

And it hurt.

Boy, did it ever hurt. I got my foot out of the toeclip, and walked around, limping, clutching my gut, and making the guy hurt face. You know the face, the one where you are hurting like hell but you don't want to show it but you can't help scrunching up your face while you're walking around saying "that stings a little, let me walk it off".
Kind of like that. Except I'm not black. And my teeth are straight. But you get the picture.

Two things happened right at that moment. I was breathing very hard, because I was just jabbed in the gut with a small object with the possible force of a 1969 Buick Roadmaster. And I was in a bitchin amount of pain (I've got a nice bloody circle of torn skin with a really deep bruise, probably on my kidney), I got nauseous.

My buddy was chatting away verbally, and inside I was repeating over and over don't puke don't puke don't puke don't puke don't puke don't puke don't puke....

Never, EVER chant don't puke to yourself when you're feeling sick. That ASSURES you vomit.

And vomit I did. I vomited nicely if I do say so. Not as nicely as this, but it was pretty good if I do say so myself.



After I was done, we decided to call it quits and head back to his place for a beer. I had to fill my now empty stomach with something, didn't i!

There is a moral to this story. I came back learning two things:
1. Quiting those dirty fags was the best thing I ever did
2. I'm no longer an invincible teenager and I need to work into things.

But hey, at least I learned, right?

==============

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Can I see your Burgina?

When I was a youngster, sometime in the 20's, the school boards decided to introduce sex ed.

Ok, so It was introduced before me and I had it in 1990 when I was in grade 6 but still, It was a long time ago.

Anyways, people were a little more.... tight back then. And the sex education class wasn't as nearly as evolved as it is today. As such, the class was short, to the point, and left all the kids more confused than when they went in. Below is the teachings of that class.

MEN HAVE A PEANUTS AND WOMAN HAVE A BURGINA.

That's important information, because I'm about to tell you about my first sexual encounter.

You see, I was in grade seven, and was dating a girl named T. I was dating her by proxy; she wanted my friend G but G wanted nothing to do with her. So I said "How about me?" and we were boyfriend and girlfriend. Dating was so much simpler back then.

We were both very young. She didn't even have boobs yet. Hell, none of the girls had boobs yet, unlike nowadays when you can go to Wal*Mart and purchase special training bra's for toddlers. Yes, it's ridiculous. There's a school three houses down from me and from the distance I mistook the grade eight graduation for a parade of strippers. Nuff said.

Anyways, T and I were alone, in a house, no parents around. We were fooling around and I asked if I could see her burgina. She dropped her pants. Huh, interesting. She asked if she could see my peanuts. So I dropped my pants. Huh, interesting. She then asked if she could touch my peanuts.

Folks, I'm sure you all know that peanuts, as in the nut, come in a shell and you all know what you have to do to get them out.

The loving fondle I was looking for was more like a SMASH!

And the resulting lawsuit had the school revise it's policy on sex ed to be way less stuffy.

My pain is your children's gain.

Your welcome.

============

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Rejection Letter! Huzzah! -and- the poop that wouldn't come.

I got my second rejection letter from the Funny Times. That makes me very, very happy. It makes me happy for two reasons:

1. Their standard turnaround time is months. I got the rejection letter in only 14 days - accounting for travel time they reviewed and responded to my submission within days.
2. This was a standard rejection letter, but with a personal scribble attached. It said, "Mike, enough about the body functions already!"

This leads me to believe I actually have a modicum of talent with a poor taste in subject matter. Most of what I have submitted is reworked articles from this blog. So, in order to get my creative juices flowing in a manner that does not involve poo, puke, enema's, urine, farting, etc, from this point forward my blog entries will not involve any of those things, for the next little while anyways.

Except for today's entry. Enjoy.

====================================

This weekend was a bachelor party. It wasn't any old bachelor party, I was the best man for this wedding. So basically, it was my bachelor party. And my bachelor party lasted for twenty hours.

I'm still freaking tired. I'm thirty, not eighteen. That kind of shit takes it's toll on this old man.

Something awful happened the morning of. Something terrible, so terrible it scared me and made me realize my own mortality.

I couldn't poop.

This scared me. For the thirty years I've been on this planet, I've had many, many problems, but pooping was never one of them. I could wang one out with minimal fanfare and maximum force. I could poop on command even, which made me real popular with my punk ass friends as a teenager. No more stale, hard dog poop for those fiery paper bags - nope, we had some fresh, goopy, stinky stuff to make even the bravest of feet cringe.

I've trained myself to go first thing in the morning. It's best that way - get it done, out of the way, and right before my shower to do an easy and proper clean up. The call of nature comes loudly usually halfway through my Cheerios.

Yes, I put the cereal down. I don't eat and poo. That's just wrong, even for me.

So when I woke up at my buddies place the morning of the bachelors party, I had to go.

But it just wouldn't come.

This confused me, because my body was telling me I needed to poop, but it wouldn't let any come out.

On our way to the golf course, we stopped in for breakfast at a local restaurant. Halfway through my pancakes, the urge came again, strong and loud like it usually does. I dashed to the restroom, only to return disappointed.

We golfed a good game, and despite having golfed only once in my life a decade before, I got par on the 8th hole. If that sounds good to you, realize that this 9 hole course was 29 par and I scored 66. Pathetic, but hey, it was fun. Except for I had to poo.

The next stop was down town Toronto for lunch and sake and beer and sake and beer and sushi and sake and beer and beer and beer and sake at a sushi place. Our favorite sushi place. Really nice decorum, classy, and most importantly staffed with cute Japanese waitresses.

Our waitress looked to be about 25 years old, 5 foot 1 and weighing about 36 pounds. What we'd call a "spinner". You boys will understand. Our first two shots of sake and a bowl of miso soup later, and the 'ol bowels began to complain. I excused myself to an astonished "jesus! not again!", and returned a very sad man to the table.

At this point I was contemplating the hospital. This never, ever happened before in the span of 30 years, and I was very careful. That hole has been exit only for as long as I can remember. I've never even had my prostate checked!

Another bowl of miso soup and another sake, and our waitress brought our first course of sushi. Three pieces of raw fish later, and the stomach was rumbling. A fourth, and the rumbling increased in intensity, registering on the Richter scale. Made for T.V. producers hovered around taking notes for a shitty sci fi disaster flick, while the rumbling sent our 36 lb waitress flying across the room. She looked at me wide eyed, and I swear she screamed Godzilla!
I ran to the washroom to the jeers of my already drunken buddies, but in apparent desperate need.

Sitting on the can, to the horrible pains of I gotta poo now, and wouldn't you know it, nothing happened. But I wasn't about to give up yet. I grunted, strained, pushed, pooped a blood vessel or two, and then it happened:

My intestines had decided to compact my poo until it became plutonium. And I destroyed my favorite Japanese restaurant.

I stepped out from the rubble, to find my 36 lb Japaneses waitress under a roof truss. I lifted the roof truss off of her, and she screamed "What do you want Godzilla! What do you want!"

"Some sushi and maybe more sake" I replied, sending her off to what was left of the kitchen.

The rest of lunch was fantastic, and I did leave our poor waitress a very generous 20% tip for the trouble. I hoped that covered the damages.

I hope I never go through that again, but if I do, I'm selling my ass to the American army for millions.

==================

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plumbERbutt(tm)

Are you a new plumber? Just finishing your apprenticeship, and striking out on your own? If you are, you're probably wondering what it takes to be a sucessful plumber. Training, expertise, hard work, experience? The answer to all of those is yes, of course you need them. But there's one thing that plumbers are known for, one thing that defines a plumber and gives the public the perception he's good.

That one thing is plumbers butt.

To be perceived as a real plumber, you need ass cleavage sticking out of the back of your jeans. Without a plumbers butt, you are likely to be passed over job after job, no matter how good you really are.

Before you go gorging your face with jelly doughnuts, red meat and beer, I strongly urge you to consider the fabulous new product, plumbERbutt(tm). PlumbERbutt(tm) is a revolutionary prostetic that you apply to your backside that ensures that all important plumber butt cleavage. This product is available in many skin tones to match your own, and it's so real looking you'd have to be a scientist to tell the difference!

But don't take my word for it, just hear what some of our satisfied customers have to say!


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-Joe Magiola
New York

Digging the pencils out of my plumbERbutt(tm) is well worth the 300% increase in business!

-Dwayne Chetely
Ohio

Not only did business pick up to the tune of a 240% increase last year alone, my wife has NEVER found me so attractive! Thank you plumbERbutt(tm)!

-James Bichoni
Rhode Island

Don't be left behind! Order plumbERbutt(tm) today, and get a second one for 50%! Order now!

=======
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To a man, from his Junk

Hey there Buddy,

It's been great hanging with you all these years, through thick and thin, with all of its ups and downs.

I don't want to sound like a whiner, but I do have a few things I'd like to ask of you. Firstly, I'd like to get to the underwear.

Boxers are fantastic. They're roomy, airy, and those hairy twins that live under me don't get sweaty and slimy. I hate it when they're slimy; how would you like resting on a booger couch? The only thing I ask - no, insist upon, is you wear the boxers that have a button on the pee flap. I am seriously tired of flopping out and having to dodge the zipper on your pants, ok?

Tighty whities are an absolute no no. The twins get sweaty, and I'm pressed right up against them. One of them has some serious halitosis. It's not fun.

Speaking of halitosis, if you ever, EVER wear a thong again, I'm going to throttle you! I'll go on strike and never work again. The damned thing forces me past the twins to be pretty much face to face with some sort of brown hole. I have no idea what it is, only that it smells like manure and occasionally blows some nasty wind in my face. You're lucky I haven't yet puked.

Puking is the second thing I wanted to talk to you about. You know that girl you picked up last week, the one with a yest infection? She did NOT taste like freshly baked bread like you promised. I had to up chuck the minute I got in there. I did however enjoy her sarcastic disappointment, as well as the screaming to have you drive her to the doctor RIGHT THIS MINUTE for something called a morning after pill. I don't know what a morning after pill is, and besides, it wasn't even close to morning. Women are so silly.

So why exactly is it you force me to puke so often? If its not in some womens stink hole, you choke me until I barf. Every single day too(though the latter is more common than the former). Why are you forcing bulimia on me and then complain I'm not fat enough? Start making some damned sense!

When it's cold, I shrink. That's how I deal with cold. Get used to it. Also, water is generally cold. I'm just letting you know that, because you have this rather large and ill fitting pair of swimming trunks. If they are to fall off I'll get called 'peewee' or 'acorn' and that will damage both of our egos.

My final complaint is in regards to your drinking. I get sick and tired of listening to your alcohol induced crap, so I just go to sleep. I know that doesn't help you with last call women, so ease up on the beer, ok? Also, because I go to bed so early, I'm up bright and early the next morning. I hope you enjoy our wrestling matches in the bathroom.

I think that's everything I wanted to say. Lets chat about this sometime, shall we?

-Your Pal,
The Penis

Hey Schmuck

Listen buddy, that guy that rests on us most of the day? He's a real DICK! Do something about his attitude or we'll stick to your thighs and make you SUPER uncomfortable, ok?

-All the best
The ball brothers

=========

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Woody Carpet

I took the day off yesterday to help my old man move into a new office building. The old building was scheduled for demolition to make way for something newer, nicer, bigger, and even more useless.

The new office building, actually an old house, is only 90 years old as compared to the 150 year old building they came from. He's still with the same crew of lawyers, lawyers assistants, and secretaries.

What I'm trying to say is that as an accountant, he's the least scummy professional in the building. Not by much, but all the lawyers look to him for moral advice. And then do the opposite.

The first thing we did was lay down a carpet over the hardwood floor that my old man had purchased earlier in the week. Just as we finished laying the carpet, one of the lawyers assistants walked in, cleaner in one hand, rag in the other. This is the following conversation that took place.

Assistant: Oh! Your carpet doesn't cover all of your wood!
Old Man: Yea, I had it trimmed. Do you think it looks good?
Assistant: Oh, it looks great!
Assistant: And the wood looks really good too. It's in really great shape for being so old.
Old Man: Yea, if lay down some nice wood you have to keep it in good shape.
Assistant: Would you like me to polish the wood sticking out of the carpet?
Old Man: Yes, please. That would be great.

I was doing my very, very best not to laugh or snicker listening to this conversation. Does that make me a bad person?

=======

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Those Homosexuals

I'm a living contradiction. Even though I'm quite the insensitive jerk, I'm also all about tolerance.

I have tolerance for homosexuals just as I have tolerance for people that have different beliefs than I do, because being different is what living on this planet is all about. I even tolerate those idiotic asshats (I'm looking at you, fundamentalist religious zealots) who hate me because I'm not like them. And that makes me better than them! Whoohoo I'm better than somebody!

Today though, I'm talking about homosexuals. My stance on homosexuality is the same as my stance on heterosexuality (of which I'm a member), bi sexuality, animal humping and impaling yourself on various objects or parts while wearing leathers and cutting yourself with rusty mopeds. I want those of you who are intolerant asshats to listen closely (I'm looking at you, fundamentalist religious zealots).

WHAT HAPPENS BEHIND CLOSED DOORS BETWEEN CONSENTING ADULTS IS THEIR BUSINESS, AND THEIR BUSINESS ONLY.

Got that? Good.

Because what I'm about to say next doesn't sound particularly tolerant at all, but it's the way I feel!

Guys doing guys are gross. Really. I think about myself doing a guy and I gag. And listen here, guys, you have ALL thought about it. You cannot make a decision on your stance without thinking about it. As a matter of fact, you have to think about it just to say that you think it's gross! So chew on that.

On that subject, I've prepared some diagrams on the proper use of male body parts.
Now that we understand what the acceptable entry device is, and the uses for the rest of the male anatomy, let's look at the use of the entry device within the female anatomy.
I hope I've been clear.

Now, let's move on to my stance on lesbians.

Yummy! Would anyone else like to be the meat in that sandwich as much as I would? Well, yes, just every single one of my heterosexual male readers!

Butt (hehe) really. This is my tribute to homosexuals everywhere!


==========

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Stupidity

Stupidity is prevalent all around us. Everywhere I go, I see stupid people doing stupid things. I was reminded of that last week when I got gas, and this is what I saw (of course, I had to snap a pic).
I can see it now. "Hey boss! Where do you want these boxes that have to be stored in a cool, dry place?" "I don't know Jethro, how about in that there big giant puddle of water?" "Ok goober! You got it!"

DUH! People can't even follow SIMPLE printed instructions.

Stupidity is prevalent everywhere. Seriously. Try talking to people using big words that have more than two syllables. Nine out of ten people will look back at you just like this:
So in honour of stupidity, I googled the word and am going to share with you the first few items found.

Look at this girl.

Apparently dipping her tostito's in a jar of salsa AND sitting on the couch at the same time was just too complex for her. She tried doing all three at once and just fell right over on the floor!

How about this kid?
I can just see how it went right now. "Dargh, horsey! Mommy biwwee wanna go wide horsee! Darrgh!" Never mind the kid is probably 18 years old and still wearing diapers.

Oh, check this idiot out!
"Hey ma! I made me a hand gun that takes artillery shells!" This retard died when the recoil hit him in the head and forced his nose through his face and out the back of the skull. At least we have one less retard out there.

This guy here couldn't be bothered to rent a pick up truck. Now, he'll be buying a new car. DUH!

And the very FIRST thing I found when I searched for stupidity?


'Nuff Said.

==========

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The advice of Mr. Spazoid

Contrary to popular belief, I was not hatched, and neither was I brought about by mitosis (could you imagine me, breeding like bacteria? I'd consume the world in weeks!). What this means, ladies and gentlemen, is I have parents.

My father, MR. Spazoid SIR, is like any father in this world. He has gained wisdom from experience and likes to share it with his son, so that his progeny may benefit from his years of learning.

I'd like to share some of his wisdom with you, my readers. No doubt, you have fathers of your own and like any good father, you would have heard some of this before. But for those who haven't, or who don't have fathers, I hope that some of his pearls of wisdom will benefit you greatly. I know they've helped me through some of my hardest times.

High Speed Nose Picking:
When a boogie needs to be picked, it does not wait for the appropriate time. No matter where you are, or what you are doing, it will rear its gooey head and will be come more and more annoying until you MUST dig for that sticky, stringy gold. Driving your car on the highways at high speeds is no exception. After years of practice, he has found that the best way is to take the pinky finger of the hand opposite to the nostril that needs to be picked, and dig around. This provides the optimal angle of entry and highest level of dexterity to get that snot out of there with the least amount of time. Try it, you'll be amazed!

There's only one square of toilet paper left:
And you've already dropped the kids off at the pool. Not to worry! Take that square of toilet paper, and fold it in half. Fold it in half again. Where the joints meet, tear off a small square, and keep it, you'll need it for later. Unfold the paper and you'll notice that there is a hole in the middle. Put your index finger through that hole, and use the finger to clean the clingons off of your brown eyed hairy cyclops. Then, cup your thumb and index finger around your brown index finger below the square of TP. Using a semi circular motion, move that square up your finger until the bulk of the brown stuff has been cleaned off. Remember the little square you removed? Use it to clean under your finger nail! And problem solved.

The ultimate measure of a restaurant:
Is it's bathroom. If it doesn't have a clean, efficient, and aesthetically pleasing bathroom, chances are the food sucks. A shitty bathroom means a lack of effort in every other area. Don't believe me? Try it.

If you ever get married:
Learn the words "yes, dear." You'll need them.

An addendum to the above:
Whats yours is hers. Whats hers is hers. Get used to it.

It's not being cruel and judgmental:
If they can't hear you make fun of them. If it's not hurting their feelings and you're getting a laugh out of it, it's a 100% positive experience! And how could you not, with so many douchebags running around?

If you have to go for a colonoscopy:
They'll give you a drink to clean you out. An hour after you take it, you'll feel a twinge. This twinge will feel like a "Yea, I should find a toilet soon." However, what THIS particular twinge really means is "Find a toilet NOW, or make sure you know where the mop is." After bathroom trip #23 or so, you'll be pissing clear out of your bum and you'll know it's almost over.

After you go for a colonoscopy:
You're going to have some WICKED farts. Make the most of them!

By far, the one piece of advice he's given me has stuck with me the most. "Make the very last cheque you write bounce."

You can't take it with you, so what's the point in dying rich? At the same point, don't be an idiot about your money. Live to your means, make sure you can retire in comfort, and whatever you do, have fun before AND after you retire.

That is some fantastic advice, and I'm taking it to heart. But since I know I'm not getting an inheritance, I have no qualms about teasing him mercilessly. Like father like son, and he throws them right back at me just as hard as I do to him.

I'd like to close this off by leaving you with this thought, which teenagers and people in their early 20's should especially take to heart. Your parents have done more for you than you can ever imagine. Treat them with the respect they so sorely deserve.

=========

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High time for High School

A friend of mines oldest boy will be going into high school next year. Like any thirteen year old boy, this one is cocky, arrogant, mouthy, and generally thinks he's man's gift to the world.

Being a big fish in a little pond doesn't help the boys hormonal arrogance, but little does he know that's all about to change.

Not too long ago, I was giving him a ride home from his grandmothers house. I looked at him and said "So, T, you're going into high school next year?"
"Yes."
I then started to laugh. He asked me what I was going on about and I told him nothing, never mind. Well, today, I'm going to tell him, and any other cocky little so-and-so preparing to enter high school for the first time.

Right now you are in grade eight. You are at the top of the school food chain. You prance about like you own the place, and really, the only kids you worry about are other eight graders. Not that you mind them nearly as much as the younger kids do. You use your age, size, and pecking order status to tease them mercilessly. Remember that, because it's important.

Next year, YOU will be the kid.

You are to be the little fish in the big pond. It's going to be a huge culture shock for you. Because you're a cocky little teenager, chances are you'll strut into grade nine like the big shot you used to be.

That will change very quickly, as some or all of the below may and probably will happen:

• You will be locked in a locker
• You will be pushed around
• You will be teased
• Your head will be dunked in a toilet while it is flushed - repeatedly
• The toilet may have been previously used without being flushed
• Your books/clothing/lunch/money will be appropriated
• You will be rejected by girls/boys. Again, and again, and again.
• While walking down the hall, eyes will follow you, fingers will point, and giggles will abound
• Jello will be poured down your pants
• You'll be held down while various hair in and about your body is shaved - unevenly
• Dog poo will "appear" in your locker

You are also new to puberty! Welcome. Your face will soon look like a pepperoni pizza with extra bacon bits, and no amount of face scrubbing will help. Get used to being called names like "pizza face", "crater face", and "freak".

Speaking of puberty, for the boys, it is best not to wear track pants. They don't hide boners very well. As a new comer to puberty, you will find that your nether regions have a mind of their own. It takes a very slight breeze for "junior" to stand at attention, and believe you me, he has a lot of staying power. He generally comes most often when trying to talk to girls, or when you're called to the blackboard to solve a problem. Carry a large book with you even when walking to the blackboard, to try to cover up Mr. Excited. Your higher ups and classmates have a very good memory and will tease you MERCILESSLY given any opportunity.

For you girls, I am SO sorry. The guys have it pretty good compared to you. Generally, they'll get shoved, or punched, or beaten up, and that will be the end of it. The higher grade bullies will move on to the next grade nine poindexter that crosses their path. Boys get bored easily. Not so for girls.

Girls remember things for EVER and for ALWAYS. They are more subtle, instead of beating you physically they'll go for your mental health. They'll try to steal your boyfriend, they'll spread vicious and nasty rumors about you, even if they're not based in reality. Don't be surprised to learn people think your pregnant when you're still a virgin, or you have crabs, herpes or are sleeping with the teacher. Girls play mind games. That is the nature of girls.

So for all of you big bad grade eighters, remember, you're about to become nothing more than pond scum on the shoes of the grade eleven jerks.

Enjoy!

======
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The Douchebags

You hear the word douchebag a lot. Hey, that guy's a douchebag! Yea, and his girlfriend is a total douche!

But what exactly is a douchebag? Originally, it was a bag filled with vinegar or similar that a woman attached a nozzle to so she could flush the nasties from her slimy cooch. This disgusting device eventually became the name for our lowest ranking members of society. These are the people that think they are absolute hot shit, but are in fact the total opposite. A douchebag is a person who thinks they are genious when in fact they are borderline retarded; a person who is unusually arrogant; a person who is specifically malicious in intent. In other words, just an all around idiot.

Here are some of the douches I've noticed.

The "I'm Cooler than you Douche"

You've seen these people. The guys have short, spiked hair. They spend most of their time at the gym, or in the tanning bed, and compliment it by wearing skimpy wife beaters, designer jeans, and sunglasses no matter what time of the day it is. They usually have a cross around their neck, even though the last time they were at church was when they were christened. The cross is just an attempt to get the Christian ladies in the sack. They frequent night clubs, use all the newest slang, and they use all the latest hand signal slang. You know, three fingers out "what up holmes" kind of stuff. Their shoes are always clean and they have blingy jewelery all over themselves. Unless you're a hottie in the same douchebaggery dress up and using the same douche slang, they shoot you snide looks as if to say "I'm too good for you, buddy". The girls are the same, in skimpy clothes that show off cleavage, same tan, same bleach blonde hair (the curtains don't match the carpet, let me assure you) and the same douchey attitude.

Let's have a reality check with these kings of douche. While they might have all the latest clothes and follow the latest trends, in reality they still live with their parents and spend every cent they earn on this crap and buying drinks at the night club. At the end of the day, they go back to their 10' by 12' bedroom at their moms house and have all their douchey friends over to lie about all the pussy they didn't get at the club the night before. By the time these douches are 30, their lack of education and general better than thou attitudes will land them nothing but the same dead end job and in the same bedroom they've lived in for their entire lives, plus some melanoma for their months spend in a tanning booth. By the time these douches are 50 they'll look like their 80 and if they are lucky they'll be living in some shitty apartment building eating cat food, because that's all their social assistance will pay for.

The "I'm always right" douche

These are the people who are never, ever wrong, especially when they are. They'll argue until they are blue in the face, and even if you show them absolute substantiated proof, they'll insist that the source is wrong. Every action that they do is the right one, and every one that somebody else does is wrong. Even when they find out how wrong they were the hard way, they'll blame it on some other bullshit thing that never really happened. Usually, these people have vast senses of undeserved entitlement and are horrible with money. It really doesn't matter to them, because it's always somebody else's fault and they'll insist it was completely out of their control, even if preventing the problem was plain as day to anyone with any common sense.

Usually, if they promise to help you, they will..... eventually. A normal, sensible person will agree to help you if they have time, and then help you. If they don't, they'll say so, and you'll thank them and move on. These people will tell you it's no problem, of course they can help you, they have lots of time. Time goes by, and you get nothing but excuses. Their kids were sick. The wife worked late. The husband took the car without telling me. I ran short on time because blah de blah blah blah. That's all well and good, except these excuses are the same every single time with every single person. A "I'm always right" douche will even get angry at you when you tell them to forget it, or take it to someone else. They're also the first to gossip when you tell them no, and are experts at manipulating you to do all sorts of things for them. Just try to tell THEM that you don't have time when you don't, up front, like a normal sensible person would. They'll say FINE with an angry look on their face. Douche.

The "environmentalist" douche

An environmentalist douche has a serious "holier than thou" attitude. This person is a rabid environmentalist who paints everyone else but them as part of the problem. They are unable to see the big picture, and think that their personal efforts at recycling, reusing bags and driving a hybrid car would single handedly save the entire planet from environmental disaster, if only everyone else would be just like them.

They live in big houses, use tap water, electricity and natural gas, shop at grocery stores and Wall*Mart. Their environmental efforts mean that they might use a few percent less energy than a similar sized family. The understanding that this will have a negligible effect on the problem as a whole, and it would take a societal paradigm shift to solve the problem is completely lost on them. After all, they are too busy sniffing their shit to confirm it doesn't stink to see just HOW MUCH OF A DOUCHEBAG THEY REALLY ARE!

The "bandwagon" douchebag

These douchebags are similar to the environmentalist douchebags, in that they are unable to see any big picture. Instead, they are swept up into whatever hysteria happens to present itself at that time in an orgy of self gratification. You can usually find these douches at one protest or another, holding up signs and chanting protest when they have absolutely no clue what it's all about. It could be environmental issues, abortion issues, political issues, any issue whatsoever. The douchiest of the lot will protest in favor of one side of an issue first, only to be found a month later protesting for the other side. These people truly do not understand the issues, are not able to make a rational and informed decision, because they are just hysteria driven douches who have something that every douche has: A holier than thou attitude. This makes these people feel that they are better than you, even if they will never admit it. Lousy douches.

The "Status Symbol" douche.

How many people here in North America do you know that drives a giant, gas guzzling 4x4. How often do they actually go off road? How often do they actually haul around 9 people, a load of stuff and a huge trailer verses the amount of time spent driving this monstrosity alone? How many of these vehicles do you see parked at huge, giant mansion style houses.

The fact of the matter is that these people think they have really small penis's (or boobs for the female variety), and need to suppliment it with shit they cannot ever need or use. They think a status symbol shouts to the world "look how important I am!", when it really shouts to the world "Look at me! I'm not well endowed at all!"

The vast majority of these status symbol douches are a paycheck away from total and complete financial breakdown. They don't understand that living comfortably means living within your means, not above it. Your outgoing living expenses should not equal your income. The worst part is, when something happens and they miss a payment, they don't understand what went wrong! Further, these douches look down at people who live within their means as those "Silly poor people". Yea douchebag? When I'm comfortable in my retirement, playing golf and eating well, and you're still working at 95 trying to pay off that oppressive debt, who's going to be laughing then? Not you, douchebag.

There are so many more examples of douchebaggery that I haven't touched on. Suffice it to say, a douchebag is someone who thinks they're better than everyone, all the time. They aren't. They're people who think that they are smarter than everyone. They aren't. They think that they are better than everyone. They aren't. These are the people that think they are beautiful, correct, smart, and the best, without any critical or rational thought processes to back it up.

You are, and you always will be better than a douche, and know it. So next time a douchebag pulls a holier than thou smirk at you, just smile and walk away secure in the knowledge that this person truly is, a douchebag.

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What smells worse than poo? FERMENTED poo!

Saturday I was stuck home all day waiting for a bed delivery. They promised to have it delivered between 1:00 and 3:00 PM, but if they were anything like waiting for the cable guy I knew that I had better be home the whole day. Being that I was stuck in the house the entire day, I decided it was a good time to do some work on the bathroom.

The floor needed replacing, and since I would be taking the toilet up to do that, I decided to replace the toilet that day as well. In order to do the floor, I had to scrape off the old floor, wash it down with a cleaning agent, prime it, then put down the new one. I diligently started scraping the old floor away. When I got close to the toilet, I took it up. Want to know what I found under the shitter? I bet you do! That's why I took pictures!

YUM-O! Notice all that white stuff half blocking the hole? Know what it is? I'll tell you. It's old, compacted, dirty ASS WIPE. I had SO much fun scooping that out with my bare hands! I had even more fun cleaning it off the floor when it crumbled into a million pieces and spread itself about.

I diligently went about removing the rest of the floor and removing the old wax sealer from around the shit hole. A few minutes of work, and I noticed something. Something wasn't quite right. Not right at all. And then, I put my finger on it. It was a smell.

All sinks contain what's called a P-trap to hold water. All toilets always have water in them. There's a reason for this. Water is an extremely effective barrier against sewer gas. Sewer gas is the fermented by product of poo, and god knows whatever else is rotting down that stinking cesspool we lovingly refer to as a sewer. Everyone knows what poo smells like. Well, in comparison to fermented poo, poo smells like fresh roses.

I desperately looked around the room to find something, ANYTHING to cover my nose against the horrible, putrid smell of sewer gas. The only thing I could find was this:
I then thought better of shoving a sealing compound up my nose. After all, I was fairly certain I would need to be able to use it again.

Having another look around, I found a rag, so I stuffed it down the hole hoping to mask the smell, which looked like this:

Having had a look at that, and knowing that sewer gas is flammable, I was proud of the fact that I had managed to turn my entire house into one, giant, Molotov cocktail. This wasn't good, unless I found some rioters to throw at my house in some sort of bizarro violent protest.

Folks, let me tell you something. Rags aren't nearly as an effective barrier against sewer gas as water is by a long shot. Halfway through installing the new floor, I was beginning to feel very dizzy, and woozy. I had to take frequent breaks in order not to puke or pass out, which really made the job go way longer than it should have. Lucky for me, the bathroom ventilation fan worked very well. Well, it worked well enough to keep the sewer gases escaping to the rest of my house, otherwise I probably would be cleaning up dog puke.

As I only have one bathroom in the house, I was without toilet for a long, long time. Many of you are asking if I have some sort of camel bladder. That's not the case. I did make myself a bachelor pee hole which worked quite well. Have a look!

Around midnight, I installed the new wax seal on my brand new toilet, and had it cinched down to the floor. Success! I took the flexible water connection off the old toilet and installed it on the new one. I then went to install the other end on to the water shut off valve, only to be horrified to find that it was too short. Not a lot short, only short by about 1/8th of an inch. That 1/8th of an inch was enough to not allow me to thread the other end in. Dejected, I wet some old towels and threw them in the toilet bowl, hoping that it would stop the sewer gases. Wet towels also do not work as effectively as water.

Worried that my house would fill with gases overnight, and either suffocate me or ignite as I turned in bed and created a teeny tiny electrostatic spark, sleep did not come easy. I awoke at 7 am and got dressed. I drove to the home depot, which wasn't open until 8. Fuck. I waited in my truck, dashed inside when they opened, got a longer water connection and dashed home. I hooked everything up, turned the water on, and waited for the inevitable leaks. None came. I was extatic! It may have been a rough day or night, but I actually installed it the right way, and the first time!

To end off this blog post, see the below picture. The next step is the trim, which will hide the shitty edges, and a vanity, and I think my little bathroom will start to shape up. And folks, take my advice. If you have to have the shitter off for an extended period of time, buy a gas mask eh?==========

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Condom Nation

The United States government was in an uproar. The nations largest condom supplier had a huge meltdown of their biggest factory. The breakdown was so severe that it would be weeks, if not months, before the factory could be ramped up to full production again.

Fearing a whole host of unwanted and unplanned births taxing the nations welfare and charity systems to breaking, a shaken President of the United States called the nearest industrialized first world country, Canada, for help.

The Canadian Prime Minister was more than happy to help their nearest and closest ally in their time of need. He promised the President that he would have the Canadian condom factories ramp up production and start shipping in two days time. With all luck, the timing would be such that the American condom market would never know the hit to their supplies.

The Prime Minister hung up the telephone and arranged for an emergency meeting with all of Canada's condom manufacturers. Once the heads of the companies were all seated around a table in Parliament Hill, the explained the situation and the importance of meeting production.

All of the manufacturers agreed to get started immediately. The Prime Minister made one last stipulation. "Gentlemen" he said with a grin, "Every single condom to be shipped to the states, shall be ten inches long, five inches wide, and labeled as Canadian size small".

=================================

The above story is not true, but is based on a true story. The actual story involved Bill Clinton and some personal lubricant, but that's all I'm authorized to say.

American ladies, there is one thing I want you to know. When you convert from Imperial measurements to Metric measurements, the number increases dramatically. My doors are open to any interested American woman.

Things I notice.

Try this. Rent an all female porno (or grab one from your collection), close your eyes and listen to the noises being made. Remembering that noise, watch a female tennis match in a similar manner. Just listening, I have a very hard time telling the two apart.

I notice a very disturbing trend in floors getting more and more shiny and reflective, and women wearing skirts less often.

I notice that my farts don't really smell that bad, but everyone acts like they do.

Old people are always telling me to slow down. Funny thing, I'm usually not driving at the time.

Babies and puppies go out of their way to poo in an inconvenient spot at an inconvenient time. It's like they KNOW.

Cats go out of their way to make sure they are sleeping in the most inconvenient spots. When they do this, a Mac truck won't make them move. I notice that cats are jerks.

I notice the difference between cheap beer and expensive beer. Expensive beer is much better. Until I've had eight or nine expensive beers. Then I don't notice the difference between the two at all.

I notice women with mustaches. In my town, I can't help not to. They ALL have mustaches.

Think no one will notice that bit of spinach stuck to your teeth? Trust me, I notice.

Every once and a while I go to an all you can eat buffet. I notice all the extremely overweight people there. I notice that they eat four or five times what I eat. I notice that their plates are piled high with high fat fried foods without a single vegetable. I notice my plate, with visible separation between the foods. I notice that this is a buffet, meaning you can go up as many times as you want. I notice that these fat people don't understand that.

When I go to the gym, I notice the same overweight people leaning against a cardio machine, eating a high calorie weight lifter protein bar and complaining about their weight problem.

I notice people picking their nose in the car. Especially in traffic jams. I notice car windows are transparent. I wonder why no one else does?

I notice smokers smoking underneath a no smoking sign. Assholes.

I notice when politicians lie. I've noticed that politicians lie every time they open their mouth.

I notice the right wing fundamentalist christian right movement scream bloody murder about being persecuted. I notice the same group persecuting christians of slightly different beliefs, atheists, homosexuals, muslims, pagans and wiccans. I noticed myself laughing at the bullshit being oozed by this group of idiots.

I notice women noticing when I am shifting my junk around. I notice women don't understand what it's like having your junk hanging between your legs, and you can only resist so long when it needs adjusting. How long can women resist scratching itches? It's like that.

These are the things I notice.

Advice for new parents

I'm not a parent. To a human. But I do have a rational and logical world view, that lets me see things that others sometimes don't.

Recently, I've been thinking about new parents, and how to help them. Maybe it's because my own biological clock is ticking. Well, not my clock, but the longer I stay not married the less likely it'll be I'll snag the right woman of child bearing abilities. Twenty-five year olds only marry eighty year olds for one thing, and it's not for their DNA.

Let's be honest. It's a tough world out there, and it's getting tougher. The cost of living is going up, salaries aren't going up to match it, and we're getting taxed harder and harder by our first world governments desperately clawing to stay that way.

It's not easy making it in this world, and it gets tougher when you have kids. Children are expensive! There's formula and medicines and powders and lotions and burping towels and nipple creams (for the breast feeding mother I think) and pony rides and tickle me whacked out fuzzy crack addicted Sesame Street characters, or whatever it is babies are into.

One of the things that just empty new parents bank accounts like there's no tomorrow is diapers. Walking down the baby aisle at the grocery store, I can see why. The only thing more expensive than a disposable diaper is a liter of gasoline, or possibly bottled water.

There's just no relief in site from diapers. From my limited understanding of parenthood, I'm lead to believe that the average child uses between thirty to forty-seven diapers a day and wears them until the age of twelve.

That is some SERIOUS money! Based on a cost of $0.40 per diaper, at forty-seven per day at 4,380 days (twelve years) that's a cost of $82,344.00. For DIAPERS! I don't know how parents do it, but now I understand all this "parents" allowance nonsense and why my yearly totaled taxes tally to fifty-three percent of my salary.

This is absolutely ridiculous. It's just so financially daunting for parents and draining the economic resources of my country, not to mention filling our landfills to the brim. How's an honest bum to make a living then, when he can't comb through a pile of garbage for treasures when he has to contend with mounds oozing rotten shit laden balls of plastic? It's just not fair!

So, I decided to come up with a solution to the problem. I prepared myself for some serious thinking. I put on some soft music, put on the tea, sat down in my most comfortable chair, and 18 long seconds later I came up with the perfect, most practical solution to this devastating problem.

Free Range Babies.

That's right, free range babies are the solution to the diaper problem. With a free range baby, you don't need diapers at all. I've come up with two types of free range baby, tailored to suit our northern climates.

1. Warm Month Free Range Baby

Warm month free range baby will be implemented during the times of the year when the temperature is above 18 degrees Celsius. The thrust of this program will be to make use of your back, or front yards, so that any waste made by the baby will go directly onto the ground. Once there, it will biodegrade, and return valuable nutrients back to the earth. You may choose to scoop your babies waste, brown bag it and sell it to farmers for fertilizer. Who knows, maybe next time you are enjoying a fresh salad, your baby could have helped grow it!

It's recommended that you build an outdoor pen or long exercise run for your baby. Babies need exercise too. Also, have a sheltered area so that your baby can get out of the rain or other elements if needed. You may also want to provide fresh water in between feedings, especially in the warmer weather. When it's hot and dry, your baby will dehydrate faster, and require more fluids.

2. Cold month free range baby

During the colder months, you would have to clothe your baby, rendering the free range program #1 completely ineffective. With the cold month free range baby program, all you need is a small room in your house and a few dozen bags of kitty litter, preferably the clumping kind. If you don't have an entire room to devote to this program, you can devote part of your basement or even a corner of another room. Just make sure you build an adequate containment birm to prevent baby escape or kitty litter overflow.

The idea being is that you fill this room or section five or six inches deep with the clumping kitty litter. Let your baby live in that area until (s)he is toilet trained. Remember, make SURE you scoop the clumps on a regular basis so your baby isn't rolling in his or her own filth, as it is a potential health hazard.

Also, it's good to take the appropriate steps so your baby does not escape this area. Otherwise, you'll be scrubbing the brown spot off your plush white shag carpeting.

I hope my brilliant idea helped you young parents in some way. Please, do not hesitate to pass this on to anyone you know who is pregnant for the first time, or has young children.

As always, I'm here to help.

-Spazoid

Completely Random

If nipples get bigger when it's cold, why the HELL does my penis do the opposite?

Further, when it's hot, why don't nipples go concave?

I'm not American, so maybe some of you can help me out. How the HELL does the republican party get so many votes? Texas isn't THAT big.

Why is a promiscuous woman a whore, while a promiscuous man just gets lucky a lot?

Why can my dog take neat clean poos with no or very few dingleberries, while every time I shit I need reams of TP so I don't skid mark my tighty whities? Clearly, dogs are the superior species.

Why can the office smokers crowd around doors, leaving a horrible and lasting stench in the lobby, but complain so violently when I crack one little fart?

Why do women who always wear low cut shirts get mad when you look at their cleavage?

Why do they call it Ovaltine? The can is ROUND. They should call it ROUNDTINE. HA HA HAHAHA HA HA HA HA HA! I fucking hate you, Jerry Sienfeld.

Who on gods green earth made Celine Dion popular? They should be shot. After her.

Rachel Ray and Dr. Phil should join Celine Dion on the Island, just before H-Bomb testing commences.

I can't wait until Katie Holmes baby grows up so we can all guess at who she most resembles. I'm putting $100.00 right now that it'll be ANYBODY but Tom Cruise.

You can light farts. What I don't understand, is why we aren't taking advantage of this? Seriously. There should be cars with a hole in the seat going to the gas tank, and our diets should consist of eggs, beans and all bran, and phasyme and beano should be outlawed. Energy crisis solved.

Pussy farts are SO much funnier than regular farts. No question.

Children annoy me. Fat children really annoy me. I don't know why. Maybe because they don't know what a truffle shuffle is when I ask them to do it?

Do you know why Al Gore wants all Americans to use less energy? It isn't to slow global warming. Its to leave enough energy to heat his giant swimming pool and 10,000 square foot mansion. What a fucking mook.

And on to Canadian Politics. Why is it that the Liberal party of Canada can ensure that over 50% of your gross income goes to taxes, get caught stealing money, ask to raise taxes to "better Canada" at the time of a federal election that the opposition called because of a non confidence vote, and people still vote them into official opposition with so many seats it isn't funny? It this anything like America and their Republicans?

Is it true what they say?

If I get stuck on a deserted Island with nothing on it, I hope its with a bunch of really fat people. That way, I can lash them together and make a raft to float to civilization with.

Why do Catholic church leaders have to wear silly hats? Don't they think they've done enough to hurt their credibility?

It's true what Confucius says. If I fart at the church, I do sit in my own pew.

Thank you for putting up with today's self indulgence.