Why I'll never be a superhero

As promised, but probably not well received, I'd like to talk more about my superpower. Except I have come to the conclusion that it's not actually a superpower and it doesn't actually make me a superhero.

You see, superhero's can do things. Spider man can climb walls and shoot webs out of his wrists (Stan Lee probably didn't want to make the last one TOO accurate) and superman can fly and shoot lasers out of his eyes. What can I do? Making lots of poo unnaturally? The best I could ever hope for is to catch a purse snatcher running, poop in his way just before he gets there and hope he slips and falls.

That's why I'm going to have to add to my power if I ever want to become a superhero.

I'm going to have to learn how to projectile poop.

It's not going to be easy. I mean, my body wasn't designed for projectile pooping, it was designed to let it go gently so as not to break the porcelain. Being in engineering, I know that if I want to produce more pressure, I have to make a constriction. Therefore, I have to attach a poop nozzle to my ass. Kind of like a fire nozzle but for poo.

I then realized that if I was to get a poop nozzle, I'd have to get my ass muscles into the proper shape to force the poop past the greater ass constriction, otherwise this might happen:
And I really, really don't want that to happen.

So in order to get my ass muscles in shape I'd have to hire some personal trainers. And who would know more about getting rectums into shape than homosexual personal trainers?

And then there's the ammunition. I'd have to think very carefully about what I ate. For example, if I knew my enemy was going to be big, strong and slow, I'd have to eat a box or two of all bran for the big bomber. If my enemy was going to be lite and fast, I'd be eating corn for that machine gun effect.

My super hero apparel would have to be appropriate for my power as well.
But then I realized this:

I'd be strutting around in a speedo with an open butt crack, with something that looked like a dildo sticking out of it. My two companions, Biff and Lance, would be flaming harder than Liberachi, and I'd have no choice to go by the name "Butt plug man" or "The Incredible Poop Man!" or "Anus McGhee."

That really, really isn't going to help me get a girlfriend.

And that's why I'll never be a superhero.

A disturbing realization.

For years I've thought I had a super power. And I still think I do, it's just a different power - and it's shared.

You see, I have the unique ability to eat eight ounces of food and somehow make sixteen ounces of poo. It irks me to no end - I have to be consistent with the courtesy flush EVERY TIME. It irked my parents too. I was a normal sized baby with adult sized poos, which presented a huge logistical issue that was promptly solved by adult undergarments and duct tape.
At a family dinner not too long ago, we were talking about our favorite subject, bowel movements and related poo talk. Yes, I know it's not appropriate dinner table conversation nor should it be a family favorite, but perhaps it gives you an insight into my strange and corrupted psyche.

As it turns out, my old man has the opposite power of me. He can eat sixteen ounces of food and make eight ounces of poo. That irks him to no end, because there is nothing that makes a man feel like a man other than a good shit, a shower and a shave (and perhaps a blowjob). A good B.M. should leave you with an empty feeling and a quivering anus, and that's not possible when you're passing shriveled raisins.
Matter can neither be created nor destroyed: Yet it seems that I am capable of the former and my old man the latter.

That made me feel special until it hit me: We weren't creating or destroying matter, we were transporting it.

My superpower isn't creating poo, it's teleporting poo into my colon, from my father.

GROSS!

My old man once told me a story of when he was in the jungles of South America. He apparently pissed off a witch doctor, who put a curse on his first born. I always thought it was bullshit, but I guess not.

Now, if you'll excuse me. My dad just ate some curry and I'm turtling.

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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Poo

Some Sage Advice.....

Public Bathrooms Piss Me Off

A bathroom, to me, is a sanctuary. It's a place of solitude, a place of quite, a place for reflection, a place of relief. My best thinking is usually done one the can as I'm squeezing one out (I expect some shit head jokes. Go ahead, get it out of your system.)

In other words, for me a good trip to the bathroom is like a mini vacation. I can go in stressed and angry and come out happy and relaxed.

Because I place such high stock in bathrooms, public bathrooms are extra offensive to me.

I hate public bathrooms.

The Smell

When you walk into a bathroom, it should smell clean, airy and inviting. At best, public bathrooms smell like urine. At worst, some asshole sasquatch is grunting out a chocolate mud baby that smells like it crawled up there and died - three weeks ago.

The Sounds

Bathrooms are not meeting places. Bathrooms are for expelling wastes. Take your overly loud animated conversation outside. Now. Also, I realize that the bathroom is the best, and only place to make dookie (unless you're camping, where you MUST dig a hole, as shit does roll downhill). Regardless, would you please, PLEASE get more fibre in your diet or something? Machine gun flatulence is funny ONLY outside of my fortress of solitude. And that disgusting wet runny shotgun bum blast? Yea, that's what I want to hear on relaxation time. If you have a loud bum, buy an ass muffler, ok?

The Sights

We're all adults, right? Which means we should all know what goes where. Why are there piles of shredded paper towel under the dispenser? Pull some out, use it, put it in the garbage. It's that simple. If your home looks like that too, you're a fucking pig and should be hurt.

Some people must be balding - DOWN THERE. I had no idea that pubic hair shed so much and so fast. Seriously. With all the short curlies strewn about, you'd think that somebody was trying to grow a pubic chia pet or something.

People, when you shart, do at least one courtesy flush. A giant bum pow not only sounds nasty, it looks like somebody loaded a shotgun with poo and unloaded a few rounds on the back of the bowl. I don't want ANY part of my body that close to poo, that's just sick.

Also, the toilet has a flush lever for a purpose - to take your waste away. USE IT. When I see what looks like month old catfood and paper mixed with corn floating around the bowl, it makes me want to vomit.

If you INSIST on peeing in the poo bowl instead of the urinal, have some bloody respect and don't pee on the rim. I want to sit in urine almost as much as I want to sit on a cactus. If I ever catch somebody getting urine on the bowl, I WILL make them lick it up. Pricks.

If I ever rule the world, you can be sure that public rest rooms will be cleaner, safer, and more inviting places.

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

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Two Girls, One Cup

Last night I was watching Family Guy. Brian made Stewie watch the video "Two Girls, one Cup", the results of which were Stewie being disgusted and Brian laughing. Of course, Stewie being latently gay wanted to find "two GUYS one cup". What a freak!

I've heard of the video, but had never actually seen it. I was morbidly curious, even though I knew the theme of it.

So I searched for it on the internet. I finally found it (someone had gone to a LOT of trouble to make sure this video wasn't available to the masses anymore). It started off well enough, with one girl rubbing her face in another's tits. Sweeeeeet! However, it all went downhill from there. Seriously downhill.

We're talking this kind of downhill:
As I was watching it, I believe my facial expression looked something like this:

Moooooog had a guest post today from a girl named Kristin. She shit herself. The visual imigary was HORRID.

Two girls, one cup was a HUNDRED times worse.

When I rule the world, law #1 will be as follows:

DOOKIE IS NOT FOR EATING!

Here's what got this whole ball rolling. And I will not, never, EVER post the actual two girls one cup video on this blog! So don't ask.



That's all I have to say.

Spazoid out.

=========
If you liked the above, you may also like:

Primates Rule!
Fermented Poo
Advice for new parents
Fiber is your friend?
The END product

Primates Rule!

C.Rag doesn't like primates in any form. I don't understand what's the matter with her.

Seriously.

Monkeys are FUNNY. They do all the things that retarded people do that we find funny. The difference is, IT'S OK FOR US TO LAUGH AT THEM.

Like, when I see a retarded person stick his finger in the dirt, his ear, his nose, his dirty un-wiped bum, and then his mouth, I laugh. Well, except I keep it on the D/L because I'm afraid a group of fat crusading mothers with no rational thought and nothing better to do will beat me to a bloody pulp and sue me after I get out of the hospital for causing emotional distress. And win.

But go to the zoo and see a monkey beating off or throwing poo at another monkey, laugh away! People will join you!

Really, how can a monkey NOT be funny?



==========

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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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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

To be the Canadian - Part 1, dreams of the big city

There are many stereotypes and mythes surrounding Canadian life. I'm writing this post today hoping I can clear up a few of those, by describing some of the events and actions I endure on a daily basis, as a Canadian. There is much to being Canadian, which is why I have titled this only part one of a series of posts to come.

I apologize if this is a bit quick. I'd like to make it longer, but my turn on Canada's Central Ontario computer is almost done. We got a colour screen last week! Everything is so vibrant! I can't believe the graphics on the new copy of PacMan we got on 5 1/4" floppy last week! But I digress.

It was the middle of August, when summer finally came. I was getting ready to move out of the winter igloo and into the summer log cabin, as I only had a week left before the igloo started to melt. I crawl out of the igloo and head towards the cabin, only to find a family of Grizzly bears have taken residence. Shit. Once a grizzly family settles in somewhere it's damn near impossible to get them out. What's worse, there's a full grown mom and pop, and three teen aged cubs.

Unfortunately, the night before I had lent my high caliber rifle to Lenny to go moose hunting in his backyard. You know Lenny from Canada right? Man, what a hoser, eh? Anyways, they are only grizzlies, it's not like I'm facing polar bears or anything. I can take a grizzly, or possibly two of the teen aged cubs, but not all five of them. No way sir! I'm not crazy!

Well, as every Canadian knows, grizzly and beaver are mortal enemies. The only way to get grizzlies to move out of a location is to make them think they have immediate competition for the space by beaver. Of course, beavers are inherently lazy animals, so you have to really force the situation. It's easy to catch beaver during the day, because they are nocturnal. So off I go to the beaver damn, poke a hole in their nest, and scoop up the lot of them.

A dozen beaver in hand, I sneak up to my log cabin kitchen window opening and throw them in. I then run like the dickens, as the mayhem inside ensues. Screaming, growling, gnashing of teeth, bangs and bumps, this goes on for 15 minutes before I see the door come flying open and the grizzly family going full tilt in one direction, followed by a dozen angry beavers. I swear, I saw one of the beavers flip the bears off before heading back to fix their broken ceiling.

As I make myself busy at the cabin cleaning up the bloody chunks of bear and poo of various sizes and messes, I find my thoughts wandering to moving. I always wanted to check out Canada's biggest city, Toronto. It's up to 500 people now, and that's enough to keep the bears away. It's not that I mind small town life, mind you, but I'm really getting sick of these stupid bears. Just yesterday I was getting ready to go to work. I come out of my igloo and what do I see? A dumb bear leaning up against the dogsled. I had to shoot the damned thing because it wouldn't move. It even took a swipe at me! At least the dogs had a good breakfast that morning.

Really though, have you ever slipped on beaver poo? Those stupid little animals leave their turds EVERYWHERE. I heard that in Toronto, the mayor hired some Inuit to train the beaver to pick up after themselves. I think. Either that or the Inuit just picked up all the beavers and left with them, I don't know. I don't really care though. Beaver are only good for scaring bears anyways, and I wouldn't need them anymore if I was living in the big city.

Speaking of which, here's a picture of our grand provincial capital.

Some people say that cities are ugly, but I disagree. I find the architecture awe inspiring! It's so straight and level, the degree of engineering is incredible! Those vibrant colours, and look! Do you see that? It's a CAR! Wow.

If I moved to Toronto I could get a desk job. I'm not quite sure what a desk job is, but I imagine it involves assembling desks. Or moving them maybe. I'm not sure really, never having seen a desk. I am told it looks something like a picnic table that's made out of metal and has something called "drawers". They make furniture out of metal in Toronto! Whole pieces of furniture! Man, it must be nice to be rich!

In Toronto, you don't have to carry a machete around with you to hack away at all the over growth to get from place to place. You don't need a compass either, because they have something there called "roads". Basically, a road is a path that's kept clear and is lined with cement. I can't imagine! Old man Smith has a cement foundation he builds his igloo around, but that's only because his dad got rich after a trip to America. In America, they have these things called "malls", that have "water fountains" in them. Apparently, Americans throw pennies into these fountains and make wishes. What a superstitious lot. Everyone knows that you have to catch a loon in a lake under a full moon for a wish to come true. Anyways, Smiths old man waded around in the fountain and came back to Canada with almost three American dollars! Talk about living the high life! Anyways, the people in Toronto must be super rich to be able to pave their streets!

I want to do all the big city things! Drive a car! Eat a burger! Drink beer out of a glass bottle (instead of a hollowed out bear skull)! Wear clothing made from something called "cloth" instead of moose pelt! See a movie on the big screen! In colour! With sound! Have sex with a woman that isn't some sort of cousin! All the good stuff!

But I know that big city life just isn't for me. I know that I'll go there, and I just won't fit in. I won't be cooth, I won't be cool, I won't be able to adapt myself to the high standards of high society. Hygene for one. I mean, they have something called a toothbrush, which means they have teeth!

I spent the summer thinking about the big city, thinking about all the things I'd never be able to see or do. All the things I'd miss out on in my life, the things that city folk get to do every day. The more I think about it, the more I realize how happy I am here. I mean, I'm my own made man. I'm responsible for the pinecones and deer liver in my gut! The skins on my back, and the roof over my head!

With the summer behind me, and my thoughts now on the happy life I'd created for myself here, I felt a smug satisfaction come over me. I no longer felt the need to turn my back on real Canadian life. With that, I went outside to start building the winter igloo. It was late September after all, and I wouldn't be able to last in the summer cabin much longer.

As I waded through the shin deep snow towards the spot where I build the igloo, I see that same bear family making their home in the remnants of last years shelter. Blast, and Lenny still has my rifle! Oh well, off to find some beavers.

Until next time,

-Canadian Spazoid

Fibre is your friend?

As much as I hate to admit it, sometimes I have problems. I don't like showing weakness to the eyes of my readers, who I'm sure consider me some sort of great prophet or god. But sometimes, you just have to do what you have to do.

Recently, after having some intestinal issues, I purchased a fibre product. This product was designed to help get things moving. Being the powerhouse that I am, I decided to triple the dose, as I thought a single dose wouldn't do much on my herculean gut. Luckily for me, I have a stalker who follows me around with a camera to chronicle this misadventure. The problems started at work. Lucky for me my underlings are really nice guys, or this could have gotten messy.


Later, when I got home, things really went from bad to worse.


I thought things couldn't have gotten worse. I was feeling ok, so I decided to go out and have some fun. It hit me right there and then, and I just couldn't hold it back. It was so embarrassing, I don't think that church will ever let me back in!

Folks, trust me on this one. Next time, follow the instructions on the package. Don't be a hero. Really, it's not a good idea.

The END product

I hope everyone had a good Christmas. I had an excellent holiday, full of family and friends and cheer. I also received some generous gifts, which I didn't deserve because I'm a huge jerk.

Christmas day was spent with my buddy John and his family. His mother and wife cooked a terrific meal, including my all time favorite, ham. I LOVE pig. The way to my heart is through food, and the way to keep my heart is through pig meat. I don't know why, but this other white meat is just spectacular. If I could only have one, I'd choose pig. I don't care if it meant me going out into the woods with a sharpened stick, I'd get me some pig! But I digress.

Johns house is a dog friendly house, and to that end my puppy Jinx was with me. She LOVES his place, his dog Buddy, and sniffing around his back yard. Accordingly, everyone there loves Jinx, including his youngest daughter Aja. She's slightly bigger than Jinx and spends her time carrying the dog around, which Jinx tolerates very well. As usual, Jinx was a big hit. Everybody was cooing over her, and everyone was FEEDING her.

Here Jinx, have some turkey. Here Jinx, have some cheese! Here Jinx, want a cracker? Have a nice ham bone. Hey Mike, did you know Jinx likes parsnip?

Anyone who is a dog owner knows what happens to dogs when they deviate from their usual diet of kibble, sticks, insects, grass and cat poo. Especially when the food is rich, varied and plentiful. Jinx has a cast iron stomach, but even she has her limits.

Shortly after everyone was finished dinner, she asked to go outside. She was very insistent about it, she had to go NOW! I let her out, and 10 minutes later let her back in. Shortly there after she jumped up on the couch beside me, hung her head over the edge and BLARF! Projectile vomit halfway across the rug! Wonderful. As me and the kid sitting beside me are scooping up runny vomit and vegetable chunks with paper plates, I notice a smell. The smell was very distinct, and was coming from the rear end of Jinx. I look at her bum and yes, there are leftovers all over her rear end. Apparently, vomit was not the only projectile that had come from her that day.

So, as I had the dog tucked under one arm bum end out, and a wet wipe in the other hand, my thoughts naturally wandered to poo, the end products of all end products.

As some of you may recall, some time ago my flawed logic identified pooing as the meaning of life. As such, much of my time is spent thinking about it. After all, if it truly is the meaning of life it does deserve some thought.

There is nothing like a good bowel movement. You feel better, lighter, more energetic and happier. How many of you can honestly tell me a really good poo doesn't make you feel like a million bucks? Just look at your average dog. Slow and mopey till he gets outside. After he's done dropping his load, he comes back in the house and tears around like nothing is wrong on this earth. I truly believe, that if everyone has at least one good bowel movement once a day and EVERY day, there would be much less war and violence on this planet.

But what makes a good poo? There are several things. It must have good volume. It must have the perfect consistency, and it must come out all in one big piece. It must not stink too much, and there should be little or no clean up needed afterwards. Most importantly, it must slide out quickly and with little effort. If it is the perfect poo, your bung hole will flutter with contentment and you'll feel light enough to float for at least the next 30 minutes.

Not every poo is a good poo. One of my least favorite poo's is the wipe forever poo. In this case, you just cannot get clean! Wipe after wipe after wipe, its just as dirty as the last one. Half a roll of toilet paper is spent just getting clean enough to pull up your pants to walk over to the nearest shower.

Then of course there is the movement where a little teeny piece is left. You can feel it there, hanging, refusing to drop, teasing you. You know that if you try to remove it with TP, it'll just make a huge mess all over the place. So there you are, with a itsy bitsy turd hanging off your bum like a butterfly cocoon hangs off a branch, shifting with the breeze. That's where the wiggle comes in. You sit there on the can, wiggling in every direction, left, right, up, down, side to side, doing the modified running man just to get this piece of poo to drop off your bum.

Don't you just hate the phantom poo? You have to go and NOW, and the only thing that comes out is a fart? Just plain old disappointment.

One of the most annoying is the "i'm not done yet". You think you're finished, you clean up, you're just about ready to flush, and BOOM! You sit back down to a poo that says to you "Sorry I'm late, did I miss anything?". This jerk is usually accompanied by two or three more poops that just can't find the accelerator pedal on the highway of the large intestine.

Let's not talk about the diaretic poops.

Of course, there's the floater poo. Those poops that float on the top of the bowl like displaced tree branches, just daring you to try and flush them. "Go ahead" they say, "Just when you think you got us down the bowl, at least one of us is actually hiding, waiting to float up and leave the next person a present".

All in all, please be sure to use a courtesy flush if you're using a guest bathroom. If not to save yourself some embarrassment, at least out of respect for the toilet owner. To those who like to host, please, PLEASE make sure you have LOTS of toilet paper within easy reach! You never know when you or your guests are going to have a wipe forever poop! There's nothing more embarrassing than having to excuse yourself early just because of a dirty bum.

Thank you for reading the above self indulgence. I'd like to dedicate this to my father, who has an appreciation for the finer side of bathroom humour. Stay tuned for public bathroom etiquette!

Poo Coffee

As my loyal and regular reader(s?) know, I recently had a birthday and turned old. Part of any decent birthday is birthday gifts, and this one was no exception. I'm not a particularly needy guy, and I always ask for no gifts. Also, I'm an ass and I don't deserve it. Regardless, every time, I get nice gifts. I think next year I'm going to ask everyone to pitch in and get me a Ferrari, so no one actually bothers getting me anything.

One gift stood out among the rest. My mom's crazy fun friend "S", has an awesome sense of humour, way down low in the gutter, somewhere where mine hangs out. Well, not as low as mine, but she is a 48 year old mom of two. Anyways, we often trade dirty off colour jokes that makes my mom blush and my dog cover her ears. She got me the best gift I've gotten.

Poo coffee.

Seriously. I opened the gift bag, and there was a coffee grinder. SWEET! I love coffee, and now I can buy the good stuff and grind my own. Thanks S! But no, it wasn't over yet. There was still something else in the bag.

It was a bag of whole coffee beans. Cool, cool, she gave me coffee beans to grind up in the grinder. Sweet, right on. But these beans were not Nabob, or After Eight, or anything like that. It was called Luwak Coffee.

Luwak Coffee is something known as animal coffee. Basically, you get an animal to eat coffee beans, then you sort through their poop, wash them off, and sell them to dumbass rich people for $1000.00 a kilogram. This particular animal is called a civet, some sort of weird Indonesian cat. They claim the coffee tastes better, less bitter, the digestive juices take out the bitter or some such.

So, me being the guy that I am, try it. Just for comparison, see below the picture of coffee beans on the top and cat poo coffee beans on the bottom, and note the difference:



Can you see the difference? I can't.

So, I put the cat poo coffee beans into the grinder, ground them up, put them in my coffee maker, and plugged it in. The first thing I noticed was the aroma of coffee mixed with poo. I just love it when my house smells like poo! At the very least, it makes it easy to dump someone. After smelling your poo house, she'll actually dump you. It's done, and SHE looks like the ass, allowing you to date her friends if you wish, but I digress.

I poured myself a cup and took a sip. Yes, there was a coffee taste in there. But there was a much stronger, over powering taste that went along with it. Can you guess what that taste might be?

At a grand a kilo, this is the stuff of rich people. Interesting isn't it. Who else would pay the average man's monthly take home pay for coffee that tastes like poo and consider it a delicacy? Rich people are just grasping at more and more straws to fake superiority, aren't they?

S, THANK YOU. That was the best laugh I've had all year! I'm sorry that I probably won't be drinking any more of that coffee. Well, maybe next time I'm at your place I'll do the brewing. In the meantime, I'm off to purchase some poor man's coffee beans that haven't been digested by an Indian cat first.

This old coot

Well, that's it. Today I'm officially old. I'm no longer in my twenties, I'm now in my thirties. How time flies eh?

Now that I'm a thirty year old, I'll have to start thinking of things that an old person would need. It's important that I'm prepared when the inevitable happens, which will be sometime this weekend, I'm sure of it. Forthwith, here is the list of stuff. Anybody that has experience being old, please leave a comment with things that I've missed, ok?

Clothing:
Jeans, T-shirts, hoodies, rugby shirts, running shoes, all of these will have to be pitched. Old people don't wear such items I'm to understand. I'll have to go out and purchase a robe and slippers, because that's what old guys wear in the house, right? And for when I go out, I'll have to get pants that have the waist that fits up around the nipples and the legs that stop 3 inches from the top of the calf. Also, does anybody know where I can find 2 foot long suspenders to hold it up? Old men wear wide brimmed hats too right? Damn, am I ever going to look sexy in my new ensemble! I bet all the ladies at the home I'm going to book myself into will be all over me!

Heat:
It's my understanding that old people like it really, really hot. So in preparation of the need for heat I've called in Sears to replace my medium efficiency furnace with a high efficiency furnace. Also, I'm getting a fireplace installed in every room of the house. I've purchased a new thermostat that I've programmed so that it cannot be turned below 35 degree's C. You know, just in case a young person (29 or under) comes into the house and gets hot and tries to turn it down. Could you imagine this old guy living in a room temperature house? I hear that old people can freeze within five minutes of exposure to room temperatures. Hey, I might be old but I don't want to die before my time! Especially of something as careless as letting the house get too cold, like, say, 20 degrees C.

Incontinence:
Old people can't hold their bladders. Or their bowels. Well, sometimes they can't poo at all. So for those days when I can't poo, I've stocked up on all bran, ex lax, and extra strength suppositories. For those days when I can't hold my bowels, I've stocked up on depends adult diapers. Actually, I'll be wearing them every day because my understanding of old is that you can't stop pissing yourself, right? Oh yea, I've installed all of those old people grab bars in the bathroom, just in case I actually do make it to the shitter I'm not stuck in the sitting position until someone can come save me.

Old person smell:
Just because I'm old, doesn't mean I have to smell. So to combat old person smell from various things (see above) I've bought stock in every major deodorant company out there. I might stink, but it won't be from pissing in my depends!

Decor:
I've pitched all my furniture. In it's place, I've purchased couches and chairs with flowery print cloth. All my furniture is now encased in plastic and smells of mothballs too. In place of my painted walls is ugly wall paper. Hardwood floors are a thing of young people, I've covered my floors with 4 inch deep plush magenta coloured carpet. Also good for padding me when I fall, I might not even break my hip!

Vehicle:
I've traded in my pick up truck for a Ford Crown Victoria. I'm currently training myself to back up without looking, drive slow in the fast lane with the turn signal on, and back into objects without realizing I did anything. Also, I'd like to take this opportunity to tell Mimzie she's going to hell, because I know that eventually she'll be trying to run my old ass down. Right Mimzie?

Dinner and bed times:
Tonight, I'm eating dinner at 4 pm. You might think that I'll be hungry by 8, but not to worry, I'll be in bed by 7:30. Also, I've eliminated all salt from the house, because I'm positive my doctor will insist that I'm on a low sodium diet. To ensure that I keep my depends as empty as possible, I've also eliminated any and all spices from the cupboards. I'll only eat steamed broccoli and boiled chicken, to be safe.

Teeth:
I've purchased denture cleaner and poly grip, as I understand old people don't have their own teeth. I've pre booked with my dentist for next week to make me some dentures, as I'm sure all of my teeth will fall out sometime probably Sunday around 3 pm.

Sports:
For some reason, I'm almost positive that I'll actually like golf. Also, I'm sure I'll have this urge to take up lawn bowling. Sometime in five years from now, I'll take up shuffleboard, and five years after that it'll be seated shuffleboard as I'll no longer be able to stand for more than 15 seconds in a row.

Incessant Jabbering:
As a young man, I liked to talk but I also liked to shut up. Now, I'm betting I'll talk to anybody who will listen for hours and hours on end, not letting them get a word in edgewise. Hey! I just realized that getting old is kind of like being female in that regard!

Pharmaceutical Cocktails:
I've heard old people take lots and lots of pills. I'm not sure what kind, when, or for what, but I'm going down to the pharmacy later demanding drugs. I'll let you know how that works out.

Thanks to listening to this old coot babble on. For those of you who enjoy reading my blog, just remember, I'm now thirty years old. I could drop dead any day now, so if I stop blogging, it's probably because I'm dead. Or just because I can no longer operate this new fangled technology!

I was gonna

...post something a little more comprehensive today. Butt, bean the guy that I yam, I decided to back pedal and shoot this pic into the stinky breeze. Please, by all means, add your reBUTTals.

Gone to the Dogs

When he sobers up, he's going to be one hurting unit!

NOT SAFE FOR WORK!

http://wasteaminute.com/video/21/Doggy-Style.html

Edit: I just HAD to add this one!

http://wasteaminute.com/video/30/Girl-poops-pants.html

Really, it's OK to fart.

Does anybody remember the show In Living Color? They did an episode where they spoofed a product called flatusense. This product went up your bum and changed the horrible fart odour into something more palatable, like new car smell or laundry breeze.

Little did I know that someone would actually come up with a product. Introducing, UnderEZ by Under Tec! This is underwear with a replaceable odour eliminating cartridge of wool and activated carbon.

Put these babies on and fart with impunity! No more will that volatile odour embarrass you at parties, social functions, and workplace meetings.

The whole website and product is centered around the odour as the single source of embarrasment. The underwear corrects only that problem.

Excuse me, but don't farts make sounds too? I guess it turns from embarrassing to funny only if there's no smell. Hey Mr. President, thanks for inviting me to lunch! FAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRT! Smell anything? No? HAHAHAHAHAH! Funny eh?

The other funny part is these things look like a giant diaper. So you don't stink anymore, but you still sound like a walking whoopee cushion and have the crinkling sound of a giant diaper to boot?

Here is an idea. Instead of wearing special underwear, how about eating some beano or gasx? Maybe try holding it in? How about changing your diet so it doesn't include broccoli with refried beans? Hey, if it's that much of a problem, try seeing a doctor?

I wonder if it protects against sharting for those extra lazy people? Or maybe a pee pad up front for those really, really lazy people?

90% of the world is starving and we're worried about smelly farts? Nice!

My Superpower

Many of you might not believe this, but super powers exist. Yes, humans are capable of having super powers, but it isn't like in the comic books.

Usually, people will be unusually good at something in particular, and that is their super power. A secretary might be able to type 200 words a minute. Watching someone type that fast and you might agree that it's beyond normal human abilities. Watching a sprinter do the 100 meter dash in less than 10 seconds, it would boggle your mind as to how the average person could even approach such speeds.

Some people have greater super powers than others at the expense of everything else. These people might have great musical talent, they can learn a new instrument in a matter of hours and be able to memorize songs and play them back the first time they here them. These people are called idiot savants, and have their amazing super power at the sacrifice of the ability to even be able to take care of themselves and function normally in society.

I found my super power.

My super power is so totally amazing as to completely break the laws of physics, yet so useless to have absolutely no practical purpose.

I can make poo.

You might be thinking, so what, I can make poo too. Everybody makes poo, what's the big deal?

Well, the big deal is I can make LOTS of poo. If I eat 10 ounces of food, I'll make 16 ounces of poo. Seriously. One of the primary laws of physics is that matter cannot be created or destroyed; but I CAN create matter. Only if it's in the form of poo.

My superpower is so seriously awesome in ability but so seriously lacking in practicality as to be laughable. Ok, so I can create matter from nothing. Too bad it has no practical purpose. I can only create 50% or so more than I eat, so I couldn't even profit from generating fertilizer!

It figures. The one thing I'm really good at will just turn most people off. Well, unless I move to Japan. I'll be a serious ladies man there (weird, weird stuff goes on in Japan).

Does anybody else have any superpowers? Useful powers, even?

Colon Hydrotherapy -or- Whats going up my bum?

So I was driving down the road yesterday and I noticed a big sign that read "Colon Hydrotherapy!". What? What exactly is it? I looked it up on wiki and yes, it's exactly as it says. Colon hydrotherapy is a homeopathic enema, designed for "wellness". Is it just me, or are these homeopaths grasping at more and more straws? I bet the homeopath who thought this one up is either gay or just plain perverted. "hmmm, we've already bilked millions of gullible people out of their hard earned money with bullshit 'cures', now how do I get them to pay me to sexually molest them?".

Apparently what these people do is fill your ass with water 'enriched' with vitamins and minerals and then let the water spill back out into a bucket or other receptacle. Gone are the days when you can just swallow a multivitamin, I guess it's better absorbed being shoved up your bum? Call me old fashioned but really, one of my holes is entry only and the other one is exit only. You guess which ones.

Oh, get this! According to wikipedia sometimes they load the water with COFFEE! No longer will you have to wait for it to brew, simply squirt it up your poop hole for an instant pick me up in the morning! Imagine the money you save on milk and sugar! I can see a whole new office kitchen in the morning. "How's the coffee coming, Bill?" "Oh hey Mark. Just loading up the turkey baster and we'll be ready to go." "Great! Let me just drop my trousers, would you mind loading me up?"

Wiki says that these alternative medicine practitioners believe that this colon hydrotherapy prevents something they refer to as autointoxication, or the build up of fecal matter in the large intestine. Surprise surprise, this theory is NOT accepted in mainstream medicine. You know why I think that is? I get build up of fecal matter in my large intestine EVERY DAY. Know what I do? Sit down on the can and rid myself of it. Sometimes twice a day. No water jets required. Amazing, eh?

Wiki also says that there have been DEATHS from this hydrotherapy. DEATHS. Apparently some nut case didn't maintain sanitary conditions, and six people died from infection. How would you live that one down? Hi, my name is Joe. I'm an idiot that falls for bullshit fake snake oils to cure me from diseases and syndromes I don't have. I let some idiot squirt water up my bum and now I'm dead from it. I just may be the worlds smartest person!

Wiki states you shouldn't do this if you have diverticulitis, ulcerative colitis, Crohn's disease, hemorrhoids, tumors, heart disease, kidney disease, anal pathologies or just after bowel surgery. And since it isn't recognized by any REAL doctor, healthy people shouldn't or don't need to do it, either. That pretty well leaves it up to total and complete quackery.

So if you go get colon hydrotherapy, here is my advice. Just take a big shit on a regular basis. It'll save you a wad of cash and possible horrible side effects (like death). Oh, and if you don't shit regularly, try eating a decent diet, or increasing your fiber, instead of stupid insta cure all's like colon hydrotherapy.

The meaning of life

It is the eternal human pondering. What is the meaning of life? Why are we here, who or what are we?

Many say it is to serve whatever deity it is that they worship. Others say it is to make more babies. Still others believe it is the journey that matters, what you do with your life, and how you improve upon yourself and others.

I have struggled with this question for many many years. What is the meaning of life? More importantly, what is the meaning of life to me?

I like children but I don't know if I'll ever have any. If the meaning of life was to have children, then there are many who go unfulfilled by choice or by design.

I don't believe in any deities, and will not serve one. The idea that the meaning is only to serve a god who doesn't make his presence known to all so there is no question is an absurd one, in my eyes.

It wasn't until today, watching my dog play in the park that it hit me, like a load of manure.

When she squatted to defecate for her third time that day, I looked at her and said "Is that what you're all about, dog?"

That's IT! That explains everything about the meaning of life! ALL LIFE CREATES WASTE! Gods aren't proven, only females have children, but everybody poops!

That is the one thing that is common to everything. Even plants, by way of respiration, take in nutrients and expend waste.

There you have it then. We exist to process nutrients and the excretion of waste. It's the one thing that's mutually exclusive to any and ALL forms of life, from simple bacteria and protozoa all the way to blue whales and men.

Boy am I glad I came to this realization, because now I know I'm successful in life.

Successful at least once a day, sometimes twice!