A picture of my HUGE cock.

What exactly where you thinking, pervs?

Old ladies are dirty pigs.

*Update: July 17/08. Everyone go over to Slicksumbitch to see my guest post today!

Yes, that's correct. Old ladies are dirty pigs. So are young ladies as a matter of fact, but I really don't mind that one at all.

Now, feminazis, before you get your underarm hair in a braid, just let me explain, ok?

Part of my employment responsibilities include care of all of my County small facilities on their own wells. As such, I make the rounds to the 20+ community halls, arena's, and the like every week. My timing couldn't have been worse on the one. You see, I walked into a women's institute meeting.

Local women's institutes are a support group that's a throw back to old times when women didn't have any rights. Such as the rights to vote, to wear shoes, to speak, and to generally live a comfortable life.

Great strides were made by these women then, which is good, except I really wish that the pendulum hung in the middle now, instead of far off in the other direction that make out men to be evil and in need of horrid torture. But I digress.

You see, the women that make up these institutes are also throw backs to those times. I believe the average age was about 106. As I walked into the building, all talking stopped and all eyes were on me."Look!" one shouted. "A man!"

As I walked into the building with my basket full of tools, the front door shut behind me, of it's own accord. You know, like you see in scary ghost horror flicks. "Just here to inspect the water system" I said, moving cautiously forward. It was then I felt a sharp pain in my behind.

I looked at my bum to see a bony hand clamped with vice like strength, attached to someone who could easily have been my great grandma. A toothless maw opened, and said "hello there young man!"

I panicked. I bolted, leaving a swath of jeans in the granny's hands. I saw with dismay that she took them and put them to her face and took a deep inhale. So disgusting. I ran towards the basement door, and salvation, through a sea of reaching and grasping liver spotted hands and the sounds of decrepit cat calls.

I finally made it to the basement door, threw it open, ran inside and closed it behind me. I wedged a few concrete blocks behind it, and finally, I was safe.

I looked down at myself. Half my jeans were gone, my shirt was missing, and I was covered in scratches left by gnarled, yellowed nails. I had to get out of there!

I opened the tiny window and squeezed my way out. Looking around, I could see nobody. Freedom! I got to my feet and ran towards the car and my salvation, when the grand pooba of the grannies stepped out in front of me.
"We paid for you and you're staying!" she screeched, her hand out in a defiant stop gesture. I continued my desparate journey to the car, only to be knocked flat on my ass by an incredibly powerful 86 lb woman.

She straddled my chest, and yelled "Now get back in there and do your job! And get into costume for fucks sake!"

"I don't know what the hell your talking about lady! I'm just a County worker! All I wanted to do was check the water system!"

"You mean you're not from Chipndales exotic dancers?"

"NO!"

"Oh sorry sonny."

The old lady got off my chest and waddled back inside.

That was the bad part of the story. The good? Later that evening, I found $340.00 worth of bills had been stuffed down my undies.

I'm booked to do a women's institute show next week.

You want to look away - but can't.

Have you ever seen something that you just shouldn't be looking at? Something so aweful, so terrible and horrible that you shouldn't be seeing it but you cannot look away?

Like a car crash, or train wreck, or Cher?

That happened to me this weekend.

I was over at a friends house for the fights. During a break, we ended up checking out some video's he had on his laptop - it was actually from a backup file he created from his brother in law's computer.

Some of the videos were funny, some were stupid. Then we saw it.

Yes, IT.

This video was so horrid, so aweful, it was created by Satan to drive us mere mortals mad.

The first time around we didn't know what to do. So we laughed. It started off as a titter, than a giggle, than a laugh, and then a full out tear streaming, belly clutching laugh off.

But it didn't stop. It couldn't stop. He wouldn't let it stop.

I was sitting in my seat on the other side of the room. I heard the click of a mouse, the shuffle of a moving body, the ominous music starting up. I knew what it was, but I looked anyways. It was like I was compelled to look by some unseen force, even though I didn't want to.

I managed to look away. The laptop moved closer, into my field of vision. I put a hand up on one side of my face. The laptop was moved closer yet. I put another hand up, and so on.

Eventually, the laptop ended up right in front of the T.V., with this horrid, disgusting, vile video playing on repeat.

Seeing it again, I think it is the most mentally destructive, most terrifying video ever produced by the minds of man.

I've included it below. Please, if you have a weak stomach or are faint of heart, don't look, turn away now.




So, who thinks the guy is dead?

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

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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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I think I threw up a little in my mouth.

As we go threw life, we encounter many, many things that really, really gross us out. I would like to share with you all one such instance.

It was about ten years ago, and I was sharing a place with a couple of other people. One of them was in my program in college, named R. He had a girlfriend, name E. E was over six feet tall, really big boned, and as quiet as a howler monkey. With her size and graces, and thirty or forty pounds of nappy brown hair, she was as close to a female wookie as you can get. As a matter of fact, I happen to have her family photo to share with you all. That's her, front row center.Both of them were really gross people. R had a skin tag on his side the size of a Volkswagon, and she often announced how she liked to chew on it during sex. Gross.

One Friday, I was heading out the door to visit my folks for the weekend. I said my goodbyes to R and E, and headed out the door. I got to the end of the road and cursed myself for forgetting to bring the hockeybag full of dirty laundry that I (by I meaning my mom) was going to do over the weekend. I turned around, parked the car, and let myself into the apartment.

I walked up the stairs, and there, straight in front of me, was E, with one leg up on a chair, inserting a giant tampon into her large dank vagina.

When I say large vagina, I mean big. Below, you will find an artists rendition of her fun hole:

And by large tampon (and here I thought they were all one size), she was inserting one of these monstrosities:I screamed.

She screamed.

I screamed.

She screamed and slammed the bedroom door.

I threw up a little and fell onto the floor into convulsions, clawing at my eyes. The horrid horrid image still haunts me to this day. It was easily the grossest thing I've seen, so gross it put me off vagina for MONTHS.

I hope I didn't ruin your lunch.

-Spazoid.

========

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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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More fodder for perverted google searches!

Smelly, stinky, disgusting, juicy, squishy, raunchy, ELEPHANT ANAL ORAL!

One of my COW WORKERS saw that and he became excited. This is what happened.

Spazoid: What in the hell are you doing?
COW WORKER: ELEPHANT SEX! DAAAAAAAARRGH! ME WANT ELEPHANT SEX!
Spazoid: Huh?
COW WORKER: I WANT DAT ELEPHANT TO PUT HIS TRUNK IN MY BUM!

Spazoid tries to explain that it's just a funny picture of two paperweights.

COW WORKER: NOOOO! I LIKE BIG THINGS IN MY BUM! DAARGH!
Spazoid: Shhh! Keep your voice down or your mom will come and take you home again!
COW WORKER: i like big things in my bum!
Spazoid: If you forget about it I'll get you an apple juice! Who wants an apple juice!
COW WORKER: NO NO NO NO NO!
COW WORKER: I just made poopie! In my pants!
Spazoid: Ok, how about we call your receptionist to clean you up and get an ice cream? Would you like that?
COW WORKER: DAAAAARGH! ICE KWEEM! DAAARGH!
Spazoid: Oh, Lucy! Clean up on isle one!

Hard to find good management these days, isn't it?

*Note: Told you I was a self indulgent ass, didn't I?

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

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For all the disgusting google perverts that make it to my site.

Loud, raunchy, sticky, disgusting, perverted, ELEPHANT SEX!

That's HOT!

=========

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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.

The cookiest Halloween Ever

Now that I'm a house owner, my Halloweens have been spent handing out candy to fat little entitled turd like children to prevent my house from being TP'd or egged. It wasn't always like that. I wasn't always old and responsible. In my earlier days, I used to like to have fun.

One halloween many years ago, my friend D decided to throw a house party at his place. We were all still in college, so it wasn't really a house, more like a smelly low rent two bedroom pee stained student apartment. Most of that pee wasn't ours. Well, it wasn't mine, I can't vouch for anyone else.

Having a tiny apartment to hold the party in, he decided to keep it small, about 30 people. I went early to help prepare. As I was filling the bathtub with ice to accomodate enough alcohol to stock the shelves at a small liquor store, D approached me.

"Mikey" he said with a grin on his face, "DM is coming. I'm going to need your help".

DM was the guy from the apartment above D's, who also went to the same school we did. This guy was an absolute nut. Well, more so in a perverted way. He liked sex and was not above doing odd things to go about it. What's more, he really didn't care what SEX the person was, or what they looked like, or smelled like, or how old they were. As long as his dong was filling SOME sort of orifice, he was happy. He would make strange remarks such as "Hey! There's four guys and four girls in the room! Lets have an orgy!".

Don't get me wrong, it's not like that would be a bad thing. Personally, I don't like the ratio of that mix. If it's going to be eight people it has to be me and seven other girls for that to happen. Savvy?

D asked me if I would be bouncer for the night. There was going to be a lot of drinking, and if we were to see DM cajoling a girl back up to his apartment, I was to break his skinny ass like a twig. I happily complied, and promised to stay somewhat sober.

Just for clarification, college students think somewhat sober is only 4 drinks an hour. At least, that's what it was like in my day.

Later that night the party started and DM was one of the first dozen to arrive. He proudly announced that he had baked cookies, and started handing them around. They were really big, and there was only eight of them, so I had three quarters of one. It was very tasty with a strange sort of aftertaste.

It wasn't until after we had eaten them that we found out that they weren't any ordinary cookies. They were cooked with weed.

This wasn't a big deal to any of us, as we were in college so that automatically makes you a pot head. At least it did in my day. What we didn't know is how MUCH weed he actually baked the cookies in.

The first guy to go down was Big A. We called him big because he was about 4 foot 11. We all had an excellent sense of humour back then. It probably came from the automatic drinking and weed smoking that college brought. In my day. Big A came into the master bedroom, announced that he wasn't feeling well, teetered a bit and slowly fell to his knees and draped himself over the toilet in the tiny en suite bathroom. All you could see was a pair of little feet sticking out of the door. He stayed there, in that position, for the next twenty hours.

This surprised me. You see, Big A had every single one of his finger nails trimmed except his one pinkie nail, which he grew out to several inches in length. He claimed that it was for religious purposes, but none of us could figure out exactly what religion he was. And we all knew better anyways. I had thought a man of his obvious illicit drug use experience could hold his weed cookie for sure! I was wrong.

About an hour after that, Heavy, and his girlfriend, Heavier, decided to drive to the store to get more munchies. This did not surprise us at all. Unfortunately, Heavy had a very hefty portion of the cookie, and it hit him shortly after they left the store.

We got the phone call from Heavier a half hour after they left. It seemed that Heavy could no longer drive the car, because he no longer thought he had hands or feet. The person who took the call told us that he could hear Heavy crying in the background "What happened to my hands! They're gone! They're nubs! They're nubs!"

At this point, D and I both started laughing hysterically. Normally, we could function while having a laugh. And after having a laugh. The laugh would normally last only a minute or two as well. We were both chemically induced to the point where normal functioning was not possible. Both D and I would be out of commission for approximately half an hour.

Normally, this would not be a problem. It's a party after all, and joviality is the name of the game. Unfortunately for heavier, there were only three people at that party that could drive his manual transmission car. One of them was hallucinating his appendages were missing and the other two were trying not too pee themselves from laughing so hard. By the way, did you know when you laughed for a half hour straight you'll wake up really, really sore the next day?

Eventually, Heavier managed to get the car back home. I was told the next day that she stalled it something like thirty times on the four block trip back to the apartment. Apparently, she's exceedingly bad at driving.

Heavier came in the door helping heavy walk, as he found it hard to walk normally with nubs in place of his feet. It was funny watching him try to close the door after himself. His hands were limp and he didn't use his fingers to grasp the doorknob. He used his limp hands and wrists, exactly as if they were nubs. Heavy was actually crying at the lose of his hands and feet. He gimped over to the kitchen and leaned against the wall at an odd angle.

Heavy stayed leaning against the kitchen wall for a very long time until someone finally asked him what he was doing. "I can't help it" he said with a tone of despair in his voice "the floor is sloped northwest!"

"Well then, lean northeast!" came a smart ass reply from somewhere in the room. A flash of understanding came across Heavys face, and he immediately straightened up. "Thanks!" he said, and went over to the Dorito bowl and planted his face in it. I guess he still had nubs and couldn't pick them up.

One by one people who had eaten the cookie began to drop like flies. About seven hours after I had my cookie, I lay on the ground and succumbed to the massive dose of marijuana. I was dead to the world, and practically paralyzed. I could barely move, and you could scream in my ear and it would sound like you were a mile away. I managed to gather one last burst of strength, and crawled my way over to the couch. As my head hit the pillow, I was out, dead to the world, and I remembered nothing from that point forward.

It's really too bad I didn't remember anything. Apparently, Heavy crashed on the floor beside the couch, and Heavier was beside him. Later on the next day, Heavier told me it was a very interesting night. When Heavy started to snore, I would ask him to shut up. He would comply for about 15 minutes, and then start to snore again. This happened the entire night, and I didn't remember any of it.

I think the moral of this story is don't accept any food from a sexual deviant at a college party. It did make for an interesting time. Luckily, this deviant didn't pull any fast ones, which was good since all I could manage was a weak "shut up" anyways.

Fond memories of halloween past! I shall always remember this one every year as I hand out candy to fat little turds.

Starbucks is burnt crap

Anyone that knows me knows I like coffee. I don't just like coffee, I NEED coffee. At least one first thing in the morning. This is what I look like, every single morning just before my first cup of coffee.

I kid you not, that's exactly what I look like before my first morning coffee. All it takes is three sips and I'm back to looking like this. Not much of an improvement, I know, but at least the city dog catcher stops trying to shoot me with tranquilizer darts. Anyways, A few weeks ago during the holidays, I wasn't feeling that well. It wasn't anything big, just a sore throat and a cough that kept me up ALL FRIGGING night. Over the Christmas break, I looked like the above whether I had a morning coffee or not. I was in need of some throat medicine bad, so I hauled my ass off the couch, got dressed and headed out.

After a few minutes of driving, I was feeling quite a bit better. Maybe it getting out and moving around, but most likely it was the exhaust leaking into the cab of my beat up peace of crap jalopy making me delirious. Whatever the case, I decided to head over to the big new plaza on the other side of town to check out the big new fancy shoppers drug mart. Because this was Christmas, and everybody was out spending money they didn't have, the parking lot was packed. I ended up taking a spot way way out in the back of the parking lot, which was the only one available at the time. I got out of the truck, and waved to my neighbor, before making the 3 kilometer trek into the plaza. In retrospect, I really should have taken the bus.

So, half an hour later I come out of the drug store. This being a super store had four kilometers of cough remedies. I was thoroughly frustrated and pissed off. I had something that I THOUGHT was for coughs, but it could have easily been a suppository. I dunno, it did taste real funny. Needing to blow off some steam, I scanned the strip mall and spotted a Starbucks. "Aha!" thought I, "A nice hot black coffee will put me in a good frame of mind!" So I headed off to the Starbucks.

I've never been to a Starbucks before. I heard it was a bit different, somewhat upscale, but nothing out of the ordinary. So I go in to get my usual shot of a large coffee, black, no sugar. That's the way coffee was meant to be, right? Hey, don't knock it - once you go black, you never go back. That actually is an accurate saying.... for coffee. That's it.

As I walk into the store, I notice a few things. First , I doesn't look like a coffee shop at all. It looks like a lounge. A lounge for people without jobs that spend their entire day sucking back coffee. There's very few tables and chairs. Instead, there are couches, plush chairs, and coffee tables. Lots of magazines, and many exotic looking plants that look like they need idiot plant people talking to them to keep them alive. People, not my kind of place. If you haven't figured me out by now, I'm quite the no nonsense type of guy, and I'm not afraid to speak my mind. Today was no different.

There's a few people ahead of me. The first guy looks to be 60 or so, balding on top with a pony tail, a tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows, and a fucking pipe sticking out of his front pocket. He opens his mouth and says " iced-decaf-triple-grande-five pump-soy-no whip-Mocha".
There's a flurry of activity behind the counter, and five minutes later the girl hands him a drink that looks more like a big cup of whale spooge than a coffee. He pays her and goes back to his plush comfy seat. The next person up was a girl. This was the kind of girl that was kind of ugly in a pretty sort of way that wants nothing to do with you even though you're more than good enough for her but she thinks she's all that and a bag of chips but isn't. You know, the kind of person you just want to punch. She orders something similar, but a bit longer. Do these people even sell coffee, and do the people that come to this store really know what a coffee is all about?

It's my turn. I step up as the girl behind the counter asks me if I can help her. I can see that she has a relaxed appearance, but her eyes are tensing, like she's expecting me to order something ridiculous involving personal hardship to her. Like the other two did.

Theres no one behind me so I decide to take my time, even though I know what I want. Or I thought I knew what I wanted. I look up and my eyes bulge out of my head as I drink in the 30 foot long board that is the coffee menu. How the hell does a coffee menu become thirty feet long? Whatever, I'll just get my regular.

Me: Can I get a large....
Her: Venti....
Me: huh?
Her: Sir, a large here is a Venti. A medium is a Grande, and a small is a tall.
Me: A small is a tall?
Her: Yes.
Me: Why would a small be tall?
Her: Because, it's smaller than a Grande.
Me: Well that doesn't make any sense. A small isn't tall, a small is short. That's why it's called a small. As a matter of fact, it's shorter than the Grande and Venti. Shouldn't you call a small short? And if you were going to call a size tall, shouldn't it be the biggest?
Her: Sir....
Me: If I want a tall glass of beer, or a tall drink of water, don't you think I'd get irritated if it was served in a thimble?
Her (starting to get visibly agitated): Sir, I didn't make this up ok?
Me: Ok, I'll take a VENTI coffee.
Her: What kind?
Me: Black.
Her: No, what KIND of coffee?

I looked behind her only to see a row of a dozen coffee warmers with exotic names. Brazillian, Columbian, mild, dark, hazel nut, blah blah blah blah blah!

Me: Hey, do you have any cat poo coffee?
Her (looking at me strangely now): What in the WORLD is cat poo coffee?!?!?!?!
Me: Ok ok, I'm ready to order
Her: Ok, what'll it be?
Me (deciding to push the envelope): I'll have a medium tall short venti grandi roast hazelnut octo pump frothed half calf decaf recaf bubbled brazillian columbian with 13% expresso served in a bowl after being filtered through rat scrotum and liberally sprinkled with no more than 43 molecules of cinnamon.

I, of course, said that all with a straight face.

She threatened to call security.

I asked if the 60 year old hippie lighting up a doob in the corner was the security guard.

In the end I ended up with a large (Venti) dark roast coffee. She charged me $2.10 for the privalege. I took a sip of this ultra expensive fancy coffee and damned near spit it out. It was BURNT. This coffee was burnt crap!

I shall never purchase Starbucks coffee again. It's expensive, it tastes like shit, and I'm just not a pretentious hippie coolio wanna be anyways. But I shall always remember the fun that I had at a poor Starbucks employee's expense.

Penis Library

Today at work, I was putting a document in an envelope to send it via interoffice mail. It's destination was the Paris Library. As I was just about to put it in the appropriate mail slot, my buddy Joe from I.T. showed up.

"Sending something eh?" he said. "Yup, sure am" I replied. Isn't the daily office grind communication great? Anyone who works in an office knows how automated the responses can get. We are just moist robots after all. Today was going to be a bit different however, as Joe said, "Hey! I didn't know we had one of those!" and pointed to where I had written the destination on the envelope.

"One of what?" I said, curious as I was positive he knew where the Paris Library was. I had met him there once. "A PENIS Library!" he chuckled.

I was confused. I was sure I had written "Paris" on the envelope. I looked closer, and there it was. I hadn't lifted the pen between the 'r' and the 'i' in the word Paris, making it look like the word "Penis".

We both had a laugh, and I corrected the spelling. God forbid a stuffy librarian saw that. I'm positive she would assume that I was trying to sexually molest her. Knowing them, they'd call the police and insist on going to the hospital and getting a rape kit done on them, because that's what they do in CSI on TV, right?

That got me thinking though, what would a Penis library be like?

Would the books be of any great LENGTH?

Would there be a WIDE selection?

Hey, would the HEAD librarian look like this guy?

In the Penis Library, would they even carry books, or would it just be models of penises of various colours and sizes. For example, if you were looking for a small penis, would you go to the children's section? If you wanted a penis bigger than 8", would you go to the fiction section?

Would you really really want to borrow something like a penis from a penis library anyways? I would imagine that before borrowing a penis, you'd want to see a certificate of disinfection dated the morning of, right?

I'd imagine that the architecture of the building of a penis library would have columns that look something like this:

And what about refreshments? If there was a cafeteria there, would they only serve phallus looking foods, like this penis pannini?

Or this penis Ice cream? Is it just me, or does she look she's never had a penis ice cream before? And do you really think she's going to share with her daughter?

Would there be an adult section of the penis library, or would that pretty much be redundant?

I know one thing for sure, you'd have to be a real dick to work there!

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.

Happy 2008 Resolutions

Happy 2008 everybody. I hope everyone had a good new years eve, and is ready to tackle 2008 with a fresh attitude and a good start.

I myself have made a few new years resolutions. I want to try improve myself in 2008, and learn from mistakes made in 2007 and before. You must learn from the past and improve yourself, right?

I resolve to be nicer in 2008. I will stop flinging the backyard dog poo over the fence into the neighbors yard. In brown paper bags. Lit on fire. I just cannot promise the same for my own feces, however.

Kittens will no longer be the object of my football punting practices. Neither will I encourage my dog to eat them. Without a bib that is, they can be messy. Also, I will not breed them explicitly for the purposes of sale to the local Chinese food restaurant. I will encompass a broader territory and include out of town restaurants too.

I will treat children like human beings. Further to this, the children working in my Gucci wallet knock off sweat shop will be paid like regular humans. They will get 10 cents an hour, and I will extend their sleep time from 4 hours to 5.

Hating is not a good thing, I've been told. So, I'll do my best to hate everyone, equally.

I WILL stop peeing on homeless people. When they are awake.

I have given up all my dominatrix paraphernalia, including the razor blade embedded whips. I will also limit the purchase of barely legal oriental hookers to 3 a night, as it's cutting into my other hobbies. Like peeing on sleeping homeless people.

I will stop meddling in the affairs of celebrities for fun. Do you really think Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston broke up of their own accord?

When the Jehova's Witness's come calling, I will no longer invite them in. I will also stop pretending to be a satanist when they come calling, and have removed the pentagram from my living room floor. I have also gotten rid of the goat carcasses, they are currently smoldering in a brown paper bag in my neighbors back lawn.

If someone comes around asking for charity donations, I will no longer tell them I gave at the office. That's lying. I'll tell them I don't want to give to the heart and stroke foundation, because I want more people to have strokes and heart attacks. After all, when I'm at the old folks home, hiding around corners just to jump out and yell BOO! it makes it way more entertaining when they go into cardiac arrest.

I will stop running over children's bikes and trikes. That's hard on the tires. Well, theirs too, but who cares about that?

With all of these resolutions, I hope that 2008 will be my best year yet, and I hope to make more personal improvements than ever before. What are some of your New Years resolutions?

Disclaimer: If you think that any of the above is true, you're a dummy, it's not, and don't sue me.

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!

Tickle me comic

Have you ever run into a comic that for whatever reason, makes you laugh until your sides split and your spleen comes out of the hole and takes a look around?

Here is one that I found today. Please enjoy, and make tsk tsk noises and talk about my fragile psyche that would make me laugh at such a horrible thing while I fashion a lasso out of my small intestine to rope my spleen back in.

Understanding Men

Wow, two posts in one day. That happens rarely, but I probably won't have a lot of time tomorrow. Besides, I'll probably be spending my time playing a new game called Hellgate anyways.

You know, I've heard scores and scores of women say that they don't understand men. They just don't get men, don't get why they do the things that they do. Well let me tell you something ladies, men are very simple creatures. This isn't always the case, but it usually is. Generally, the issues women have with men are systemic of the complexity that women exhibit of themselves.

*Disclaimer: I am not a professional. This post is a (poor) attempt at humour. It is not to be taken seriously, and I don't want to deal with hate mail. If you are an ultra conservative feminist feminazi, and are deeply offended at anything that comes out of a man's mouth, go away now. If you don't want to go away, I will not be held responsible for the offence you've created yourself, and you can just suck my balls!

As I've said, men are very simple creatures. We like to be happy, and we like those we love to be happy. To make us happy, we like to eat, sleep, hang out with the boys and drink a few beers. Maybe have some freedoms every once and a while. Oh, and we are very reasonable creatures.

Women, you need to understand that subtle hints do not work for us. Many confusion problems can be saved by dropping the incessant need to HINT and just come right out with it. Men don't get hints, pure and simple. You drop hint after hint after hint, getting madder and madder that he doesn't get it, while he's getting more and more flustered and confused at why you're getting mad at nothing. Drop the hints, come right out with it. Both you and your man will be much happier, more things will get done, you'll have mutual understandings. Housework will get completed on time, you'll get what you want for Christmas and birthdays, and you'll add years of life to both yourself and your man by eliminating that stress. NO HINTS, JUST SAY IT! OK!

OK listen, and this one is very important. Have you ever uttered the phrase "Honey, does my ass look big in these pants/skirt/dress/whatever?" What exactly kind of answer is it that you're looking for? You know that there is very little a man will say that you'll be OK with. If a man hasn't heard this one before, he'll actually tell you what he thinks, being a simple creature that is thinking constructive criticism is actually good for a relationship. Let's get something straight. Asking that question is manicide. If he tells you honestly that you look good, you think he's lying. If he tells you honestly that it's not the most flattering thing for you, you'll get so angry that he won't get laid for weeks and he'll be sleeping on the couch. Seriously, if you have to ask the question, ask the sales lady or one of your girlfriends. It'll eliminate so much stress for you and your man that it'll add years to your and your man's life.

When a man leaves the house at 7 am to go to work, and comes back at 6 pm, he's actually been to work. Why is it that many women think that men sit around all day at work drinking beer and reading back copies of Juggs? We're going to come home tired after working all day, JUST LIKE YOU. Greeting him at the door with nagging about neglected housework is just going to set the both of you off. How'd you like it, rolls reversed? He'd NEVER get away with that, so why should you? Here is a hint. When he comes walking through the door, greet him like you'd want to be greeted. Give him a hug and a kiss, hello, how was your day, let him relax for a bit, eat some dinner, and then say "hey, we've got to do some housework. Lets work on it OK?" You'll be surprised at how little "trouble" you get. It'll take away stress and add years to you and your man's life.

Men need time with the boys just like women need time with their friends. Most men do not gallivant around sleeping with 7 women a night like you seem to think they do. Just let them have fun, blow off a little steam. Don't grill them about it, you just won't understand why guys think drinking beer and doing stupid stuff is fun. Accept it, get on with it, and it'll take away stress from the relationship and add years to you and your man's life.

Men have pride, just like yours. It just comes in a different form. Let him buy his power tools, and try to fix stuff. He doesn't give you a hard time about your need for 300 pairs of shoes, or going shopping for a "bed in a bag" or whatever the fuck that is. He has his hobbies, you have yours. Fair is fair, right?

So this is it. Men are direct, men are simple. Men need to be asked direct questions, not hints. Men get defensive when nagged. Men need to blow off a bit of steam once and a while. Men LOVE you, so don't ask them unanswerable questions. Do not treat men like the complex beings that you are. Gossip is lost on us, and so are subtle hints. Just be straight forward with guys, and you'll be surprised at how much you actually do understand. Remember, if you try to treat him like another woman, he won't react in the same way and you'll find yourself getting angry and muttering "men, I just don't understand them".

Hope this helps! Probably not though, because I'm a man so my opinion doesn't count! :P

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!