shout out

I just wanted to give a quick shout out to no-wipe poos.

You know what I'm talking about: the deuces you drop where you go and wipe and wipe and wipe and then you look down at the clump in your hand and the TP looks as fresh as the day it was rolled and whiter than a fresh dump of snow.

Yeah, those ones.

To me, they are one of the great mysteries of the universe. Like, not one streak... NOTHING!

I wonder, is that how it's always supposed to be? Is it your body telling you that you are doing everything properly? You are eating and sleeping and exercising so well that taking a poop doesn't even cause a mess anymore?

I've had a long day.

mccolonbuster

The Michelin Man: Early years

Before I get started, I just want to leave you, the reader, to decide whether I should keep things like this to myself in the future. Let me know...

I was driving home today with a rock really low in my belly that needed a little goading on. 

I saw the golden arches from a block away and decided to pull into the drive thru because, in my experience, anything McDonalds acts like a catalyst to spur on bowel movement. My friend's dad used to call it the "Rectum Rocket" when we were kids. We'd all laugh because he said rectum.

I had the fries picked away by the time I got home and then slammed down most of a Big Mac and six nasty nuggets before I started to feel ill.

10 minutes later though, guess what?

It did the job. It greased me up. The rock was gone, flushed through the system by my mclunch.

That food, man. There is something in that stuff that mirrors the company. Their business is so competitive that I'm convinced that McDonalds has even engineered their 'food' to bully and push out all other competition, in the form of partially digested food contents in the human belly, so it alone reigns as king in the person who eats it.

Note: Scary how time dilutes feeling.

Like heartbreak, things that once felt so strong become mere afterthought.

Case in point, my feelings toward McDonalds. 

After reading Fast Food Nation, and learning about the amount of diseased beef making its way into our diets, the horrifying contents of chicken nuggets and the appalling work conditions many in big cities were forced to put up with, I weaned myself off fast food for quite some time.

And then, Super Size Me completely turned me off the arches and I stayed away for over six months.

You're sick, Clown. Do you know how old those McNugget twins are? You're going away for a long, long time. Boy, am I gonna enjoy knocking that silly grin off your smug mug.

Gradually, though, hungover or in a rush, I'd stop in and have some fries or one lone cheeseburger. As time wore on, and the info faded away, I visited that terrible place with more frequency, and now I don't even think about all the awful.

I feel like I've been reverse-brainwashed, like Winston at the end of 1984, when he finally accepts he loves Big Brother... because he sucks.

poop musings

Statutory holidays are severely unproductive days.

Maybe that explains why my mind has wandered and stepped in poop. I will now attempt to scrape it off my brain.

I'll never forget something DA once told me: "Everyone takes shits, Herbie."

It's obvious. It's stupid. But it's so true. Everyone does.

Abraham Lincoln used his toilet time, maybe, to flush out the details of his Emancipation Proclamation.

"Can I get a little privacy, please? I need to get some work done."

Rene Descartes' original meditation was, "I stink. Therefore, I am."

The most revered and sacrilized figures in history have, at some time in their lives, fought through constipation and the runs. Call me weird, but I find that kind of comforting.

After the Last Supper, Jesus dropped the Last Crapper. Maybe he laughed when he accidentally let out a preemptive fart.

I mean, after chowing down a double Quarter Pounder meal, super sized, Queen Elizabeth II would make a run for it, on the crapper, pushing red-faced, white-knuckled, crafting a nice double-coiler, without pomp or circumstance.

A very relieved Queen, after just working through a three helping, meatloaf dinner...

It's humbling really.

And in honour of the subject, I'll make this post a two-parter...

Number Two (pun intended):
Is there any time in a human's life where he/she is more vulnerable than when dropping a deuce? You have to be completely relaxed...

With the exception of Raab Himself, humans can't run and poop at the same time, which leaves us prone to attack. I wonder how many brothers and sisters we've lost whilst dumping deuce --those brave souls who were either pounced on by tigers, or chomped by hippos, or mauled by bears (or for all you creationist crazies, bitten in half by T-Rex's) while pushing out turds?

You think I care that you're taking a dump? I'll eat your ass first! I do what I want!

Fortunately, most of us, at least in North America, can now poop, in a calm, four-walled environment.

And that's why I think the greatest advance we've made as a species, is now we can safely deposit our feces.

Interesting development:

I just spent the last four hours in an Entourage coma, and Ari pulled out a book called, you guessed it...

I need to read this book now, just to find out how an apple poops... Kudos on the shot of the horse's patooter, too.

Another one of those interesting coinkydinks.