*Magnify*
    March     ►
SMTWTFS
     
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
Archive RSS
SPONSORED LINKS
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books.php/item_id/976788-Turning-from-the-Dark-Side/sort_by/entry_order DESC, entry_creation_time DESC/sort_by_last/entry_order DESC, entry_creation_time DESC/page/10
Rated: GC · Book · Personal · #976788
The only blog that will put hair on your chest...
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only **
Turning from the Dark Side

** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only **

< This is where I'll insert a cool new blog description. Someday. >


Previous ... 6 7 8 9 -10- 11 12 13 14 15 ... Next
September 11, 2006 at 3:53pm
September 11, 2006 at 3:53pm
#454084
Jodi's been after me to clip my toenails for weeks now. She doesn't understand the ritual that is clipping my toenails. Nor does she understand that I usually have to lift weights for six months before I can muster the strength to cut through those babies.

See, I only clip them every few months, and during that time they grow at odd angles, thicken and harden to roughly the density and texture of polystyrene, and begin to curl. In fact my big toenails grow longer at one end, thus creating an knife-edged point sharp enough to maim small children and scar the sensuous legs of my gorgeous fiancee. Hence the many scratches during cuddling sessions initiated Jodi's insistence that I clip them. She also may have thought they were gross. She doesn't quite understand the virtue of the medically macabre. I'm actually thinking of sending the clippings to the Mutter Museum in Philly.

So needless to say I wasn't ready to clip my toenails last night. In fact, we don't even have a jigsaw or belt sander in the apartment. I was forced to make do with a pair of nail clippers, not even the pet variety, and a chisel. Ever the doting fiance, I acquiesced.

So I plopped myself down on the bathroom floor Indian style and began clipping. I pushed up the toilet seat and unceremoniously dropped fistful after fistful of toenail clippings into the toilet.

I should mention at this point that we had not long ago returned from a several hour visit to my parents' house. Before heading over there I had popped out three long, juicy turds and had somehow forgotten to flush. So when we returned I discovered a plugged toilet, full to the brim with swirling opaque, brown water that stained the white porcelain a not-so-pleasant beige. I plunged it, and after several attempts that splashed poo water over the edges, the turd-like mess went down. So at this point the toilet was empty except for the standard bit of clear water, but a yet uncleaned brown film surrounded most of the bowl and poop chute. But back to the story.

I gritted my teeth and snapped the clippers on my big toenail. It finally pierced those dead cells and tore a little at the corner. Using the clippers as a clamp, I latched on and tore that sucker across, leaving a ragged half toenail behind. I lifted the clippers over the toilet to deposit my trophy and promptly dropped the clippers into the bowl.

Now the clippers didn't just land against the bowl. Oh no, they slid right down the poop chute, such that I could only see half of them when peering along the rim of the bowl. Shit! In my best "I'm weak and I need help" voice, I called for Jodi. The shout was preceded and proceeded by a great string of "oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit." Jodi took one look in the toilet and burst out laughing. She's so supportive. And really this was all her fault anyway.

I asked what I should fish it out with. She recommended the toilet brush, but I was fearful that would push the clippers further, right down into poopy heaven, quite literally where the sun doesn't shine. She then suggested an old pencil, and I agreed. She fetched a pencil for me, and I squatted in front of the camode with my clipper fisher.

Getting the pencil down far enough was impossible without submerging my hand and bumping it against the bowl walls at least a little bit. The handle part of the clippers was visible, and I pressed the pencil tip against the lower handle, effectively pinning the clippers against the poop chute. I slowly dragged it back up the side. It emerged from the water a fraction of an inch before slipping loose and skipping back to the bottom. This time it of course went even further down.

Jodi managed to cackle maniacally between gags and ran out of the room to immediately blog about it. I, however, plodded along. This time I managed to stick the pencil lead into the tiny hole at the end of the clippers handle. I dragged it back up the side and scooped it out with my free hand. I wiped my toilet-soaked hand on my shorts before I realized what I was doing. At last I scrubbed my hands and clippers in hot water. At least that's what I told Jodi.

The ironic part, or poetic justice depending on your point of view, is I just requested competitors in "Invalid Item fish something out of the toilet. I'm sure they didn't have the filthy toilet and poop chute adventures I did. The poo gods were just turning the karmic circle last night.
September 11, 2006 at 7:43am
September 11, 2006 at 7:43am
#453994
Five years since the largest attack on civilians within our national boundaries. Five years full of war and war protestors. Five years of me trying to make thick-headed liberals open their eyes and think with an open mind for two minutes. It won't happen though. Just like I'll never see things from their point of view.

People ask me why I talk about liberal hippies so much. Aren't hippies from back in the 60s? They were. But we have a whole new generation of them. Hippies were dirty, liberal peaceniks that protested the war and spit on soldiers. We have a whole new generation of liberal, drug-using peaceniks who think we can cure the world's problems with words and diplomacy. I challenge them to rationalize with a human being who will proudly and honorably kill himself just to wipe out a few Christian Americans. Yes, I'm sure people like that will be receptive of an apology and some kind words.

Friday at work we started talking about the years of events leading up to 9/11. A coworker began commenting on the inactivity of the Clinton administration. My supervisor, political moron that he is, pointed out that we sent tomahawks into Afghanistan after the bombing of the U.S.S. Cole. (That's not true by the way, but liberals love to throw out half-truths to make their arguments.) He asserted that the Clinton administration knew all about Al Qaeda, but they took a much smarter approach by staying away so they could keep an eye on them.

Yeah, great thinking there, Bill! Let's just leave 'em be. Then they won't run and hide in caves, and we can always be watching 'em. Just one little problem with that strategy: they're organizing our fucking destruction! We can keep an eye on them while they're plotting the bombing of the WTC. But hey, let's just ignore them when they punch us in the proverbial face. We'll ignore the deaths of U.S. civilians here and there, so we can keep an eye on those damned terrorists and not get ourselves into a bloody war.

Question to all your liberal peaceniks that got picked on in school. Did the bully stop stealing your lunch money when you ignored those punches to the gut? I, for one, was picked on in kindergarten, and then never again after that. Know why? Because I got sick of it and fought back. My father told me to. No one messed with me ever again.

My boss was right about one thing though: the Clinton administration knew all about Al Qaeda, Osama Bin Laden, etc. They sent a pot shot back now and again, but they pretended to ignore it. So while they were ignoring it, Al Qaeda was plotting our destruction. Want to blame a president, you liberal assclowns? Before you point that finger at Bush, who has merely responded to an attack on our soil, remember ol' Slick Willy who turned a blind eye to a growing threat so as not to start a war. Ah, but he was a much better speaker than that dumb Texan, wasn't he? Yeah, we see where words get us.

And now, because I tire of this topic and because others have already expressed my exact opinions, I'm just going to link some other blog entries here. These guys put my opinions to words, in ways more articulate than I would have borthered. Except for Mike, who's a raving lunatic but a great debator.

"Invalid Entry
"Invalid Entry
September 10, 2006 at 5:14pm
September 10, 2006 at 5:14pm
#453867
Okay, so I haven't blogged in a long while. Some people jumped to the absurd conclusion that meant something was awry in my life. Not so, I just simply don't blog unless I'm inspired. Genius takes time, people. And even an artist like myself has dry spells. I don't see carnival freaks or birth aliens out of my rectum every day, ya know. But last night, while Jodi and I were driving home from shopping, inspiration struck.

You know how you hear those songs on the radio and instantly crank it up and say something like "I love this song!" And then, like an idiot, you realize the only lyrics you know are the chorus. In fact, you probably don't even know what the song means.

Now some of you will deny this. Specifically you artsy music types. Well, you people just plain suck and take music way too seriously, so you may as well skip the rest of this entry. In fact you'll read it anyway and be stunned at how those of us normal music fans out there don't know the lyrics. You know those insanely nerdish Trekkies who can speak Klingon? Or the geeks who "LARP"? Or the virgin Darth Vader that waited outside the theater for 98 hours before "Phantom Menace" opened? You're the musical equivalent, folks. No one gives a rat's ass that you know the lyrics. I don't give one flying fart about the obscure third verse to a Beatle's song, and that's saying something considering how much I love flying farts. I'd rather make out with a midget than learn the lyrics to some swingtime jazz. I'd sooner fish ninjas out of a toilet than be able to cite the perfect song for every situation. In fact, I do.

I daresay some songs are designed to be lyrically unintelligible. Ever hear Nirvana's "Smells Like Teen Spirit?" Like Weird Al said, Kurt Cobain sang that thing will marbles in his mouth. Does anyone actually know the lyrics to any of those verses? And no, new-age grunge hippies don't qualify, because they're not really people.

The chorus goes something like "Here we are now, entertainers! Here we are now, it's contagious" Or something like that. Actually I know those lyrics are wrong, because I just looked up the real ones. I got a few of the words right though. Just enough that I can quietly sing aloud without anyone noticing I don't really know the words. And lucky for me, that song is no indecipherable that just making a few choice words audible makes me look like a Nirvana groupie.

Yes, I sing along to songs on the radio. And yes, I do it even when I don't know the words. Which is most of the time. I think most people just sing out that one loud line of the chorus of whatever song is on, and then sit quietly bobbing their head to the rest, pretending they know it. Or they sing the one line and then just whistle the rest. That's my father's famous trick.

Luckily I have no such shame. I just keep singing, sort of making up the lyrics as I go along. That's how I wrote the second version of "Smells Like Teen Spirit." It's more articulate than the Nirvana version. Lyrically it doesn't really make much sense, and the second verse goes something like this:

I'm at the worst and the best
And this gift is blessed.
Our little group has da da da, la do dum,
Mumble *cough* ahem mumble... the enddddddddd!
Hello, hello hello...

Everyone can finally sing along though. All you need is the ability to keep moving your mouths to the "lyrics" whilst sporadically yelling every third or fourth word that you happen to know. Alternatively you can sporadically yell out a word you think you know and turn out being wrong. That's when you sheepishly grin and quickly explain "Whoops, I'm on the wrong verse." Before anyone can point out the total absence of that word in any verse, you're back at the yelled main chorus line and all is forgotten.

Last night we were driving home and a particular tune hits the airwaves. I instantly recognized the melody and beat, but I couldn't place it. Jodi did though. She belted out "Blinded by the light!" Ah, so that's what it was. Everyone's heard "Blinded by the Light" right? No? You must only be a minor then, in which case you shouldn't be in this blog anyway. Alternatively you could be a senior citizen, which is also strictly forbidden because I don't want old people stench dripping all over my blog. Take it back to the nursing home, you shriveled old bitch.

The song inspired this entry because it immediately begins with timeless lyrics that I can't possible be getting right. I started singing along, and it goes like this:

"Wrapped up a like a douche, another roller in the night!"

What the fuck?! Does this song actually start with "wrapped up like a douche?" I'm almost afraid to google the lyrics, because what if it actually does? How freakin' awesome would that be? And what if I'm totally getting it wrong like every other song? My dreams of musical impropriety will be crushed.

Now I'm absolutely sure some part of the song includes the phrase "silicone sister." Isn't it entirely possible that a song about breast implants references a wrapped up douche? I submit that it is.

So what then is a wrapped up douche? Well, it comes sort of wrapped up doesn't it? And another roller in the night? Maybe some girl with big, fake boobs is putting rollers in her hair and inserting douche? Clearly that's what this song must be about. Think about this a minute. Wouldn't you be blinded by the light if you saw something like that? I for one would never look at douche the same way again. It's so metaphoric that I'm actually moved to tears.

And by now people are Googling the lyrics for "Blinded by the Light." Why they want to ruin the perfectly good image of douche and hair curlers is beyond me. I'm sure the real version isn't nearly as entertaining. Seriously now, what could be better than getting really drunk and karoake singing "Wrapped up like a douche, another roller in the night?"
August 27, 2006 at 7:22pm
August 27, 2006 at 7:22pm
#451019
I was leary when I saw this...

http://www.ninjachronicles.problematiccontent.com/navigate.php?ninja_id=39

But then the true horror struck!

http://www.ninjachronicles.problematiccontent.com/navigate.php?ninja_id=40

My reinforcements had better arrive soon, or all will be lost!
August 24, 2006 at 6:59pm
August 24, 2006 at 6:59pm
#450401
Okay, despite being the coolest cat around, I know when to bow down to immense coolness. Now is one of those rare moments. So like it says, enjoy it while it lasts.

First off, I want to start by saying I'm amazed, amused, and horrified that my huge challenge "Invalid Entry has already gotten such a splendid response. I want to thank dogfreek21 and alyssa91075 for both taking the challenge and proving their utter coolness to me. I nod in deference to their flatulating, tongue-burning, chocolate-blaspheming outrageousness. They are both to be commended and recognized for the problematic disciples that they are.

Having said that, now I'm going to do something I may regret. I'd like to announce that my hero for a day is none other than darkin! This astonishing and terrifying woman not only took up my challenge, but she proceeded to drench a delicious fudgy chocolate dessert in super hot habenero sauce. You could actually see the bits of peppers swimming in a grotesque swirl of pepper juice and chocolate icing. She emptied a quarter of her bottle of hot sauce on this dish and proceeded to scrape the bowl clean.

She went on to provide us with horrifying and gut-busting photos of this intestinally challenging meal. She even went off her diet temporarily to burn the taste buds right off her tongue. She wrote two blog entries, starting with "Invalid Entry, that were shades of yours truly. Rarely have I seen such a problematic entry. For this day, and this day alone, she not only became my problematic disciple, but she became my problematic equal! I bow to her immense coolness, and I greet her as a friend and a graduate of my problematic program. Truly, I am honored to share blogging space with her today.

Like my other two heroes of the day she received a merit badge. For going above and beyond the call of duty, I grant her the gift of fandom. I beseach all my readers to visit her blog today and witness the glory of my teachings:

 Invalid Item 
This item number is not valid.
#1144524 by Not Available.
August 24, 2006 at 1:20pm
August 24, 2006 at 1:20pm
#450340
WHO WANTS A MERIT BADGE?

I got a challenge for everyone, to commemorate my Buffalo Sauce diet. I will award a merit badge to anyone that douses an item of chocolate in hot sauce, eats it, and then journals about it. Just send me the link to the journal entry however you want, and the merit badge is yours! Only one stipulation: chewing must be involved!
August 24, 2006 at 12:27pm
August 24, 2006 at 12:27pm
#450323
I just had lunch. It was a delicious turkey sandwich prepared by my delicious fiancee this morning. A few bites in I realized an odd taste, a good taste but an odd one. I glanced down at the turkey and made a shocking discovery.

A protuding edge of the poultry exhibited an orangish tint. I peeled back the bread and some slices of turkey to discover several orange colored stains. Either my turkey is rusting or Jodi dripped some Buffalo sauce on my sandwich! Granted it's not nearly as much as I would have put, but I think she may have. Either that, or I really need to throw this turkey away when I get home.

Do I have the most amazing woman in the world or what? The buffalo thing disgusts her, and she doesn't want to see it, but she fosters it because she knows it means something to me. Last night I gave the buffalo sauce thing up. I told her so. She said I didn't have to, but I explained I didn't want to gross her out. I gave it up because I love her. And because she loves me back, she made sure I kept my buffalo commitment alive. And without me even knowing. She sacrifices so much for me. I'm so very grateful, and I wonder what I did to deserve her.

So I guess I'm not quitting cold turkey afterall.
August 24, 2006 at 8:44am
August 24, 2006 at 8:44am
#450277
Well, I've already abandoned the Buffalo Sauce experiment. And before you call me a wuss, I'd like to point out that I was quite enjoying myself and would have gladly continued. However, last night Jodi decided she couldn't bear to sit in the same room as me whilst I poured hot sauce on everything. She endorsed my little self challenge for the most part, but last night I grossed her out to a new extreme. Despite her insistence that I could continue and she just wouldn't watch, I've decided to hang it up. Some things are a lot more important than reverbrating flatulence, ass-burning bowel movements, and wickedly funny ulcers, believe it or not. So yes, this big Buffalo Teddy Bear has abandoned his mission in the name of love.

So what then did I do to cause the grossout? Well, it was rather heinous if I do say so myself. In fact it took place at my parents' house, and neither my mother nor sister could watch either, not that I care what they think. I actually did it in stages, but I capped with the ultimate in Buffalo Sauce disgustery. And yes, I just invented a word; I'm cool like that.

At my parents house I informed my family of my new Buffalo Sauce diet. They were confused as to why anyone would do this. They apparently did not see the inherent hilarity and inevitable journal entries that would ensue. They did, however, get a first hand look at my commitment.

My mom had just made delicious zucchini muffins, hot out of the oven. I love these things, especially when they're topped with some "sugar in the raw." Apparently that comes in a box or something, and it's not exactly what I thought, though I had no idea how sugar could be buck naked anyway. Well, I chomped on a bite of that muffin before my sister mockingly informed me it was missing Buffalo Sauce. Much to her horror and my own amusement, I doused the top of muffin in Buffalo Sauce. That sugar should have worn some clothes or at least sunscreen, because it got a serious burn. On the way to their house I had stopped and bought a fresh bottle of hot sauce, so luckily I was prepared.

Everyone had to leave the room while I ate it. I'm not sure why, because it's actually quite delicious. It's basically a zucchini muffin with an occasional hot kick. I highly recommend it.

My mom then made fried chicken for dinner. So dousing mine in Buffalo Sauce wasn't exactly exotic. In fact my sister even tried a little Buffalo chicken and liked it.

My brother finally arrived, and he at least saw the potential in my experiment. He said, "Oh yeah, ulcers... that'll be great." Or maybe he was mocking me, I'm not sure. He wasn't entirely listening anyway as he slathered his muffin with an entire stick of butter. He clogs his arteries and I burn holes in mine. Ironically he's the skinny one in the family.

Desert brought us some rich, gooey, chocolate cake. And yes, I did the unthinkable. I poured Buffalo sauce over the top of my slice of cake. Now I think this added some delicious flavor to the cake, but apparently altering a chocolate cake is blasphemous or something. They acted like I pissed on the cross. So I gobbled the cake down as quickly as possible, before they could find the torches and pitchforks. I then washed it down with three glasses of water.

Now oddly enough I haven't had a bowel movement in about 48 hours. I would have thought I'd be throwing ice on my asshole to cool it after hours of explosive diarrhea, but apparently Buffalo Sauce is better at constipating me. All the more reason to quit I guess, although Jodi thinks it's all the more reason to continue.

I have, however, been passing enough natural gas to heat the Smithsonian for six months. I've taken to calling my buttocks "Old Faithful," because I've come to except an excretory hiccup every 7.2 minutes. I also noticed that my butt cheeks are always moist. I haven't yet figured out if it's juicy farting or sweating Buffalo sauce. I suppose I could scratch and smell my finger, but I think I'd be sleeping on the couch if I did that. Jodi's also suggested that if it keeps up, I'm not allowed to sleep in the buff. She's very concerned for our sheets.
August 23, 2006 at 12:19pm
August 23, 2006 at 12:19pm
#450082
Last night after we went to bed, Jodi and I got a little amorous. No, no, don't run! I'm offering up no details, I swear! I told Jodi I had to go get the bottle of Frank's Buffalo Sauce. When she asked why, I made it clear that I'd be putting Buffalo sauce on everything that I tasted. She wasn't pleased, so already on my first day I had to go one "meal" without the hot stuff. Fortunately, the morsels I enjoyed were plenty hot and mouth-watering already.

This morning I woke up and stumbled to the shower. I have to admit I was a little queasy. In fact when I envisioned my thoughts for breakfast, I reeled and had to hold my mouth shut. I just wasn't in the mood for breakfast at all, which I never am at 5:00 AM. However, I figured I needed breakfast, because I couldn't possibly have lunch today. If I brought my lunch to work, how I could make sure it had buffalo sauce on it? I wasn't going to cart the bottle around with me. That's just silly.

Luckily I found a solution. Jodi made me a turkey sandwich and packed it in a lunch bag for me. But not before I peeled back the mayonnaise-coated slice of bread and let a few puddles of buffalo sauce stain the turkey. I actually just ate my Buffalo Turkey sandwich a few minutes ago. It was delicious; her sandwiches are always delicious. The added bite of the sauce gave it an excellent kick, but truth be told I should have put way more sauce on it. My tongue barely bled.

So I skipped the delicious breakfast I had planned. If you're curious though, I was going to have a bowl of Cap'n Crunch, with a little hot sauce drizzled over my cereal and milk. I may have to make a snack of it after work because just the thought of it is making my mouth water right now. Mmmmmmm, Buffalo Crunch.

Hopefully tonight we'll have pizza or maybe steak and salad. Why use Ranch or Italian when you can use Buffalo Sauce? Ooh, ooh, or we could have fried clam strips! Drenched in hot sauce. Damn, that would be so good. Or better yet, stick the clams in a roll and dunk the whole clam roll in hot sauce. And drown the fries in that peppery heaven.

I think I need to buy some small bottles of this stuff too. Carry 'em around in my pockets during the day. I just saw a potato chip crumb on the office printer, and I had to ignore the damned thing because I didn't have anything to dip it in.
August 22, 2006 at 9:13pm
August 22, 2006 at 9:13pm
#449960
This one is courteous of Melissa is fashionably late! .

Here's the monkey I drew on the website http://www.zipperfish.com/free/games/draw-a-monkey.php. It told me the following about myself...

Toward the bottom, you are easily aroused and enjoy sex in every way imaginable, but often think too much of your own needs. *Left* Highly dubious

Facing right, you are a wild lover, up for anything in the sack. Toys are often involved. *Left* Yes to part, and no to part.

With hands down, you are insecure or are in between sexual partners. *Left* This
one is interesting since the hands were both.

With many details, you are cautious with sex, always using protection. You sometimes look at sex as a tool, rather than an experience. *Left* LOL, if you say so...

The size of the ears indicates how good a listener you are. You are a poor listener. *Left* Ask Jodi about this one.

The length of the tail indicates the quality of your sex life. You have a great sex life. *Left* The only one that came out accurate.

** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only **
August 22, 2006 at 8:44pm
August 22, 2006 at 8:44pm
#449951
You know that guy that made the documentary "Supersize Me." in which he feasted only on McDonald's food for thirty days straight? Well, miraculously he's still alive, and he's about to enter into another season of "30 Days." "30 Days" is a show in which he does something for thirty days straight. Well, he's inspired me.

During our weekend excursion to Lake George I found packets of Frank's Red Hot sauce at a little eatery. I drowned my popcorn chicken in it and instantly fell in love. Well, it turns out good ol' Frank makes traditional Buffalo sauce too. In fact his Buffalo sauce was the secret ingredient for the very first Buffalo wings back in the 60's. Now I'm not big on wings myself, mostly because I don't care for the dark meat. I'm more of a breast man myself, and yes, that is a double entendre. So naturally I crave boneless buffalo wings like some people crave sex. Like me, for example.

Last week I discovered my local supermarket sells bottles of Frank's Buffalo sauce. His other sauces are sold as well, but I'm all about the Buffalo. So I bought a smallish bottle just in case I didn't like it.

Monday night we made some Tyson chicken strips and I dipped it in the sauce. It scorched my eyebrows, burned off all my tastebuds, disintegrated my boogers, and went down like vinegar. Just the way I like it. Jodi could only stomach a bite or two before that stuff burned through her intestinal lining, so I was able to keep the bowl of lava all to myself. After dinner, every sip of iced tea tasted like toothpaste. But I love that shit.

Today I had a revelation. I am going to spend the next 30 days dousing each and every one of my meals in Buffalo Sauce. I am going to achieve gaping ulcers, burning flatulence, and perpetual heartburn like no one has ever done before. Here's how I've done so far today.

Jodi and I met for lunch. We went to the 99, home to my favorite Boneless Buffalo Wings, though they're not nearly as hot as they should be. Needless to say I got them for an appetizer. The main course was a Buffalo Chicken Sandwich. I took the blue cheese dressing on the side and never used it. I never understood why you'd order something hot and then mix it with a coolant. Kind of defeats the purpose, doesn't it?

Jodi said she was making fish for dinner. Fine, I could pour Buffalo Sauce on that. She jokingly asked if I was serious. I was. I poured some into a bowl and had Buffalo Fish. I can't say Buffalo Flounder or Buffalo Haddock, because it was some boxed stuff that even the Gorton Fisherman couldn't identify. Needless to say it was delicious when drenched in hot sauce. But I'm sure everyone knew that already anyway.

The side dish was mashed potatoes, not exactly dipping material. I improvised though. I scooped some on my fork and then swirled it around in the bowl of Buffalo sauce. It's infinitely better than butter, sour cream, or whatever else you hippie Wendie's people eat on your potatoes. Jodi nearly gagged I think. Don't worry though, she'll be converted to the all Buffalo cuisine by the end of the week.

By the end of dinner giant gas bubbles had lodged in my rectum and esophagus. In fact, most of them are still there. I'm curious to see the resultant bowel movement tomorrow morning. Only one thing is certain: it's going to burn.

Now off I go to check my underpants after a particularly juicy visitor. Don't worry, good readers, I'll keep you abreast of my Buffalo adventures. Wait until you see what I have planned for breakfast tomorrow. *Smirk*
August 21, 2006 at 10:41am
August 21, 2006 at 10:41am
#449608
C'mon, you know you want to...

 Invalid Item 
This item number is not valid.
#1147051 by Not Available.
August 21, 2006 at 8:05am
August 21, 2006 at 8:05am
#449579
Everyone remember that show back in the 90's "America's Funniest Home Videos?" The one made infamous by Bob Sagat, America's least funny person? By some cosmic joke of the TV Gods that show is in its 13th season, or something like that. I thought they had cancelled it ages ago but apparently not. Now it's hosted by the guy from "Hollywood Squares," which means the narration is just as stupid though not quite as annoying.

Friday night I was talking to elizm446 on the phone, and she was laughing her head off at some old folks and kids taking a spill. She told me I needed to watch it, and even though I was fairly certain she was smoking weed at the time, I flipped to the appropriate channel. It turns out drunken old people at weddings and kids without training wheels still find hilarious way to hurt themselves.

Dogsitting at my parents' house last night, Jodi and I watched the show again. This was some sort of special episode though. (Don't worry, it seems they show it several times a week until you have the shittiest videos memorized.) They were crowning the funniest home video of all time and giving away an unprecendented $250,000. Three videos, from all the seasons combined, competed for the title and cool quarter mil. The final results reminded me why I quit watching this garbage.

Third place went to a dachshund that decided to snatch a rocket-launching firework out of the ground and run around a campsite with it. Carrying it in his mouth like a bone, the rockets continued to blast off, now running parallel and close to the ground thanks to Fido's low center of gravity. With rockets whizzing by their feet, trailer parkers and campers began running for cover. There's nothing quite as funny as imminent self-inflicted danger in a crowd. Though frankly I was concerned for the safety of the dog. Personally I would have picked it as number one.

Second place went to an old classic. Two pre-adolescent boys lie asleep after staying up late to watch a scary movie. Mom worked the video camera while Dad donned a mask and revved up the chainsaw. He fired that puppy up, and they threw back the covers. Had the video not been so grainy, you probably could have seen the piss running down their legs. One kid fell right out of bed and the other sat there plastered to the wall, no doubt soiling himself. This one was hilarious, but more importantly it warmed my heart. It made me think of all the wonderful things I get to do when I become a dad. This one is definitely going on the list.

The winner reminded me why "America's Funniest Videos" sucks so much ass. Seriously now, how many episodes were not won by some lame ass video of a baby doing something that almost all babies do? Whenever they revealed the top three, you could instantly pick the winner if a baby appeared in one of them. What is it about babies that is so damned funny? Oh yeah, NOTHING! Especially when they're just doing crap that every ugly baby has ever done.

Here's the proof. The winning video showed mom and her infantile quadruplets lain across her in various poses. Daddy was working the camera and making some sort of funny face and funny noise. Guess what happened? The babies laughed! Oh my God! I've never ever seen a baby laugh when someone makes a funny face! This is a shocking and hilarious development! Babies laughing is sure to guarantee a barrel of laughs!

After a few moments, the babies would stop laughing. Then Dad would do his bitter beer face again, and lo and behold, the babies start laughing! Oh my God, I'm busting a gut just thinking about it! Who knew babies laughed at funny faces? I sure didn't! Oh, the hilarity!

The funniest part is... well, actually there's nothing funny about it. It's cute, sure, but what exactly is funny about it? It's a video of babies doing what babies always do. Did they vomit as they laughed? Did they hold their bellies like some miniature Santa Clauses? Did they fart simultaneously? Did they spit up all over their mom's face? None of the above. In fact not a damn thing happened except for their incessant giggling.

Everytime they quit and Dad made his idiotic face again, I felt the urge to punch him so hard the face was permanent. Let's see how long they kept laughing then. When I have kids and they laugh at my funny faces, will I love it? Sure I will. Will it make me all gushy and make me want to cuddle with 'em? Yeah, it probably will. Will I videotape to remember it by? I might. But will I send said videotape off to a primetime television program to be laughed at millions as if it's the next Adam Sandler movie? No fucking way. (Although laughing babies are somewhat funnier than Adam Sandler, so that's a bad example.)

Babies do cute, funny stuff, no doubt about it. But are they the funniest thing to see on a home video? Not by a longshot, and that's because "funny" baby stuff is crap you can see everyday with any baby.

Let's put it this way. Suppose your favorite stand-up comic has you laughing so hard that you're crying. Then the next comic tells the exact same jokes. And the next one. And the next one. Eventually every comic is using the same jokes. Are they still funny? Maybe, but are you still busting a gut and wheezing? Not likely. More likely you're snickering or even just smiling. Which is the same response you'll get when babies do the same old crap over and over. Unless it's your own child of course, in which case all bets are off.

So you know why babies always win? Because people forget the point and title of the show. They vote for the cute babies because 1) they're cute and 2) they figure the family could use the money. That's why they gave $250,000 to a family of quadruplets. They were cute, in an annoying, giggly way, and everyone figures it takes a ton of money to raise four little girls. So the little rugrats get the money when in fact that dachshund should be wearing a diamond-plated dog collar.
August 20, 2006 at 8:30am
August 20, 2006 at 8:30am
#449354
darkin awarded me this wonderful merit badge yesterday. It's easily the most richly deserved one I've ever received. And that's saying something since I always richly deserve what's coming to me. Click on it and read the description; you won't be disappointed.

Merit Badge in In and Out
[Click For More Info]

For PC, who is always taking food in and making such interesting and blog worthy things out of it, using only his body and imagination.  Thank you for being you*^*Kiss*^*
August 18, 2006 at 7:28pm
August 18, 2006 at 7:28pm
#449056
It's happening you know. Whether you refuse to believe it or not, it's happening. Slowly, but surely. With each passing day, my influence grows. All my plans are slowing coming to fruition, all my trends slowly taking over.

Everywhere I look, a little bit of problematic content is sprouting up. And like a nasty weed it spreads across the garden of Writing.com before you can shoulder enough weed-killer to wipe it out. Sure, maybe you get a spot here and there, but look! Over there! A whole new patch! And what if you kill it? It's so intertwined with the prize-winning pumpkin patch now that you'd likely uproot the pumpkins. Are you really willing to kill that wholesome orange squash just to stomp out a little ol' weed like me? Nah, I didn't think so. Don't believe me? You want proof, huh? Okay, let's think about this for a minute. Let's start with the basics; let's look at the trends.

Remember the Safety Dance, folks? Everybody laughed at me. I sought to spread the Safety Dance across all of our online community, but they said it couldn't be done. As if a dancing midget in a minstrel outfit should ever be doubted. Well, guess what happened at convention? Guess what single dance inspired almost as many photos as the Electric Slide? That's right, it's the Safety Dance. I had more people from convention out on that dance floor parading around like a bunch of stoned fairies than anyone would care to admit. It was clearly the dance of choice. You have to discount the Electric Slide because that was botched time and time again. It doesn't stop there though. Just 10 minutes ago I received an email in which the writer closed with "*safety dances away*" or something like that. The same thing goes on in scroll all the time.

How about the ninjas? Doubt the popularity, the overwhelming devotion to my ninjas, do you? Well, today marks the one week anniversary of http://ninjachronicles.problematicconent.com. In this week I have received over 1000 hits from roughly 150 unique users, and the thing hasn't even been indexed by Google yet! Even the esteemed The StoryMaster commented in this very blog about the ninjas. Granted he was clearly questioning my sanity, but still. Eat your heart out, ninja haters. And do it quick, because the ninjas might get to it first.

Have you seen all the yawns people are leaving in blog comments? You know what I'm talking about. You write a boring entry and someone leaves a yawn in your blog. Guess who started that? Anyone recall "The Great *Yawn* Crusade?" Needless to say it was a complete and utter success. I've got people typing {e:yawn} like the keys are duct taped to their fingers. Just like me, they type it even when they are not yawning. Oh, the horror!

Seen any zombies lately? Of course not, because everyone has learned how to eradicate them. In fact Robert Waltz explained how they wiped out the zombie threat at Convention 2006. And I daresay Holly Jahangiri has a zombie fascination that isn't entirely healthy. That's saying something coming from me. Everyone is watching out for zombies now. As well they should.

How could I forget poop? I've got people telling poop stories, mentioning poo in Scroll, giving me poo-like monikers, asking me to write poop/fart entries, buying poo bumper stickers, and flinging poo all over Writing.com like they're at a chimp mating ritual. The poo is everyway. In fact we need one of those Fecal Matter Glasses on Saturday Night Live just to navigate the journals without stepping in it.

I'm a problematic trendsetter, but that's just the tip of the iceberg. My own personal influence is ever increasing. I've got friends in high places. I've got moderators and higher IM'ing me to laugh alongside my problematic behavior. I've got blues thanking me for saying all the things they wish they could say. I've got connections into all the Writing.com gossip. And I'm getting more attention, almost all of a positive nature, than I have ever received.

I'm making my problematic mark on Writing.com, a blemish rapidly becoming full blown grand cayonesque acne on the pristine face of online writing. Some people might use this to their advantage and forcibly or gradually conquer the denizens of Writing.com. Since I'd be a flawless, iron-fisted dictator, that seems a likely scenario for me. However, I came to a realization today. It's not really what I want.

Dictators are cool, but they always have to worry about enemies and back-stabbing. Plus they have to carry on with all that pomp and circumstance. Frankly I can't be bothered, so instead I'm taking the more subtle approach. I shall conquer and rule via proxy. I'll be the Cardinal Richelieu of Writing.com, the Rasputin of Scroll, the Dick Cheney of Blogging. Behind every great leader is a diabolical puppeteer pulling the strings. Already the marionettes are lining up for me. It's so much cooler spreading my problematic influence without anyone realizing I'm the one actually calling all the shots. I already have an army of disciples, so why not? Plus I've already got the delusions of grandeur prerequisite all covered.
August 18, 2006 at 1:44pm
August 18, 2006 at 1:44pm
#448972
This morning, as I put off fixing all the crap people messed up so I could instead work on a blog entry, a horrible thing happened. I opened my browser, directed it to Writing.com, and nothing happened. I had a genius blog entry all prepared, and I couldn't get to my most beloved domain. I surfed on over to Google, to see if maybe W.com was just down for a bit. That didn't load either. I had no Internet access at work whatsoever.

The network administrator took a vacation day today, and we were without Internet. The blog idea was slowly dying in my head, and the absent Writing.com fix was giving me the shakes. With minimal work on my desk and no Internet access, a little piece of me died. Boredom rushed up to meet me, and the longest Friday in the history of Fridays commenced.

For a brief moment I contemplated snatching the aluminum foil from the makeshift radio attenna one cubicle over and affixing it to my head like some kind of cellular Internet receiver. Then I'd crawl under my desk and curl around the UPS box attached to my PC. I'd start chanting Gregorian hymns or Queen lyics, whichever seemed more disturbing, and for brief moments I'd whimper piteously in the fetal position. I honestly couldn't think of any other rational way of dealing with no Internet connectivity.

At some point, something inside me snapped. A pair of synapses, normally strung together with neural fibers resembling costumicons and awardicons, misfired, creating a chain reaction. Entire brain lobes began to convulse and disintegrate. Flashing W.com IMs burned my corneas, and a hallucinagenic bot game beat my cerebrum in with rainbow-colored portofolios. And then everything was dark inside my head.

When at last light returned, my blog idea was gone, and along with it the intense desire to log onto Writing.com and surf the web. Then I did the most astonishing thing of all. I worked. I got stuff done. And I got it done without sending a single IM or reading a single blog. I was a dead man walking, a disconnected robot, a drone for The Man. Without the 'Net I wasn't quite human, and it scared me.

The rest of the morning passed by somehow. I can't remember it exactly. In fact, I think I blacked out several times. Now I'm experiencing Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. An overwhelming fear keeps creeping up that this is all an illusion. That I'm going to click "Save Entry" and be greeted immediately with a "Error 404: Page not found" screen. Or worse, the Blue Screen of Death. I don't know if I could handle that, I really don't. This working thing has shown me what I'm truly capable of, and I don't like it.

Oh shit, the flashbacks are starting again! Oh God no! Somebody please help. I'll be the one shivering under the desk, clutching my mouse close to my chin and reciting the phrase "I am PC. I am PC. I AM PC! PC PC PC!" Or something along those lines. I don't think you can miss me.
August 17, 2006 at 5:35pm
August 17, 2006 at 5:35pm
#448800
The answer: poo ninjas. That's right, poo ninjas. Ninjas eaten, digested, and pooped back out. They're just as deadly as regular ninjas, and now they got a shitty attitude too.

** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only **

http://ninjachronicles.problematiccontent.com/navigate.php?ninja_id=38
August 17, 2006 at 1:34pm
August 17, 2006 at 1:34pm
#448766
Oh my God, everything is so boring lately! Geez. I need to start a blog war or something because I'm on the verge of passing out from sheer boredom. The normal crew of people I IM aren't around to keep me awake. No one is updating journals. And scroll is mind-numbing today. That leaves me with one option...

Okay, folks, time for a game. I already have on ongoing one. In case your forgot, here it is: "Invalid Entry It ends Saturday night so get your entries in. But now it's time for another. This one gives instant GPs to all participants, but it only runs for today. Here's out it works:

*Bullet* Post a comment in this blog telling me which superhero I am most like. You can make one up if you want.
*Bullet* The post should include the name of a superhero and a 1-5 sentence paragraph explaining how that superpowered persona fits me.
*Bullet* GPs will be awarded based on the entertainment, coolness, and flattering value of each post. Ones I hate will still get a minimum GP award of 250 GPs. Excellent ones may receive 10,000 GPs or more!
*Bullet* Yes, you may enter more than once, but not more than 5 times.
August 17, 2006 at 9:38am
August 17, 2006 at 9:38am
#448713
Last week I detailed one of my many scatalogical adventures on the road. It seems some of my greatest anecdotes involve flatulence and public restrooms along the eastern seaboard. The last one was especially for Haizey, but it inspired me to write a series of traveling anecdotes of a more problematic nature. Here's the next one.

I'm not very well-traveled. In fact, I've been along the entire east coast but not much else. My only trip "out of the country" was a long weekend in Canada, which is kind of like kissing your sister in terms of international travel. But if there's one thing I know, it's public restrooms, and boy do I have stories. This is one such story.

On a drive back from Florida, a different one this time, we stopped somewhere in the Carolinas to fuel up and clean my colon. Our service station of choice was a Stuckie's/Dairy Queen combo. I have no idea if I spelled Stuckie's right, and frankly I don't care. Basically it's a poor man's 7-11, because 7-11 is clearly an establishment better suited for society's upper crust.

Stuckie's is known for two things: enough confederate flag memorabilia to make a Yankee like myself wish the windows didn't have bars on them, and a pre-packaged not-so-tasty treat called a pecan log. The pecan log invariably reminds of one of those little fruitcakes we ship to unsavorable relatives during the holiday season. It also has the same preserving qualities and is just as likely to induce vomitting. For some reason my mother loves them, and each southbound journey entails several banshee screams of "Stuckieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee's!" until we stop to buy one of those infernal logs.

But I'm off track now. This story is of a different kind of log. See, while my family fueled up and got into line at the Dairy Queen, my brother and I decided it was time to move our bowels. Not each others, or not together, but... well, you get the point.

The public restroom was a single stall icebox, somehow at the perfect temperature to make your warm fecal matter actually sizzle when it hit the cold porcelain. Did I say porcelain? I meant water. It's not like I sometimes smear on the seat or anything gross like that. Honest.

We had to wait while an elderly Asian man took care of business. I'm not sure if he had a colostomy bag in there or if he was reading "War and Peace," but I started turtle-heading, and I pushed my way past my brother when the room finally became available. Incidentally I learned that elderly Asian poo stinks like a son of a bitch. Not as much as mine grant you, but still pretty potent.

I did my business slowly but surely, oohing and aahing as the monster log crept out inch by inch. Sometimes moving a soft but solid turd, especially when he's big and you've been holding it for a half hour, is almost as good as sex. Certainly at least as refreshing. Or so I've been told.

I did my business and flushed. Somehow, by some cosmic joke of the poo gods, the monstrous log twisted sideways and straddled the hole at the bottom of the bowl, like a bridge over the gates to turd heaven. And there it stuck. The toilet paper was sucked beneath the fecal overpass and disappeared down the drain, but there the turd remained, poised perpendicular to its turdtastic salvation. I attempted to flush a few more times, but all to no avail. I threw in some extra toilet paper and flushed again. Again the paper went down after scooting beneath the log. No amount of flushing was going to dislodge that stubborn BM. I looked around for a plunger, hoping to mash it up. I was thankful I couldn't find one.

Finally giving up, I exited the restroom and grabbed my brother by the arm as he went in. "What do you have to do?"

"I have to poop," he said. The words filled me with dread. A vision of an overflowing port-a-potty with poo piled just above the seat inexplicably flashed before my eyes. I should have gagged, but instead I snickered.

"You can't," I told him, and I proceeded to tell him what happened. He insisted he had to and stormed past me.

I stood in line at the Dairy Queen with my father, all the while snickering. He wanted to know what was so funny, but since the cashier for the Stuckie's was literally just across the room I wasn't ready to divulge my scatological tale just yet. My brother emerged from the bathroom moments later, also snickering. We could barely contain ourselves as we collected our ice cream (I fittingly got a cone dipped in chocolate) and headed back to the car. Once within the confines of the van, I asked him what happen.

"I went," he said.

"But did it go down?"

"Mine went schoop! and slipped right underneath." He moved his hand like it was a wave, a solitary nugget riding a foul wave beneath the turd bridge. "The toilet paper went down too."

"And mine?"

"It's still there!" We burst out laughing. In fact, we're still laughing.

So if you ever find a sideways turd at a public restroom, think of me. And if it happens to be at a Stuckie's in one of the Carolinas, you can blame me when the toilet gets plugged. Although I'm sure shortly after we left, someone found a plunger and mashed it up into a swirling brown pool of sludge, complete with a mass of floating turdbits.

Oh, by the way, I was in my second year of college when that happened.

473 Entries · *Magnify*
Page of 24 · 20 per page   < >
Previous ... 6 7 8 9 -10- 11 12 13 14 15 ... Next

© Copyright 2012 Problematic Content (UN: erbiii at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Problematic Content has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.

Log in to Leave Feedback
Username:
Password: <Show>
Not a Member?
Signup right now, for free!
All accounts include:
*Bullet* FREE Email @Writing.Com!
*Bullet* FREE Portfolio Services!
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books.php/item_id/976788-Turning-from-the-Dark-Side/sort_by/entry_order DESC, entry_creation_time DESC/sort_by_last/entry_order DESC, entry_creation_time DESC/page/10