You’ve been out all day. Running errands, trudging through rush hour traffic, counting the 37 items the asshole at the grocery store has in his cart while he fumbles for exact change in the express register.
It’s called express for a reason, motherfucker.
You ate a big breakfast before you left the solitude and comfort of your home. Drank lots of coffee. You were going to be out all day. You didn’t want to get hungry. You needed the energy. Stopping for lunch wasn’t an option. No time. It’s your only day off.
Halfway through your Things to Do, you notice the familiar rumblings of the fudge factory revving its engines. You know it’s only a matter of time before the prophecies of the ancient scroll Everyone Poops come true, and the Gods of Guano* sound the Call of the Colon — the Bellow of the Bowels breaks the Seventh Seal of the Sphincter and the rectum rush becomes too much to contain. Continue reading
Attn: People on Twitter or Facebook who post live updates of TV programming.
You working folk know how important it is to be able to sneak away for a bit to access your favorite social media sites. How else could you keep people updated on how much you hate your job and how much of a C U Next Tuesday your boss is?
Well, as you know, not all of us work nine-to-fivers. Some of us work Sunday nights and we don’t get to watch Game of Thrones right away. So when we’re at work and we take a peek at our phones, the last thing we want to see is five tweets from the same person giving a fucking play-by-play of spoilers to shows we’ve planned to watch recordings of when we get home.
Also, the mere, even vague mention of a twist ending or character’s death or cliffhanger, without spoiling the details, is still a goddamned spoiler.
Say something about how awesome the show was. That’s fine! But give it at least 24 hours before you go and ruin it for the people who haven’t seen it.
Same goes for people watching sporting events. If I want to watch a game, I’ll watch it. But I didn’t set up a Facebook account to act as a live feed for misspelled, overly exclamatory status updates about bad calls, shitty refs, awesome catches and to-the-minute scoring updates.
I can’t imagine what it’s like living on the West Coast.
That thing you’re doing? Stop.
wails of the dying
frequencies you’ll never
ghosts that haunt
white noises and
soundtracks of oceans
and thunderstorms and nature
to mask the sounds
of dying sound
but you’ll always hear
Not much has changed in almost 30 years. I don’t have the tail anymore and my head is significantly larger. So there’s that.
Sometimes I watch porn bloopers, because nothing masks the shame of jerking it to a chick with daddy issues getting railed quite like jerking it to a chick with daddy issues getting railed and totally fucking up the shoot somehow.
And then I started thinking about ideal porn blooper scenarios. The ones that, if there were an America’s Funniest Home Videos for porn, would win the $10,000 and go on to the $100,000 grand finale.
You know how if you’re eating or drinking something and you start laughing, that particular thing has the possibility of shooting out of your nose?
Okay, so what if there’s a chick going down on some dude, and just as he’s going Number Three in her mouth, he says something really out of character or funny, or maybe he tells her a quick joke in the process. You know, a little workplace humor. Because everyone loves workplace humor.
So he tells her this joke, and it’s really funny. And I mean really fucking funny. So funny that she laughs so hard jizz shoots out of her nose.
Oh my God it would be hilarious.
I hate my brain.