Friday, September 16, 2011

Poop rapture

While at work yesterday I heard an announcement over the intercom saying something about "Construction workers broke the main water line outside, please don't use the bathrooms or faucets in the kitchen for the next half hour".

Typically I would have ignored this, but it just so happens that I was holding a one liter bottle of water, which by now was completely drained. At this point the homeland security warning level was at High Yellow. and I questioned my ability to hold out for 30 minutes.

I chose to ignore the intercom request and decided on using the bathroom because thanks to aforementioned announcement, it was now necessary for me to go ASAP. I mumbled to myself "If no one has used the bathroom, the toilet should have at least ONE flush available which would meet my needs. Delicious."

As I casually stroll over to the bathroom, I noticed one of the IT guys down the hall. His face was sweatier than usual, hands were clammy. I know he was clinching, and it wasn't for urine; he needed to drop a double deuce. I power-walked and beat him to the bathroom, at which point I closed the stall behind me, let out a loud thunderous fart and let my pee flow freely. I flushed. I don't wash my hands (there's no water, remember?) and see the IT guy outside. Waiting.

We fist bump and he goes in. I know he's dropping the biggest deuce of his life, but there's no more water and he knows, that I know.

Using my ninja-skills, I hide at the office nearest to the bathroom until I see him stumble out. He made it a point to avoid eye contact.

I wanted to play it cool and go tend to my managerial duties but curiosity got the best of me. And against my better judgement I go in to see how he got rid of the evidence. Then I see it. The most gruesome yet beautiful thing I've ever seen.

A shit pinata.

That's when you stack toilet paper, shit, and repeat until it creates a solid paper mache roll of toilet paper. It was art.

The shit was so well packed, that it was almost camouflaged by the amount of toilet paper used. To the untrained eye, it would look like the lid was put down on a toilet.

I was startled when I heard footsteps, worried that someone might think I was responsible for the poop rapture. I hustled back to my work area and within seconds hear the announcement:

"The water main has been fixed but the bathroom is out of work for half hour".

Friday, July 1, 2011

I'm going to blow your back out, again

I've been having some serious back pain since last Monday. Finally tapped out and went to doctors office today. After a couple of perfectly timed bone(r) jokes, the nurse offered to give me a check up. She had warm hands. Doctor suggested I get some x-rays. Nurse was having technical difficulty; took several faulty x-rays. I kept making inappropriate hulk jokes due to over exposure to radiation. Asked nurse to check me for "unusual growth". Nurse asked me to take off any metal. I removed belt, pants were around ankles. She said "not yet, that's after drinks"

Moral of the story: Even though it was cold in the x-ray room I still got her number, a bulging disc on my back, and vicodin.

Friday, July 16, 2010

Attention Whore Disease

Rejoice; I'm back.

My family is filled with people with fucked up senses of humor. I appreciate them very much so. A few days ago that my brother has Stage 4 liver cancer. Stage 4 meaning "It's spreading". Needless to say, jokes ensued. About the spreading, not the cancer. That part sucks.

So my brother calls me at 7am to tell me has six months to live. I'm like dude, you have shitty timing with jokes. He says, Well, I have six months to get the timing right. See? THAT'S funny.

He goes on to say, his cancer is an attention whore. It's going around to all his other organs drama-queen style. So now people reading my timeline are like "Wait, cancer isn't funny" I don't want to laugh at that. But yea, we laugh.

That's why I prefaced this random rant with "my family has a fucked up sense of humor". Anyways, back to business. Show me your tits, it's for breast cancer awareness.

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Don't point your finger at me!

Many moons have passed since I updated this blog. After much bickering, and finger pointing (at myself mostly) I've decided to write whatever came to mind in order to satisfy your shitty-blog-needs. Now, seeing that we are in the topic of shitty needs; why not start there?

At some point most men will either be offered a prostate exam as part of general health screening, or, it will be advised because of their age, or in some rare occurrences due to "problems relating to difficulty in passing urine".

So here I am having "difficulty in passing urine". Why, you ask? The short version? A miscalculated drunken crane kick a couple days earlier. In retrospect that dude should not have been wearing steel-toed shoes, but I digress. Let's fast-forward a little bit... I am sitting in my family doctors office discussing the possible causes for my difficulties doing number one.

There is no proper way to share this information with a heterosexual male without causing mental anguish, and panic. The mere thought of a finger being inserted into your rectum to examine and/or probe your prostate is not only nauseating, but scary. Not "Oh my god, there's something wrong with me. I hope I'm okay" scary; but rather "I hope he doesn't have gargantuan Nordic Viking man-hands" scary.

My doctor demanded I stand, with my feet apart, facing the same couch I used to sit on while my older siblings received their annual vaccinations. He asked that I bend forward so that my arms were laying on the couch. He kept repeating "just relax, and breathe in slow, just relax". The whole time, I kept questioning myself wondering what I had eaten the night before. It could quickly become a 1-doctor-1 cup scene at any moment.

Now these words I will never forget: You will feel a little pressure but no discomfort. These were the last words I heard before my anal-cavity's virginity was taken from me. My body reacted aggressively, I bucked like a horse. Really, it was more of a kick. Literally, I kicked the doctor on his knee as a sort of self defense mechanism. He jumped back, and let out audible yell. He screamed "Why the hell did you kick me?" pointing his shitty finger at me.

I laughed, those were the exact words I used during my Mister Miyagi moment that landed me here. Delicious irony.

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

How to Weds: Masturbate at work

If this is your first time reading one of my "HOW TO" Series of blogs, you are in for a treat; when you're done I recommend you go read the other HOW TOs... now off to the blog ->

There are written rules of proper conduct while at work. These are meant to define acceptable behaviors, and promote standard of practice. Now, outside of the adult industry world, masturbating on the clock is frawned upon. In fact, most companies often discourage all sexual activities, and even go as far as grouping them together under 'sexual harassment'. These are misguided folks, who do not comprehend that every man and/or woman should be able to masturbate as they deem necessary.

On the flip side, we can not afford complete jerk-off mayhem, so in keeping with the code of conduct mentality, I will share some quick (no pun intended) masturbation recommendations on how, where, and when to rub one out. These are written from a heterosexual male perspective; please adjust for your preferences.

AVOID: public stroking, is a no-go, yea, I know it's a lot to ask for, but trust me on this one. Everyone masturbates, and everyone defacates, and YES not everyone enjoys watching those. If they do, they probably already have it saved in their Favorites folder at their home PC.

PREPARE: This is an integral part of this process. If you are planning on using lube, wetnaps, or any visual aide make sure it is at your disposal at least three days prior. You do not need to make any last minute adjusments.

SCHEDULING: You have to commit, set aside adequate time. I recomend scheduling between two stressful meetings, or perhaps post-meeting with your supervisor. As a rule of thumb masturbating during conference calls is perfectly okay. There are a handfull of exceptions, mainly video conference calls.

COMMUNICATION: Always remember to switch of your mobile phone, I would even suggest an out-of-office autoreply in your outlook inbox. A vague message should do the trick. "I am currently handling a very delicate situation, will reply back shortly"

LOCATION: Much like with real estate, location is everything. A personal office with locked doors would be optimal. You might even try to reserve a conference room, party of one. If these are not viable options, I can suggest the handicap stall bathroom. Under no circumstance should you use your boss's office, not even if they are out of town. (I learned this one the "hard" way)

CLEAN-UP: Its a dirty job, but somebody has to do it. Fight the urge to call maintenance to clean up the "mayonaisse spill on the floor". Odds are they were listening through the walls, and they know its your knuckle-butter. This is where PREPARATION pays off, you should already have adequate supplies handy to clean up quickly.

HUSH-UP: It is a serious breach of masturbation etiquette to divulge information to others about said masturbation. What has been taken place between you and your meat should be considered as confidential. Do not leave your office with a nicholsonesque joker face, they will know. Also avoid giving everyone high fives.

In the words of Charlie Murphy, "I beat my meat, like it owes me money".

That is all for now.

Is this mic on?

Probably not.

I havent updated my blog in a while.

If you are reading this please message me on twitter with the following super secret "I read your blog" code:

@Ihuntmidgets IReadYourBlog


Monday, August 17, 2009

How to Mondays: Levitate like Criss Angel

Found this short video and completely amazed by it. I must have watched it 5 times!

Watch this video in a new windowCriss Angel's Magic Tricks Revealed - Part 1

sidenote: I am a self-admitted asshole.

Friday, August 14, 2009

My eye sucks at life

The past 2-3 three days I keep finding ways of pissing my eye off. My eyeball ying and yang is way off kilt at this point. I can't think of the last nice thing I did for my eyes. I mean outside ofcourse of daily dosage of looking at redtube, and various other websites filled with c'est tits.

At some point earlier this week I managed to get orange juice under my eyelid. Don't ask about the physics behind it, just know that it sucked. Citric acid, and cornea are two things that are not meant to go together. The only other pain-inducing odd couple I can think of at the moment would be a rottweilers mouth and your crotch. Yea- it sucked THAT much.

The only way to get back my eye karma points would be to view something majestic. Like margaret thatcher scissor fucking barbara bush, bareback on a unicorn. Or something equally visually awesome. For now, I will settle for being a Peeing-Tom outside of my neighbors window sill.

No, that wasn't a typo. Peeing Tom, as opposed to peeping tom. Is when you mark your pervert-territory by peeing where you watch. This has its obvious downsides, mostly having to stand where you peed. The ups: ENDLESS.

Monday, July 27, 2009

Afrika Bambutta!

Nine years ago to the date, I was kicked out of PRO-AM BBOY competition in miami after an incident in which I mooned afrika bambatta.

There were a number of 1980s Hiphop Elite fucks there; during this highly-over orchestrated speech. At one point during the speech, my turettes kicked in and I challenged crazylegs and speedylegs to a bachata-off.

My hiphop scribe @Roberto_Flack was there and can confirm the validity of these events. Needless to say, I was promptly escorted out after yelling ZUZUZU and mooning the crowd of around 2,000 people.

Yea, try moving the crowd like that afrika bam! I won that round fucker. your move.

:editors note:

Title inspired by below ->
@raisedbyclowns That's a great story. He shall now be known to me as Africa Bambuttaa. Forever.

Saturday, July 25, 2009

Fuck you very much

Dear Asshole who stole my cell phone,

I hope at some point you read my text messages and realize I am an evil bastard with a lot of free time. I will find you, and eat your face, with some faava beans. No - not really, please just give me my phone back. We can do lunch, I'll buy you chinese food. Also, I promise I will not stab you in the heart with the chopsticks. Okay, must admit I did think about it. Fine, I'm still thinking about it now. Alright, honestly I can't really guarantee the no-stabbing-with-the-chopsticks thing, but I will buy you an eggroll. You can definitely get an eggroll. WIN WIN for both of us!

Fuck you man.

Just give me back my fucking phone =(