Tuesday, October 30, 2012

Love & Farting

Debates--and NOT the political kind

September 26, 2012

I have had many requests for, questions about, and concerns pertaining to the absence of the poop chronicles. To my legion of fans, I must apologize for my absence. Unfortunately there just hasn't been anything particularly interesting during my bowel banishings lately. 

Until tonight... 

So after having a nice dinner here in the hotel, I was taking a leisurely stroll 

through the lobby on the way back to my room. I decided I wanted something sweet for later. A nice little late night snack. I went up to the pantry, had a look around, and goody goody there was an ice cream sandwich with a chocolate shell type thingy that looked awesome. Sold! With my newly acquired goodness in tow, I returned to my room. 

It was upon my return that I realized my error... I have no fridge in this room. Damn it... I would have to eat the ice cream immediately. So I did. About two bites in, you guessed it, I had to poop. And it really wasn't a "don't worry about it, you can take your time" kind of poop. It was more of a "go ahead and test me boy" kind of poop. So I did what any other red blooded 'Murrican would do, I dropped trou and proceeded to deuce while finishing my ice cream. 

This was pretty cool. I mean, if I was making a list of my favorite things to do, deucing and eating ice cream would both probably make the top ten. So I finished my ice cream, and proceeded with my first round of T.P. use. I say first round because I realized, well was rather told by my colon, that I wasn't quite done and would need additional clean up shortly. 

So as I waited, I saw it... There was something brown on my finger... Here is where the shame comes in. For about 20 seconds, I stared at it debating... It could be chocolate, or it could be something that would not taste like chocolate... The adult side won the battle as I figured, chocolate or not, you did just wipe your ass. Probably best if you don't lick that finger. So I finished up, washed my hands, and am now passing this poop chronicle on to you. Enjoy!

Poop Peripherals

October 30, 2012

Today's chronicle will not deal with pooping per say, but a related topic. A "poop peripheral" if you will. Today, I want to talk to you about ninja farts. 

While on a plane to Chicago this morning, I felt a little turbulence in my gut and knew I had some bubbles to blow. Now we are all aware of how to release silent farts, but ninja farts take it a step farther. Ninja farts attack the senses of their intended target, without knowledge of who the ninja is (because ninjas are sneaky) and even go as far as to throw suspicion on another. 

To successfully ninja fart, you must take the following steps: 

First, ensure that you are dealing with a fart and nothing more. This is VERY IMPORTANT as things can end very badly for you if not. 

Next, ensure you can position for optimal silence during release. Remember, you are trying to be sneaky, not squeaky. 

Once steps one and two are confirmed, locate your target and fall guy. Locating the target is a matter of identifying the direction of wind travel. Which way is your fart going to move? Look for someone eating (not as a target, don't be an ass) or a lady wearing perfume. Identify where they are sitting and if you can smell what they have. This will help you with wind direction. 

Now that you have your path determined, you have to ensure a proper fall guy is in place. This is the true point that separates a silent fart from a ninja fart. The fall guy (and it is best for this to be a male) must look like he would fart in public. Not that the individual has to look rough or rugged, just more likely to smell than yourself. 

With everything in place, fire away. Start small. Let a little at a time and watch the fury develop in your target and the dirty looks they throw at the fall guy. 

And when it is all over, if they happen to make a comment about "the guy in front of me", just smile and say "yeah, I got a couple whiffs myself." That's what I did :)

Thursday, June 14, 2012

RIP Girlie Cat

March 20, 2009

Clint's childhood cat, Cajun (aka Girlie Cat) . She was a jerk to everyone except Clint. He has a way with the ladies...

How you know it's a party

June 13, 2012

The best stories always provoke deep thought, reflection, a better understanding of others, laughter, and unexpected endings.  I, of course, attempt to portray this in the chronicles... this is one of those times.

While in the Detroit airport, I finished a meal at the Detroit 500 club restaurant (sounds a lot fancier than it is) which sports a racing theme. It didn't take long for me to realize why as the food raced straight through my colon and was squealing tires at the finish line

As I made my way into the men's restroom, I noticed it was a popular place. Probably because it was the closest one to that horrible restaurant. All stalls were occupied. I then noticed a blind man, cane and all, standing in the middle of the restroom. By middle I mean 5 urinals (all occupied) 2 feet on one side of him and 3 stalls (all occupied) on the other side of him. He was alone and waiting for a stall to come open. 

A stall came open at the same time a urinal was flushed. He turned slightly one way and then the other. I could tell there was too much commotion for him to know whether a stall door had opened. At this point, I stepped forward and said, “This one just opened up for you buddy.”

 He quickly thanked me and stepped into the stall, and shortly after, I stepped into the next one available. As I sat there doing my business, I kept thinking about how difficult that guy had it. I’m sure many of us have thought about how tough it would be to be blind, but I never considered the public restroom scenario. Especially alone

He would have to reach out and touch around the edges to know what was on each side. If he chose to use a urinal, he would have to touch it somewhere to ensure he was lined up. Not only does he have to touch everything, but he would most likely accidently touch other men while they have their units in their hands (and so you ladies know, we do not speak to men we don’t know while urinating, let alone brush their backs with our hands as we walk by). 

And think about how much better this individual’s sense of smell probably is… Not the place I would want that gift. 

How about when he does make it into a stall? I have sat, dropped a deuce, and then realized there wasn’t any toilet paper there… and I have the ability to look first. He has to physically find it each time before letting loose or find himself in a very difficult situation. Then, of course, we all have heard the joke: How does a blind man know when he is done wiping? 

All of this ran through my head, and I’m feeling deep sympathy for this man. I reach over to grab some toilet paper, look up, and see the following statement written on the wall, “It’s not a party until I cum.” Awesome.