Mental Poo

Q&A not T&A although T&A would have TOTALLY been better

2009-11-28T09:30:00.002-05:00

The questions came harder and faster than Tommy Lee waking from a coma in the middle of the Playboy Mansion.

Wow.

That visual even disturbed ME.

I asked my readers to fire away with things they wanted to know about me.

Both JenJen and Malicious Intent asked why any of you would care, and if I'm a narcissist to think that you would.

It's like they don't even KNOW me.

Whatever.

I won't answer either of those bitches because I'm better than them.

Thanks be to Rod.

Here are some of the questions, and my answers.

"What was your favorite brand of condoms back when you still used them?" - Travis

Back when I still used them, I think the only brand of condom was Trojan.

However, to say that I 'used' them was like saying people 'eat fruitcake they get in the mail.'

I have no idea what that means.

Let's just say that when I DID use condoms, I'd usually open the wrapper and all that would come out was dust.

Apparently, these things degrade if you don't use them.

The more you know.

I got the same question from THREE people:

"Well, have a great thanksgiving and questions?? really?? I gotta know what you do in real life. That's my question. Give it to me...give it to me gooooood, moooooooog." - Lee

..aand...

What DO you do at work that give you all the time to read, comment and post on the blog, FB and Twitter? Are you a BOSS? Remember, BOSS spelled backward is double SOB. - Coffeypot

...and...

"DOH!!! Coffeypot asked MY question! So make sure you answer it, cause I really want to know what you actually DO at work that leaves you so much time to blog, etc." - Olly

Believe it or not, I actually hold an degree in Architecture.

Yes.

I could be an architect.

However, the fact that I can barely erect my own penis pretty much doomed that career from the get-go.

As such, I actually work in the Quality Assurance department for a large network hardware/software company.

This means that I basically do jack shit and why most things I work on break right out of the box.

That's called 'making your own job security.'

Boss: "We can't fire Rodney - we need to keep testing these products!"

* wink

This also explains why we're losing the race to the Chinese.

But hey, if I worked, there wouldn't be this blog - so you take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and I STILL wouldn't screw Natalie.

"If you could have any five people killed, who would it be and by what means would you have them whacked?" - Mr. Knucklehead

NOW we're talking!

In no particular order, I would have the following thing whacked:

1) My penis

Now..for the five people I'd have killed and how:

1) Rachael Ray

2) Whoopi Goldberg

3) Nancy Pelosi

Nancy Pelosi would walk in on a Rachael Ray/Whoopi Goldberg lesbian rendezvous.

Nancy's twisted distorted face exclaims, "WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!"

Rachael: "I'm eating Whoopi pie. It's Delish!"

At this point, Nancy kills both Rachael and Whoopi by heaving a single copy of the Healthcare reform bill, but simultaneously breaks her hip while trying to actually pick it up and dies alone in a puddle of her own obnoxiousness.

This whole thing would require planning, but I think I could pull it off.

4) Anyone who has me in their will/life insurance policy.

I will need specific names for this.

5) The guy driving in front of me in the passing lane who has left his turn signal on.

Jesus H. Christ.

I have to get to work.

This blog won't write itself.

For this, I shall use my hood-mounted canon.

I had this installed with the money left for me from person #4.

Plus he's old anyway. Might as well just get it over with.

****************

That's episode #1 of Q&A with Moooooog.

If you've asked some questions that I haven't gotten to yet, don't worry - I will.

If you have something you'd like to ask me, email me at midgetmanofsteel@yahoo.comand put 'Q&A' in the subject line.

But hopefully that gives you a little peek inside of me.

Just. Like. My. Proctologist.

Moog out.

Enquiring Minds Want to Know, but Probably Not

2009-11-25T08:00:00.000-05:00

I'm taking a Thanksgiving break.

So, to keep you entertained and busy while I'm gone...

I'm giving you some homework to do.

About ME.

Of course.

But first...a little cross-promotion here.

1) The Midget Man Gets Fashionable

On Thursday, December 3rd, I'll be at Jillian's in Manchester, NH for The Whiskey Girls Finalist Fashion Show.

No, I'm not in it.

Not like I wouldn't take home the friggin' gold, but whatever.

No - I'm covering the show for The Whiskey Girls - a bunch of hot, Harley chicks who raise money for charitable causes. If you have a charitable cause, give 'em a ring - because they travel.

If you're in the vicinity of Manchester, NH on December 3rd - come by and meet me and The Whiskey Girls.

My friend Kristin will be there, too...but knowing her, she'll be in the bathroom for most of the night pooping.

Women.

2) Thanksgiving, and the Question-and-Answer Period

Let me just wish all of you a great Thanksgiving (for you in the States), and I'll see you back here on Monday.

If you're a Native American reader, though, let me offer my condolences and wish you a joyous 'Backstabber Massacre Day' or whatever your medicine man calls it.

Whatever. Happy Thanksgiving.

I'm hoping mine is better than last year's, as I'm not following Alton Brown's recipe for salmonella poisoning.

What an asshole.

Although, aside from massive runs, it DID give me a great idea for my first ever contest.

So, I guess I have him to to thank.

Doesn't change the fact that he's still an asshat, but whatever.

ONWARD!!

******************************

Why am I so damn sexy?

Why is my penis so friggin' LARGE?

Why do I lie about my crazy sexiness and penis size?

You want the answers?

Then ask the questions.

Yes - I'm introducing a new bit today called:

Q&A with the Moog!

It doesn't have quite the ring of "Ask Jeeves," but screw Jeeves and the horse he rode in on.

That's not an insult.

That's actually what we do here in New Hampshire.

I've digressed.

Regardless...I got this idea from OHMommy over at Classy Chaos.

Just so you know, "OHMommy" stands for "Ohio Mommy" and not:

"Oh...mommy....oh mommy...oh, oh...oh mommy..."

Man...that brings back some memories of my childhood.

If I ever meet a blogger named "OHDaddy," I'm going to need some serious therapy to handle THOSE flashbacks.

"I'm going to use lube,"he says.

Yeah right.

Fucking liar.

Regardless, OHMommy introduced a section where people can ask her questions about herself, her family, job, whatever...and she answers them.

I thought it would be cool to do here...as most people know only the following things about me from this blog:

1) I shave my junk (a.k.a., "moogscaping")

2) I'm short

3) I like to go poo recreationally or - in certain parts of the red light district - sometimes I'll do it for money

Other than that, I'm a pretty closed book.

So, if you want to know something about me, go nuts.

You can ask in the comments section, click the picture below, or just email me here: and title the email "Q&A".

I'm not looking for 'Dear Moog' letters (although you're always encouraged to write one), but it's the only graphic I had..so suck it.

These should be questions you want to ask about ME.

Who I am. What I do. What makes me tick. Why I have that tic (kids). Etc., etc., etc.

Now...

...excuse me while I go shave my giant sexy penis.

Moog out.

The Grand Whiffer

2009-11-24T09:00:00.001-05:00

..and that's how grandma got a sunburn.

Let me explain...

You see...

I’m a pretty gassy guy.

I’m not sure why...

...as it’s not like all I eat is beans and squirt cheese.

(Great...now I want beans and squirt cheese)

But really...

...most days I'm surprised that I just don't up and fucking float away.

Maybe all guys are like this, I’m not sure...

...but if I lived in the Renaissance period, my official title would be “Sir Tootsalot.”

Now, I’ve known my wife for just about 20 years...

...and I think she’s farted in front of me MAYBE once – completely by accident.

As such, if I need to cut one it usually has to be in a separate room (per her strict instructions)...

...or I have to try to get away with it somehow.

For example:

The In-Bed Stealth Method:

My "in-bed stealth method" involves me quietly reaching back and stretching my butt cheeks ridiculously far apart...

...so as to make a perfect “O” with my cornhole...

...thus eliminating the possibility for any sound to escape by scratching the sidewalls as it exits.

(I learned how to do this watching porn)

If she hears me crack one outside, though, I’m always instructed to “shake out my pants” before I get in the car.

The "shaking of the pants" procedure ...

(which involves me smacking myself on the ass in public)

...is intended to release any previously trapped gases that may be lingering in my jeans...

...thus escaping into the vehicle when I sit down…

…violently killing all inside.

We had just left the restaurant with my family and I had a good internal bubble going.

This, for me, is typical.

I usually take the opportunity of the loud clamoring of the car doors opening/closing, etc., etc., to make my gas expulsion blend in with the surrounding sounds.

Timing it precisely here eliminates me from admonishment...

...and the subsequent “shaking of the pants” act in the middle of a fucking parking lot.

I waited until the decibel level in the area was high enough...

...then let ‘er rip.

*ZZRRRRPPPPPFFFFPPTTHTHHHHHH*

Ahhhhhh.

If I had done this in an enclosed area, I can tell you that it would have been a bad one...

...because it came out HOT.

You know you've got a killer on your hands when it feels like you've farted the breath of the Devil himself.

(yes, now you know what Rachael Ray's breath is like)

Just for safety's sake, I rapped my butt one time with my hand to release the rest of the demons into the atmosphere before hopping into the car.

It was like an exorcism involving Levi's.

No one was the wiser.

(except for the pigeons I saw plummeting from the sky)

Regardless...

I stepped inside the car, closed the door and started putting on my seatbelt.

As I turned to grab the belt...

I saw her.

There...next to our car...I saw...

A little old lady sitting in the passenger seat of the car next to me.

* cricket

She was staring at me.

Her window was cracked a bit.

Oh.

Apparently, in my hurry to time everything just right, I neglected to see if there were any people in the general vicinity.

As such, I apparently aimed and shot that fucker right at her with full hurricane force.

My guess is that she was probably enveloped in my vaporized poo-cloud as we stared each other down…

...choking on it.

Yes, folks...

...she was dying.

I could see it in her sad little eyes:

Granny (pressing her hand to the window): “…why…?”

Me (pressing my hand to her window from the other side): "I'm so...sorry..."

*thump*

Dead.

My. God.

Me (getting into car): "Okay...Who wants ice cream?!"

Meanwhile...The Coroner's Report:

Cause of Death: Asphyxiation from a toxic gas made of nachos, garlic mashed potatoes and beer.

I'm sure she's probably not my first victim...

...and she certainly won't be my last.

Just ask the pigeons.

Twix or Tweets - Volume One

2009-11-23T07:00:00.003-05:00

You knew it was coming.

(hands woman a towel)

Wow.

Got disgusting there right off the bat.

GAME ON, BABY!

I'm actually talking about this post.

The latest rage for bloggers is to self-promote themselves by reposting some of their Twitter Tweets as blog posts.

I am now stooping to this level.

Actually, I'm 5'-2" tall.

No stooping required. Already there.

Fucking sucks.

Below are some of my very own Tweets that I've subjected my 12 followers to.

Enjoy.

*************************

Having an argument on Facebook now about whether a begonia is an onion or a female hobo and whether or not you should pee on them either way.

Did anyone else watch the chimp attack victim footage from Oprah and think, "MY GOD...Unreal. Oprah looks like SHIT." Or was that just me?

I was interviewed Monday by NOSSA - Nat'l Org. of Short Statured Adults. No shit. WE'RE ORGANIZED?! I've been just milling around and shit.

34 degrees and took the bike in. If anyone finds a small pair of testicles on 93 south in Massachusetts, please return them to me. Thanks.

tweet I got: "thanks moooooog great piece (yes, was a long one this morning)" ?! sadly, this was about my blog.

@FrankLeeMeiDere 'Cranky and against everything' is my middle name. Writing that shit out in first grade really sucked

Made a HUGE pile of leaves for the kids to jump in. What do they do in Florida? I'm guessing jump in piles of alligators and pedophiles.

Just heard one guy at work ask another if he 'was keeping it real.' It's okay that I punch this asshole in the throat, right?

Jeez..make fun of Spanish people and suddenly you're a 'racist.'

A couple bounced from 'Amazing Race' cuz she won't go down a fucking WATER SLIDE?! Are you f'ing kidding me?! She. Must. Pay. With. Anal.

Just pulled out my kielbasa. It was hard. Seriously..I'm having it for dinner tonight and it was frozen. You people are sick.

October 16th and it's SNOWING?!?! SNOWING?!?! I would totally move to Florida if it didn't smell like the elderly.

Done asking for donations with my daughter for soccer. At the state liquor store. At 9 am. There's an attractive clientele, let me tell ya.

Spent 3 hours watching my daughter in single-game elimination soccer. I cheered for the other teams so I could go home, instead. Wrong?

@LivitLuvit You are my hero. Or heroin. Heroine. I don't think you'd fit in a syringe.

I posted my Halloween entry. Yeah, it's late. Like I give a shit. Speaking of giving a shit...be back in about 20 minutes. TMI?

What am I doing? I'm working. Work sucks. Work sucks more ass than Lindsay Lohan on a bender in a lesbian dance hall. that's a lot.

*************************

If you're linked to me on Facebook, you may have seen these as well.

If you want to find me in either place, click here.

Twitter at: http://twitter.com/moooooog35 or you can just click this button:

Find me at Facebook by clicking here:

You've been warned.

Tweet.

Motivational Filler - Cuteness and Beastiality

2009-11-20T13:00:00.000-05:00

This was posted back in August...when everyone was on vacation and no one was reading.

So I'm reposting.

Yeah..you may have seen it before in different posts of mine.

Tough shit.

My blog, my rules.

In fact, I've even ADDED a new one to the original post...so you get yourself a TWOFER!

Have a joyous day!!

**************************

Motivate THIS.

(points at crotch)

Nothing to see here today...

...except a custom "motivational poster" made by yours truly over at Big Huge Labs.

Seriously...

...I have no idea how I made it almost 40 years without finding this thing.

Here's today's posters for you (click to enlarge (that's what she said)):

Mmmmm.

Chicken fingers.

If you want to see all of my custom posters, click here.

If you like them, feel free to post them on your site.

Just give me some credit.

God knows my bank won't.

Moog out.

I Kicked Jesus' ASS - Part Two

2009-11-19T07:00:00.004-05:00

HIYA!

Scared?

This is 'Part Two' of my karate tournament recap.

For Part One, click here.

When we last left our hero (me - hellooooo? my blog), we were in this situation:

I had just finished my first bout of sparring by defeating a 7'4", 350 lb. gargantuan with all-gold teeth, nicknamed 'The Spine Shredder.'

Some of the above may not be completely accurate.

Regardless, I won my first fight.

With my first win under my belt, it was time for someone else to fight.

Brian.

Brian is another one of the other 'Super Awesome Karate Dads' (oooh...great name for a rock band) from my school.

Fully stoked, Brian immediately went up and wasted absolutely no time in getting his ass completely fucking handed to him 3-to-0 by this really tough looking Latino guy.

The Latino guy's name?

Jesus.

That's right.

We were fighting Jesus.

Jesus was from a school named 'Dragon Fury' (you can't make this shit up) which is basically the Southern New Hampshire version of Cobra Kai.

They take their shit SERIOUSLY.

So Brian goes up against Jesus and Jesus - in true 'I AM YOUR ONE TRUE GOD' fashion - attacks him with flying spinning kicks and roundhouse shit and it's just one fucking giant blur of Jesus parts slamming into Brian's face and random body parts.

Brian.

Goes.

Down.

Me: "Jesus Christ."

Jesus: "What?"

So that leaves two winners (me and Jesus) to go head-to-head for first place.

Tale of the tape:

Rodney:
Height: 5'-2"
Weight: 155 lbs.
Specialty: High, fast kicks. High pitched girly screams can shatter glass.

Jesus:
Height: 5'-8"
Weight: 170 lbs.
Specialty: Makes wine out of water, raises the dead, wicked spinning roundhouse kicks.

I'M FUCKED.

The master calls us up:

Master (pointing to where I'm supposed to go): "Rodney."

As I'm walking up, he calls:

Master: "Jesus."

All I can think of, walking into the ring, is:

"How the fuck am I supposed to beat Jesus?"

Granted, it was pronounced 'Hey, Zeus'...

(Jesus...Zeus...HOLY FUCK...is this guy TWO deities in one?!?)

...but this is how my mind works even in the face of impending death.

Regardless, we somehow managed to get the score tied at 2 points apiece, with one more point deciding the winner for first place.

No pressure.

The Master yells "GO" and I try to fake Jesus out - similar to what, I guess, Judas did but without wearing protective headgear - and he comes at me with a kick and then ANOTHER spinning kick.

If I don't get hit with these Jesus kicks it's gonna be a miracle.

Wow.

There's a bit of irony for ya.

Regardless, as his Jesus feet are flailing towards me, I back out of the way...

...and as he lands...

I kick him in the stomach.

BANG.

* cricket

POINT.

MINE.

I win.

I WON?!

I beat Jesus!

Fuck. YEAH.

Unfortunately, this did not sit well with Jesus who stood across the building from me for the rest of the day staring me down with his entourage (apostles?) and shaking his head in disgust.

Wife: "I think Jesus is totally going to kick your ass later."

Wouldn't be the first time.

What was weird is that, as I write this, I am totally sick with congestion and fevers and chills and shit.

This came on IMMEDIATELY after my fight with Jesus.

I swear to God that's true.

The Lord works in mysterious ways, apparently.

But screw him.

I got the bigger trophy.

************************

UPDATE:

I've never - EVER - posted a modern day picture of me.

Until RIGHT NOW.

But I'm so proud of what my son and I were able to do (i.e., 'clean fucking HOUSE'), that I've decided to share that with you.

Please bear in mind that I'm sweaty from sparring and have somehow managed a type of 'superman' jeri-curl thingy on my forehead...because I'm usually way hotter than this.

Oh, yeah...I'm the one on the left.

For more pictures of the tournament, and the hotness that is me, check out my Facebook page - which is accessible via the 'Touch Me' link above, or click here.

Moog out.

I Kicked Jesus' ASS - Part One

2009-11-17T13:30:00.003-05:00

Alternate title for this post:

Suck it, Jesus!

But that might be pushing my luck.

Let me explain.

My son and I both entered a karate tournament over the weekend.

***** Sidebar *****

I'm 41 years old and just competed in a karate tournament.

Really fucking cool...or very, very sad?

Discuss.

Don't tell me your decision unless it's 'really cool and sexy' (women only).

***** End Sidebar *****

My son entered three categories: forms, self-defense, and sparring.

He did not place in 'forms' (note to myself here to berate him about this until he cries), but got second place in 'self-defense'...

...and FIRST FUCKING PLACE in 'sparring.' (fighting)

He placed first in his previous tournament in sparring, too.

My 6 year old is a WARRIOR.

A warrior who plays with Legos.

Umm...

LEGOS OF DEATH!

That's better.

Much more fierce.

Got to do something about not placing in that other event, though.

I didn't raise him to be a loser.

But he is a master of fighting.

He fought FOUR TIMES and won every match.

I was so proud.

But...

...after winning the fourth match, he turned to the crowd...

...raised his hands up in victory...

...and yelled:

'UNDEFEATED!'

* cricket

Um.

Yes...undefeated.

And modest, too.

That wasn't too embarrassing.

Thanks, Cam.

I enrolled in the same three categories, but for the 'over 35' age group which is all BYOW.*

* Bring Your Own Walker

I placed first in self-defense and second in forms.

That's, right.

I'm awesome and then second-to-awesome.

Those average out to 'pretty fucking awesome.'

Oh.

I see where Cam gets his modesty.

I've digressed.

But then came sparring.

I was going against a guy that I go to class with, and two other guys - both higher belts - from different schools.

With my protective gear on and my mouthpiece in (shout out here to 'Madame Punishment'), I stepped into the ring..

..and beat the first guy 3-to-2.

That's right.

Man went DOWN.

DOWN TOWN.

DOWN TOWN TO GET HIS PARKING VALIDATED AND THEN MAYBE SWING OVER AND GET HIMSELF A TACO.

I think I've gone a little too far with that phrase.

But I won my first fight.

I told you folks and you didn't believe me:

Five feet of fury, baby.

Five feet of fury.

After I won my first match, it was my friend, Brian's turn.

And he fought Jesus.

True story.

***********************

Stay tuned for Part Two where I have to fight God's only son.

That he knows of.

Totally going to Hell.

Totally.

Sex with Pastry and Blind Education - Moogism Volume 1

2009-11-16T07:00:00.000-05:00

Today I unveil a new segment based on LiLu's popular and always funny:

'Shiz my Boyfriend Says'theme.

Since I don't have a boyfriend...

(As such, my sphincter is nearly flawless! Yay for heterosexual me!)

...I'm doing this about my own quotes.

I love myself.

You can, too, for $85 an hour.

I accept PayPal.

Where was I?

Oh..yes...shit I say.

"Moogisms," if you will.

(trademark pending)

Today's Moogism Episode:

Sex with Pastry and Blind Education

ONWARD!!
*****************
Blind Education

My 6 year old son was getting ready for karate the other night.

As we were leaving, I noticed he had a new water 'sport bottle.'

On it was a logo for 'Spindel Eye Associates.'

Because, you know, nothing screams 'I'M SPORTY!' like the optometry profession.

Me: "Cam...where did you get that water bottle?"

Cam: "We had to take an eye test at school today."

Me: "No kidding. How did you do?"

Cam: "I passed. I didn't miss a single letter!"

Me: "Phew. That's good. Because you know, if you fail an eye test, they won't let you into college."

* blink

Cam: "Really?"

Me: "No. Not Really."

*****************
Sex with Pastry

My wife is an excellent baker.

She still remains the only woman I know who can burn water, but she can bake the shit out of cookies and cakes.

So the other day, I walked into work with a big plate of iced pumpkin cookies she made.

My friend, Kristin, who I share a cube with, tried one.

Kristin: "Oh my God..these are good."

Me: "I know. Her baking season has started and she's off to a good start."

Kristin: "What else is she making?"

Me: "Next up is 'pumpkin roll.'

I. Heart. Pumpkin roll.

Kristin: "Pumpkin roll? Is it good?"

Me: "IS IT GOOD? Holy shit, if I didn't think it was illegal, I would totally fuck pumpkin roll."

Yes..I told her I would fuck a large gourd-derived pastry.

It's that good.

Unfortunately, I told my wife about this conversation the other night.

I don't think she's letting me anywhere near her pumpkin roll this year.

You know...

Probably a good idea.

Moog out.

Motivational Filler - Barbarism

2009-11-13T13:00:00.001-05:00

*******************

Motivate THIS.

(points at crotch)

Nothing to see here today...

...except a custom "motivational poster" made by yours truly over at Big Huge Labs.

Seriously...

...I have no idea how I made it almost 40 years without finding this thing.

Here's today's poster for you (click to enlarge (that's what she said)):

Yeah..it's mean.

But it's okay.

When I was a kid, I used to get punished on the "Slide of Small Penises."

Worst. Slide. Ever.

Really bumpy.

If you want to see all of my custom posters, click here.

If you like them, feel free to post them on your site.

Just give me some credit.

God knows my bank won't.

**********************

UPDATE!

I forgot about some housekeeping, per usual.

I received the following award from Burned Out Waitress at "Confessions of Me."

Great.

Fucking flowers.

I was supposed to do some 'seven things about me' crap, but since Homey don't play that way AND the award was - once again - accompanied by no money, I will simply defer you to when I did this way back here.

All kidding aside, thanks, Burned Out!

Secondly, here's where I'll be this Sunday:

That's right, bitches.

I'll be in my first ever karate tournament.

Here's to hoping this works out better than my usual karate classes.

These fucking insurance copays are KILLING me.

Regardless, I'm going with my 6 year old son who will be in his second tournament.

Let's hope he does as well as his first one.

..and I get to kick someone's ass and come home with a trophy or three.

That's right:

Five feet of fury, baby.

Five feet of fury.

Moog out.

Fatty McFatShit and Physics 101

2009-11-12T07:00:00.006-05:00

Trust me...this stupid title will explain itself in a minute.

You people are so fucking impatient.

But...sit down..this is a long one today.

(that's what she said)

Here goes:

When I was a kid, I was fat.

If the news ever would have run a story on obesity in children back then, the odds would be that the crews were at my house filming me from the neck down while the anchors were back in the studio going:

"Holy fuckshit...that kid's a goddamn porker! Look! He jiggles like Santa!! And now, in sports..."

I ate cookies and junk and didn't exercise and watched television and had little boy fat tits.

("Little Boy Fat Tits" would be a great name for a rock band)

So, yeah. I was fat.

But I had a skateboard.

I had a lime green skateboard, and my buddies and I would hang out during the day and do jumps and shit on them.

When I say I would 'do jumps' on my skateboard I mean 'did not do any fucking jumps.'

I was fat.

Jumping constitutes exercise.

The Gods of Nabisco frown on that shit.

("Gods of Nabisco?" Holy shit! I need to be a band manager.)

Whatever.

So, one day, when I was about 10 or so, my best friend Ed has this idea:

Ed: "Why don't we do this:

Someone starts across the street on his skateboard, and someone else shoots his skateboard in front of them...then they just jump from one skateboard to the other.

..and they'll just keep going, but on the other skateboard!"

Let me draw out the plan so you get a visual:

Oh. My. God.

FUCKING BRILLIANT!!

I imagined the moment of moving in one direction...then, suddenly, BLAM!! moving in a whole different direction.

It would be like riding those cars in 'Tron' except it would be skateboards and there would be no neon and I'm pretty sure I'd look like an overstuffed sausage if I ever tried to squish my fat 10 year old ass into spandex.

It was...

GENIUS.

So I volunteered.

This turned out to be a bad, bad idea.

Here's what happened.

I started out on my skateboard heading across the street.

Ed then kicked the other skateboard across my path of travel.

At the right time, I leaped.

Thoughts of pulling off one of the greatest stunts of my short, creme-filled life traveling through my fat little skull.

Until, that is...

I landed.

For, you see...

The absolute second my feet landed on the other skateboard, it shot out from under me like a fart out of Richard Simmons' gaping asshole and rocketed down the street.

I, on the other hand, went ass over teakettle in the air...

...landing with a *THUD* in the middle of the street.

Here..this should help:

THUD.

As my fat ass lay semi-conscious in the middle of the street, I can hear my friends discussing whether or not they should just up and fucking run.

I have good friends.

That's when I hear the car pull up.

With my eyes closed, I can hear a car stop in front of me, the door open and someone get out.

Great.

It's my little league coach.

Coach: "What happened?"

Ed: "He fell off his skateboard."

On a related note, Ed learned at a very young age that one should cover his own ass whenever possible.

(click to enlarge)

My mother opens the front door of our house (we were right in front of my house) and starts screaming.

So...my coach...in a fit of heroism unknown to any man at that time...

...decides to try to bring me inside.

Eyes closed, I feel him wrap his arms around my limp gelatinous body and...

"HMMMMPPPPHHHHHHH!!"

Nothing.

Didn't budge.

Again.

"HUUNNNNGGGPPPMMMPPPPPHHHH!!"

Then...

Reminiscent of the opening credits of 'The Incredible Hulk', my coach somehow manages to pick my flubbery fat shit carcass off the ground and make his way to the house.

All the time as he's carrying me, I can hear this:

Coach: "Jesus Christ...holy shit...mmmpphhh...oh my God...Jesus...hnnnggghh...fuck he's a goddamn heavy shit...gaaaa"

Nice guy, that coach.

On the bright side, I learned some new words that day.

In the end, I was fine.

But...see?

Had I never thought of jumping, that never would have happened.

Fat kids shouldn't exercise. It may lead to their death and/or hernias for their little league coaches.

But, whatever.

Nothing that a couple of Twinkies and Oreos won't fix.

*************************

UPDATE

I just want to acknowledge that yesterday was Veteran's Day, and I'd like to say 'thank you' to all the military personnel who have made it possible for me to live in a free country and offend the shit out of you on a daily basis.

At the end of this post is a story about how I bumped into one of these returning soldiers on my way back from the shithole known as Jackson, Mississippi.

This post, from one of the greatest Boston websites of all time, Barstool Sports, will rip your fucking heart out. If you aren't touched by these videos even a little bit, get the fuck out now because - honestly - you're a douchebag.

Now. Enough seriousness.

LET'S EXERCISE SOME RIGHTS OF FREE SPEECH, BITCHES!!

Doodler Dandy

2009-11-10T13:30:00.004-05:00

I have a confession to make to you all.

I can't..

I can't seem to stop myself.

It's a..COMPULSION.

I HAVE to do it.

I don't feel like a whole person unless I'm doing it.

Making the swirls...

..the..mmmm...the circles...

..the smooth strokes...

Yes, folks.

I'm a doodler.

No..no..

Not a DIDDLER.

That would be my dad and, honestly, I'd rather keep that part of my life a secret.

Oh.

Um.

Oops.

No, I'm just a doodler.

When I'm in a meeting, I doodle.

It's not like I'm not listening (it's EXACTLY like that), it's just that I can't stop drawing stupid shit on my notebook when other people are talking about something that I should probably be listening to because it might be important and relevant to my job, OH LOOK A LADYBUG, and oh shit I have to really get an oil change for my motorcycle soon and you know what? I think I'm gonna draw me a scary octopus.

I probably shouldn't go to meetings.

What the fuck was I talking about?

Oh.

Doodling.

So, normally there aren't pet ladybugs walking around in meetings craving my affection...

..so I end up drawing shit.

What do I draw?

Your guess is as good as mine.

Let's take a look at some of the ACTUAL shit I've drawn in my notebook during meetings:

(click to enlarge the images)

Apparently, I have some type of fetish with comets and shit that's flying at you.

Don't judge.

NEXT!

Um.

* cricket

Not a clue, there.

The best I can guess with this thing is it's some sort of crazed octo-squid-alien. I really have no fucking idea where I was going with that.

NEXT!

Oh..look. I actually know what this one is.

We were talking about one of our software agents that installs on a computer.

So, of course, I drew an agent.

Like, you know, a secret agent.

With creepy trenchcoat and everything.

Then I went to the trouble of writing 'Agent' just in case maybe someday archaeologists find this notebook and are all like, 'What do you think? Hieroglyphic symbol of their leader?' and the other guy would go, 'No..it's just an agent.'

Then to clarify this brilliant art even more, I wrote the word 'DOODLE' over my fucking doodle so now the archaeologists are all thinking, 'Oh this is just shit' and throwing their notebooks down and then going to check out naked pictures of Laura Dern.

NEXT!

This is an alien that was obviously ripped off from 'Toy Story' except I was all like, 'oh shit, Copyright infringement' and added 10 more eyes. SUCK IT, PIXAR!

NEXT!

I got nothin.'

So, that's just a few snippets of shit that's sitting in my notebook.

Comets and aliens and agents and octo-squids and flying boxes and faceless men riding giant dildos and shit.

Welcome to my head.

Scary shit, isn't it?

Hi. My name is Rodney.

And I'm a doodler.

I wonder what the archaelogists will think.

Moog out.

Se coge nuestro país, la parte dos (Our Country is Fucked, Part Two)

2009-11-09T07:00:00.000-05:00

Today I present to you, fine reader...

Further evidence that our country is headed right down the shitter.

Or, in this case:

"Chitter."

In part one of the 'Our Country is Fucked' series, we learned that the kids in my wife's inner-city Kindergarten class think that letters are actually animals...

...and that some letters make trampoline sound effects.

That's just great.

You know, I believe it was Whitney Houston who said it best:

"I believe that children are our future
Teach them well and let them lead the way"

Great words, Whitney.

However, I'm assuming that the children you're talking about don't think that the letter 'C' actually has feathers.

Today's post, though, isn't about the children.

Oh, no.

It's about my wife's teaching assistant.

She also speaks very little English, so you know these kids are in for a great learning experience.

"The United States Education System: Not helping your children even a tiny little friggin' bit since 1997."

So my wife is at her desk doing paperwork...

...and can hear her assistant working with some of the kids.

Her assistant is giving the kids a letter, and asking them to say words they know that begin with that letter.

She starts with 'A.'

Juanita: "Cho..what ees a werd dat stahts whit de letter, A?"

(English translation: "So, what is a word that starts with the letter A?")

The kids come up with the following words:

Alphabet
Apple
Alligator

After every word the kids say, Juanita writes the word down on a large piece of paper.

This is where my wife looks up.

IN HORROR.

Why?

Well...

Here is an actual photo of what my wife saw when she looked at what the TEACHER'S ASSISTANT wrote down on the paper:

Alfabet
Apple
Alegator

* sigh

I guess getting 1 out of 3 words spelled correctly isn't that bad.

You know...

For an infant.

Ooops...

I meant for a 'niño.'

Gotta get my Spanish straight if I'm ever going to make it in this world, apparently.

Adios.

Motivational Filler - Humor

2009-11-06T14:00:00.002-05:00

Before I start today:

New Bling

I got a new award from The Screaming Me-Me's Caption Contest last week.

I also got the 'Best Blog Award' from BuzzardBilly.

You can see those, and my other trophies that did not come with any freaking money attached on my Awards page.

I'm ruling Urban Dictionary

This one is my pride and joy.

The phrase "Mental Poo" is now on Urban Dictionary.

*******************

Mental Poo:

'Mental poo' is stuff that people will start talking about that have no relevance to anything, including the current conversation, and usually includes just random stuff that has no bearing on ANYTHING.

Basically, their head is filled with random shit and they're just spilling.
We were talking about cars and then Jim came over and started spewing all this mental poo.

He started talking about a shit he took and how it reminded him of banging this chick in college and that he needs to go buy bread on the way home.

*******************

YAY ME!

Okay...enough back patting (like there is such a thing).

ONWARD WE GO!

*******************

Motivate THIS.

(points at crotch)

Nothing to see here today...

...except a custom "motivational poster" made by yours truly over at Big Huge Labs.

Seriously...

...I have no idea how I made it almost 40 years without finding this thing.

Here's today's poster for you (click to enlarge (that's what she said)):

Kids.

Shit like this is why I keep mine locked in the basement.

If you want to see all of my custom posters, click here.

If you like them, feel free to post them on your site.

Just give me some credit.

God knows my bank won't.

Moog out.

The Great Celery Incident of 1988

2009-11-05T07:00:00.007-05:00

WARNING:

Gross blog post ahead.

(grosser than, you know, usual)

You've been warned.

*************************

Well...looks like it's another of Lilu's TMI days here on "Mental Poo."

Saying there's "Too Much Information" here on Mental Poo is like saying there's too much cat in my Sweet and Sour Chicken at the Chinese restaurant.

Redundant redundancy.

A while back, I wrote a post about taking my daughter on her first ever loop coaster ride.

In that post, was this picture:

If you're wondering what a picture of Diana Ross getting nailed from behind has to do with an article about my daughter going on a roller coaster, then you don't know me very well.

This is how my mind works.

Scientists from around the world have yet to figure out why.

I've digressed.

Regardless, the above picture was actually an inside joke and 'tip of the hat' to my buddy, Jim - a guy I used to work with YEARS ago.

Knowing that he'd know what this was, I sent him this email prior to posting that article:

*****************

Hey Jim…today’s post has a tip of the hat to you in it.

See if you can pick it up.

*****************

Shortly afterward, I get his email reply:

*****************

OMFG!

Dude….

You’re killing me. How did you even remember this?

Only you could tie the “great celery incident of 1988” into your blog.

*****************

The Great Celery Incident of 1988.

Here...in Jim's very own words...

Is his recap of the story.

It's long...you might want to take breaks.

Especially when you start to feel nauseous.

And you will.

Enjoy.

*****************

I don’t remember it that well myself…..

Here is what a do remember:

My girlfriend Donna lived at home with her parents. Occasionally I would stay over at her parent’s house (if there was room- she had 5 other siblings also living at home).

This was back in the 80’s and her parents did not allow us to sleep in the same room.

On this particular night one of her brothers was away from home so I was able to sleep in the bedroom right next to hers.

Since I didn’t have to drive home, that meant I could drink massive quantities of alcohol. So we walked downtown, hit a few bars and got hammered.

On the way home we decided to play “hide the salami” at her house.

We both said “good night” really loud (in case her parents were listening), then Donna snuck into my room.

We tried to be discreet, we were very quiet and we kept the lights off.

Here comes the TMI part:

For some strange reason, I prefer the “doggie-style” position when I am plastered.

So Donna got on all fours and I plowed ahead into the darkness (remember, it was very dark and I was very hammered).

However, instead of the expected “loosey goosey”...

...I got the unexpected “righty tighty”.

Then Donna gasped:

“That’s the wrong one!”

I had never done buttsex before.

Yay me.

Since it actually felt pretty good, I said “Why don’t we try it?”

All I heard was a drunken “Oh, OK”.

* blink

Green light, GO!

That is all I needed to hear and the reaming commenced.

She started making some pretty funny noises at this point, so I (quickly) finished up and she waddled back to her room to sleep.

I had to pee so I quietly went into the bathroom.

After “little elvis” took the stage I looked down.

Something didn’t seem right.

There was something...

...ATTACHED to him.

I turned on the second (much brighter) light.

I couldn’t believe my eyes.

There was something green stuck to my dick.

I pried it off with a piece of toilet paper and looked closely at it.

(Editor's note: Um...Jim...you looked CLOSELY at it? Dude..wtf.)

It was a piece of…

Celery.

Yep.

Celery.

A piece of celery was stuck to my dick.

Awesome.

It was in pretty good shape too...kinda like the “magic bullet” from the Kennedy assassination.

Not quite pristine, but still re-edible.

(Editor's note: Never let Jim write for you ever again. Ever.)

I flushed the evidence down the toilet and went to bed.

The next morning Donna said something about “me taking advantage of her last night” and she never wanted “to do that again."

Blah blah blah. Whatever.

Note:

I had seen anal sex in porno movies before this event, but I had never seen any shit (or food) hanging around.

Apparently, they must do some prep work before filming.

*****************

* cricket

You still there?

Shit. I'm surprised I still am.

But..

Maybe now you know how I've never been able to forget this story.

And now you won't, either.

You're welcome.

Little Elvis has left the building.

..and he took his celery with him.

Moog out.

She's Once, Twice, Three Times a Lady....Bug.

2009-11-03T13:00:00.004-05:00

Meetings bug me.

In this case, though...

I mean it LITERALLY.

Today I was in a meeting filled with 20 people.

I fucking HATE meetings.

Regardless, I sat in the corner of the room near the window, next to my friend Kristin.

As I was sitting down, I noticed her.

No, not Kristin.

I notice Kristin every morning and, since we sit in the same cube, tend to look her up and down longingly while biting my lower lip mouthing stuff like 'oh, yeah' and fake twiddle her hair while her back is turned to me.

I have issues.

No...it wasn't Kristin I noticed near the window.

There, on the window sill...

..a ladybug.

Awww.

However, this was a business meeting after all.

Important people.

Hot topics of discussion.

No time to play with a ladybug.

So what did I do?

Well...

I did what anyone would do:

I immediately picked up the ladybug and named it "Lucy" for some fucking reason and then proceeded to pat it and pretend to tickle it as it walked all over my hands while Kristin laughed with her hand over her mouth and I whispered shit like, 'she's a goood girl...yes she iiiis...' and there was Dan with the missing tooth sitting on the other side of me all like, 'THE FUCK?!' and by the time the meeting was over I learned absolutely nothing and may or may not have answered a question about a network protocol by randomly yelling out 'I LIKE BLUE!'

That's me in meetings.

And I wonder why I have no clue what I'm supposed to be doing here.

For those of you wondering, I released Lucy back into the wild after the meeting where she was probably immediately eaten by a spider or died in the 30-degree weather.

It's just like they say:

"If you love something, set it free.

But sometimes it gets eaten by spiders or dies in the cold and maybe it would still be alive if we could just stop having these stupid fucking meetings."

Huh.

Maybe I should have just left her alone.

*********************

UPDATE!

I needed a way...somehow...to express my angst about this whole ordeal.

And now...

THE VIDEO TRIBUTE TO LUCY

(yeah..that's me singing):

I'm sad.

In many more ways than one, obviously.

Moog out.

Doing Halloween...Doggy Style

2009-11-02T06:30:00.001-05:00

Shit.

I've become one of THOSE people.

I know you're thinking 'underwear model,' but that's not what I mean.

(Hanes...call me)

No..this Halloween I became one of those people...

...who DRESSES UP THEIR DOG.

* blink

You know, for Halloween.

The other times I dress her up are strictly for sexual purposes.

Perhaps I've said too much.

We planned on taking our new dog, Sophie, out with us for Halloween.

My daughter Payton BEGGED me incessantly to buy her an outfit.

Payton: "Hey Dad, can we buy her a Halloween costume?"

Me: "Okay."

Maybe 'begged' is too strong a term.

We tried a few things on her.

Count Soph-ula:

Sophie Montana:

Wonder Sophie:

My wife, upon seeing these photos looked at me and said:

Wife: "I guess I know what you do when I'm out of the house, now."

Honey, you have NO idea.

Regardless, we ended up settling on a little outfit with a tutu that said:

"So Cute, It's SCARY!"

On a related note:

I may be gay.

So, some random notes about Halloween this year:

The Kids

My kids went as a Vampiress and a Ninja.

My daughter, Payton, got tons of great comments about her Vampire costume.

My son, Cam, instead got shit like this:

"Oooh..a Jedi!"

"What are you...a sous chef?"

"Wow...Darth Vader!"

Really?

Darth Vader?

Idiots.

When someone looked at him and said, "Cool Ninja," my son yelled out:

"FINALLY! Someone gets me!"

And now I'm jealous.

No one ever gets me.

The Pencil Lady

Every year the kids stop at one house where the lady just apparently doesn't get it.

Last year, she handed out pencils.

Pencils.

Listen, lady, if I wanted to spend forty bucks on costumes so my kids could get office supplies, I'd take them to fucking Staples.

Bitch.

So this year, as the kids were heading up to the door we reminded them to say 'thank you' no matter what they got...

..even if it was a stupid fucking pencil.

Seriously, lady.

The fuck you thinking?

So, the kids go up, she pops out and drops something in their bag.

My son, still standing at the top step with the woman still in the door, turns around and yells to us in the street:

"HEY! WE DIDN'T GET A PENCIL THIS YEAR!"

Um.

Great.

Not too embarrassing, Cam.

No..no pencil this year.

They got a plastic centipede instead.

Lady, you suck at this shit.

Just do us all a favor and shut your lights off next year.

The Chinese Kid

My wife and I, and a couple of our friends are standing on the street as the kids go up to another house.

An Asian family comes up, and their son runs to the door as they stand right next to us.

My son recognizes the boy and says 'hi' to him as they pass each other.

As Cam is walking towards us, he yells:

"Hey mom! You know that Chinese kid I told you about..?!"

* cricket

Our friends look up, stifling a laugh, and immediately flee the area.

Awesome.

Another Halloween done...

...and all we got was plastic bugs, beastiality references and embarrassing racism.

Can't wait til next year.

Motivational Filler - Sexy Halloween Costume

2009-10-30T10:30:00.001-04:00

Before I start today I need to announce that, yes...

I have yet ANOTHER word accepted into Urban Dictionary!

Burpspeak

*******************
Burpspeak (n):

The words you speak when you burp.

John has awesome burpspeak, he can do the entire alphabet after a single swig of beer.
*******************

First Holemates and now Burpspeak.

And mom said I'd never amount to anything.

Huh.

She's a pretty smart woman.

ONWARD!!
******************

Motivate THIS.

(points at crotch)

Nothing to see here today...

...except a custom "motivational poster" made by yours truly over at Big Huge Labs.

Seriously...

...I have no idea how I made it almost 40 years without finding this thing.

Here's today's poster for you - a special Halloween edition!

(click to enlarge (that's what she said)):

BOO!

I know.

Scary.

If you want to see all of my custom posters, click here.

If you like them, feel free to post them on your site.

Just give me some credit.

God knows my bank won't.

Moog out.

Watching "Paranormal Activity" with Randy Jackson

2009-10-29T07:00:00.004-04:00

Just some random thoughts as I sat through 'Paranormal Activity' last Friday night:

1) I liked this movie better the first time I saw it when it was called "The Blair Witch Project"

2) This chick in the movie kind of looks like my sister in law but heavier.

This doesn't mean much to you readers but if you knew my sister-in-law you'd all be like, 'whoa.'

True story.

3) The huge black guy in front of me just told the guy in front of him to stop jerking around in his seat.

He's used the word 'dawg' in this two second conversation at least four fucking times.

I had no idea anyone actually used that word in actual sentences outside of 'American Idol.'

4) I can't believe that Randy Jackson is apparently sitting right in front of me!

I'm gonna sing something...maybe some Whitney Houston.

Contestants always seem to do well when they sing that shit.

5) I SWEAR TO GOD if I ever, EVER wake up and my wife is standing over me like this broad is, I will dropkick her right in the throat.

Honey, love ya, but remember:

Creepily standing over me = goddamn crushed esophogus

6) Never sit near the back row of a theater.

Ever.

There is a group of four teens sitting behind me who haven't shut the fuck up for two minutes.

They're trying to whisper...but all I can her is their 's' sounds.

From what I can tell..they've been talking for an hour and a half about 'silly salty seashells sitting by the seashore so someone said Susan should suck short silicone saucers.'

7) If this movie theater weren't so packed, I'd be responsible right now for the murder of four people who all apparently have lisps.

8) You know..the movie is almost over and it kind of sucks.

I really thought it would be a lot scarier than OH MY FUCKING SHIT JESUS CHRIST WHAT THE FUCK I THINK I JUST SHIT MYSELF.

9) It's times like these I wish movie theater restrooms had wet wipes.

If only to clean the blood off my hands from those four fuckshits in the back row.

Moog out.

Engaging Magic

2009-10-27T14:00:00.002-04:00

I’m no David Copperfield.

What gives this fact away is that I’m short, I don’t have a flowing mane of hair, and haven’t banged Claudia Schiffer.

YET.

You’re on my bucket list, woman.

On my bucket list.

Why this comparison to David Copperfield?

Because October 28th is my 14th (I think) wedding anniversary.

Duh.

Now, some of you have already learned how the wife and I met in fantastic high-definition video complete with Barbie and Bratz doll action!.

That's right. It's a movie with Barbie dolls in it.

Go ahead..click it. I'll wait.

WELCOME BACK!! Are you really disturbed now?

Good.

Because today you get the story on how we got engaged.

Thrilled?

No?

Tough shit.

The night that I proposed to my wife, I had the whole thing planned out.

We were to have dinner at one of our favorite local restaurants.

And then…when the time was right…

I would show her a magic trick.

* cricket

Shut up.

It sounded like a good idea at the time.

Why a magic trick to propose?

Let me explain:

The magic trick entailed me, sitting across from the table, showing my wife a folded cloth napkin.

Inside the napkin sat, in all it’s glory…

The diamond ring.

HOW THIS PLAYED OUT IN MY HEAD:

Me: “Want to see a magic trick?”

Wife: “OH, DO I?!?!?”

Me: “You sound overly excited. Yay me.”

As I show her the empty napkin, I say:

Me: “Do you see this empty napkin?”

Wife: “I DO! I’m so giddy with excitement!”

I then fold the napkin…

...deftly placing the diamond ring inside.

Me: “When you open the napkin, you will now see that I have changed it into a vegetable!”

Wife opens the napkin.

She's speechless.

Me: “TA-DA! It’s a carat!”

Get it?

Carat?

Vegetable?

Like a carrot but instead it's CARAT?

BRILLIANT!!

So, yeah…

That’s how I ENVISIONED it.

HOW THIS PLAN ACTUALLY PLAYED OUT:

Me: “Want to see a magic trick?”

Wife: “No.”

Me: “Come on…it’s a good one.”

Wife: “No, I don’t want to see a magic trick.”

* sigh

Un. Fucking. Believable.

Does the light bulb go off in my head at this point telling me this is some sort of sign?

No.

Light bulb stays off.

Stupid light bulb.

I persist:

Me: “I’m showing you anyway. I will now turn this empty napkin into a vegetable!”

* cricket

Seriously?

It’s a fucking magic trick.

WHO DOESN’T LIKE MAGIC?!?

Sonofabitch.

So I take the ring…slide it inside the napkin very quickly and secretively…

…then I put the napkin on the table in front of her.

Me: “Ahem. Here…open the napkin and you will see that I’ve turned it into a vegetable!”

My wife looks at the napkin.

Wife: “No."

Me: "Open it."

Wife: "I’m not opening it."

You’re kidding me.

Me: “No…just open the napkin. It’s a good trick.”

Wife: “No.”

Me: “COME ON..OPEN THE NAPKIN.”

I almost said ‘bitch’ at this point because, seriously, JUST OPEN THE FUCKING NAPKIN!!

Wife: “Ugh. Fine.”

Now…instead of daintily opening said napkin with 1 carat ring inside…

…my wife grabs a CORNER of the napkin…

…and FLICKS IT OPEN.

She flicked it.

Like someone flicks someone in the ass with a towel.

As she flicks the goddamn napkin open, the ring – in all it’s sparkly glory – goes shooting up into the air…

…and flies 20 feet across the restaurant.

Awesome.

Somewhere, far away in the restaurant, I hear it hit the wooden floor and hop around with a bunch of little ‘tink tinkity tink’ sounds.

Just. How I’d. Planned it.

Not even a little.

I shoot up from the table…scramble across the restaurant…and find the ring.

Making my way back to the table, I look at my wife who is wondering what the fuck just happened and say:

Me: “Unbelievable. See? It’s a carat. I turned it into a carat. Ta da. I can't believe you just fucking did that.”

Wife: “Oh..oh my..”

Yeah…’oh my’ as in ‘oh my you almost just threw away 3 thousand dollars.’

Me: “Nice job, kid. Will you marry me?”

She said ‘yeah.’

Happy 14th anniversary, honey.

I love you, woman. Thanks for putting up with all this bullshit.

Oh yeah...

I got you a carrot.

Can Someone Please Splain This?

2009-10-26T07:00:00.003-04:00

Yet another episode of "The ICKF."

(The Inner City Kindergarten Files)

Right on queue, my wife starts bringing home the comedic gold as soon as school starts.

She teaches in an inner-city school.

For those of you who live in that city, let me rephrase that:

"Chee teech inna inna chitty skoo."

Spanish.

Such a beautiful language.

She teaches kindergarten, which is safer for her.

At that age they really haven't fully mastered the automatic weapon yet.

That's why I told her to turn down the second grade position.

Regardless...

She sent a homework assignment home the other night, with these simple instructions:

"Color the shape that is the same as the first shape in each row."

Pretty easy, right?

RIGHT?

Well...not if you're one of my wife's non-English speaking students.

Or...apparently...

...their mother.

Because the next day, the kid turns in the homework, unfinished, with this note from his mother attached:

(actual note - click to enlarge)

Please say the following in your best Desi Arnaz impression for best effect (punctuation added by yours truly for clarification):

"I dont andertand by each shap.
Is it all the same shape or what.
Can u splain for me nex time.
Please.
Thanks."

* blink

* blink blink

Can.

U.

Splain.

Can u splain?

Sure.

Sure, I can splain.

You're a fucking idiot.

How's that for a splanation?

Oh...wait...

Maybe I should translate that into Spanish:

Choo ees won stoopid chit.

There.

Better.

Spanish just rolls right off the tongue, doesn't it?

Motivational Filler - Smart Thinking

2009-10-23T14:00:00.000-04:00

The Blinding Light of my Anus

2009-10-22T07:00:00.000-04:00

We should sell electric razors to polar bears.

That's the conclusion I've come to after environmentally friendlinizing...

...environmentalizing...

...environinzing...

...friendlyerating ...

...after buying some new squiggly lightbulbs for my house.

Friggin' hippies don't make the explanations easy.

Yeah - I'm looking at YOU, Oregon.

Put down the pot and goddamn protest signs and go buy a decent car with some legroom.

Regardless...after suffering through the movie "Arctic Tale" I realized the following:

1) No matter how cute the seal cub is, you still want to see something eat it

2) I'm most likely solely responsible for at least one glacier disappearing

Apparently, power vaginas use a lot more wattage than I originally thought.

Regardless, I'd be fine with #2 and the extinction of animals that I would have to go to a zoo and pay to see instead of doing something stupid like 'camping' or 'hiking' or 'watching the Discovery Channel'...

...if it weren't for the fact that my kids were watching this movie as well.

Stupid life lessons.

Why must you inconvenience me so?!?

Daughter: "DADDY!! YOU LEFT A LIGHT ON!! THE POLAR BEARS!! THINK ABOUT THE POLAR BEARS!!"

Ugh.

***************
Dear National Geographic Films:

I hate your soul.
***************

As such, my house has been thrust into a vortex of darkness as every single light and electrical appliance MUST BE SHUT off...

...or else something cute and fuzzy (or cold and edible by said cute and fuzzy thing) will get a sunburn and die.

Also, Global Warming will take hold!

This means that it will get warmer everywhere! Glaciers will melt!! Animals I never see - ever - will certainly die!!

Also, I will have to shovel less snow and have an extra month or two to swim in my pool and I'll be able to drive my motorcycle longer and...

* Flicks all lights on in the house

I've lost my point.

Oh yeah.

Dead animals and shit.

As such, I ran out the following weekend and bought $200 worth of those squiggly light bulbs that look a lot like the thing I found in my mom's dresser drawer that one time.

I still have nightmares.

Apparently, these squiggly light bulbs are supposed to save energy...and, therefore, save me money.

Hopefully, they save me enough money for that Hummer I want...

...you know, the one with the 62" Plasma TV in the back.

Sweeeeeeet.

But I digress...

I realized quickly, though, WHY these bulbs save so much energy.

It's because when you turn them on, they emit as much light as your ass does.

*flick*

(darkness)

Me: "What the...? Did I turn it on? Where's the light? Who just grabbed my ass? Mom...why are you here?"

I don't sleep well at night.

Then...from Mr. Squiggle Bulb comes...

...a flicker of light.

Nice.

So, somewhere, the hippies and Al Gore neglect to tell you that although you'll be saving a polar bear...

...you have to wait 6-1/2 hours for the fucking lights to actually turn on.

That's just fan-foogoo-tastic.

So to compensate now I have to turn on every other light in the room and surrounding rooms to try to equal the light THAT I NEED RIGHT NOW from these stupid things.

I can't poo in the darkness.

Bum goblins come up from the toilet if you do that.

That's right.

Bum goblins.

While you're waiting for this magical "light" phenomena to happen, you can cry over your Visa bill...

...which shows that you just spent $200 on FUCKING LIGHT BULBS.

What a goddamn moron.

Somewhere, in the distance, I hear a polar bear laugh.

I'm putting my old flood lights back in.

Then, I'm going out to eat a fucking seal.

Take THAT, National Geographic.

The Shitty Answer

2009-10-20T13:45:00.001-04:00

..and the answer is...

About two pounds.

What's the question, you ask?

Bear with me my sexy toothless poodle in the leather mask and Indian moccasin puppy shoes, and I'll tell you.

Huh.

You know..sometimes I don't get where this shit comes from, either.

I've digressed.

My cell phone rang the other morning while I was at work.

Me: "YAY! My heroin is ready!"

Helpful tip: Never yell that shit out loud while at work.

Unless you work at a heroin factory.

True story.

The phone call was from my wife.

She was calling about our new dog, Sophie.

Me: "Hey."

Wife: "Sophie has worms in her shit."

Um.

And 'good morning' to you, too, honey.

As I cleaned up my freshly vomited oatmeal from my desk, I continued the conversation.

Wife: "I took her outside to go to the bathroom and thought I saw straw or something in her poop, but when I turned around and looked closer they were moving."

So far this is ranking right up there as:

Worst. Conversation. Ever.

Well, I'm no underworked yet ridiculously overpaid Quality Assurance Engineer for a privately held company who makes world-class networking products...

...but I would say that having squiggling worms in your shit probably isn't right.

Wait..wait...

I meant 'doctor.' I'm no doctor.

That makes much more sense.

Either way:

Shit + worms in it = just plain fucking wrong right there, my friends.

I've always been good at math.

Having explained the above quantum mechanics to my wife, we decided to take the dog to the vet.

The vet asked for a stool sample from the dog so they could examine it.

They specifically said 'from the dog' because of the last time I brought in my own shit after eating 3 ears of corn and a bag of peanuts and thought it would be funny.

They didn't think it was funny.

However, they did find that I had heartworm, so that was a plus.

When I got home, I grabbed Sophie, opened the fridge to grab the bag of shit and left for the vet.

Yes. You read that right.

I opened the fridge to get the dog shit.

Apparently, dog shit is best kept refrigerated after opening.

Good to know.

Not really.

The fridge shit was in a brown paper bag marked, "Sophie."

I did not open the bag.

I had no desire to look at a container of shit.

I do that enough in the red light district on weekends.

You pay extra for that. I'm not sure why.

Whatever.

So with a big bag of stanky fucking dog shit in hand, and a song in my heart, I went to the vet.

Checking in, I handed the paper bag to the receptionist...and after waiting like a fucking 1/2 hour finally got to see the doctor.

Doctor: "So..what color were the worms?"

Me: "I don't know...my wife saw them..I think she said they were white."

* pause

Me: "You know...I brought in the stool sample."

You know...if I could rewind the clock 20 years and imagined myself there today...

...standing in an office that I just carried a paper bag full of dog shit into while discussing the color of the fucking worms we found in it..

..I probably just would have shiv'd myself in the fucking eye.

Time travel: Fixer of lives gone awry.

The doctor then leaves to get the stool sample.

She comes back a few minutes later.

She's laughing.

Hard.

In her hands are two containers.

Doctor (still laughing): "Okay...okay...just so you know...when you bring in a stool sample, we only need this much."

She holds up one of the containers.

In the container is, like, a cotton swab with a tiny spot of brown shit on it.

Doctor (STILL laughing): "This is what your wife collected."

She holds up my wife's container.

So...you see the answer up there?

About two pounds?

Here's the question:

How much dog shit can my wife stuff into a container the size of a finger?

ABOUT TWO POUNDS.

Seriously.

The container looked like my wife had taken all the shit she'd found since the beginning of time, smushed it into the container...

...tamped it down like a guy paving a driveway...

...then stuffed even more shit into it.

How that thing didn't shatter under it's own weight of shit is beyond me.

The poor doctor could barely hold the fucking container up to show me.

It was pretty funny, actually.

You know...minus the whole worms plus shit plus vomiting thing.

..and the scene of me holding a cold bag of poop.

Man...

I seriously need to invent time travel.

The Blindski Leading the Blindski

2009-10-19T07:00:00.004-04:00

FYI - Before I start, I need to confess that I made a minor publishing snafu this morning, resulting in a couple of people commenting on a post that is now scheduled sometime around the Apocalypse...

..or when 'balloon boy's' dad gets a reality show.

Which I think are the same thing.

My bad.

ONWARD WITH THE CORRECT POST!!

*************************
"Silently making fun of the blind,
It's a good thing."

- Martha Stewart

*********************

Actually...that is less a direct quote from Martha Stewart and more of a quote from my blow up doll named "Martha Stewart."

"Latex blow jobs, it's a good thing."

"Mmmmffff..mmfffff..."

- my blow up Martha Stewart doll

There.

That's more like it.

Wait...

Where was I?

Oh...yes...

Blind People.

There's a guy in my office who sits two cubes down who is blind as a bat.

For the sake of brevity, he shall hereafter be referred to as "Blind-O."

I'm a sensitive guy.

I swear to God this guy has three monitors on his desk, and the magnification is so high that the mouse cursor thing on it looks like a fucking street sign.

Holy fuckshit.

Sure you can see that, Mr. Magoo?

You know how they say when one of your senses is dulled, your others become more acute?

Well..that's this guy.

Except instead of his other senses, it's just his GODDAMN VOLUME THAT'S BEEN CRANKED UP.

Seriously.

They should use this guy on the front lines in Afghanistan and just have him walk Al Qaida through troubleshooting their network.

Blind-O: "WHAT YOU WANT TO DO IS FIRST CHECK THAT THE..."

Jimmy Bin Laden: "INFIDEL TOO LOUD! TOO LOUD! WE SURRENDER! OSAMA'S IN THE BATHROOM PERFORMING CUNNILINGUS ON A GOAT!"

So, the other day, Blind-O and this other asshole who chews with his mouth open across from me (we'll call him 'Chewy') decide to have a conversation...

...right beside my desk.

Now, I share a cube with my friend, Kristin.

We sit RIGHT NEXT TO EACH OTHER...but I sit on the aisle.

Blind-O is right next to me.

Chewy: "So..you just got back from Russia?"

Blind-O: "YES! JUST GOT BACK FROM MOSCOW! WHAT AN AMAZING PLACE!...THEY.."

* eardrums pop

Apparently, Blind-O was sent to Russia for some tech support job.

And now he can't stop ~~discussing~~ yelling about it at the top of his goddamn lungs.

Ugh.

I'm getting a migraine.

That prompts this Instant Message exchange between me and Kristin (remember, we're IN THE SAME CUBE):

*******************

midgetmanofsteel: ok, dude, get away from my fucking desk now

Kristin: throw something at him...he can't see who did it anyway

midgetmanofsteel: lol

Kristin: wait...we sent a blind guy on a trip to Russia?

Kristin: or did i hear that wrong

midgetmanofsteel: maybe that's where he thinks he went

midgetmanofsteel: probably went to Vermont or some shit

midgetmanofsteel: looked at a big maple and thought it was the Kremlin

*****************

Now that I'm rereading this, the funniest part of this conversation is:

Kristin: we sent a blind guy on a trip to Russia?

Because what self-respecting company would send a blind guy anywhere to do anything other than play piano or some shit?

EXACTLY.

Like I said.

I'm sensitive.

Or, as Blind-O would say:

I'M SENSITIVE!

Moog out.

Motivational Filler - Foreshadowing

2009-10-17T14:00:00.002-04:00

Before I start today, I have a few announcements to make:

1) Got me a domain name...finally.

Please note that you are now at 'www.midgetmanofsteel.com.'

Please modify your feeds, bookmarks or blogroll appropriately if you need to do so.

Yay me.

2) I'VE FINALLY BECOME SOMEONE!!

* cricket

You people are jerks.

I'm on the verge of famousness..famousnicity...famosity...

I'm gonna be popular

Why?

Because Urban Dictonary published one of my words.

Holemates.

******************
Holemates Definition:

Holemates: Soulmates - people who are meant to be with each other - but only for sex.

Holemates Example:

Pamela and Tommy tried to get their relationship to work, but they were only great together in bed.

Turns out that they were not soulmates, only holemates.

******************

You may begin using it, starting now.

Enjoy.

3) I Got Me Some New Bling!

You'll notice a few things different on this page.

First off, got me a new header.

That's what she said.

Secondly, I now have some new links just below my header..including a new 'About Me' section, a 'Contact Me' page, and...

..an Awards page.

This is good timing as a few people have given me some awards lately...accompanied by no money, as usual.

FYI - if you've given me an award previously and it is NOT there (because I lost almost all of them and really didn't feel like digging around to find them again), send it to me and I'll post it there.

4) The Mental Poo Store is reopened for business!

Just click the link under my header, or go here, and be completely overwhelmed with all the shit you can buy.

New products, new logos, new prices!

I know times are tough, but this will help spurn the world's economic recovery by giving me more money to buy XBox games.

Please, folks.

Do your part to help the less fortunate and buy a goddamn mug.

The homeless thank you.

Also..you'll find two intriguing new links to something soon to be known to the world as:

"Mental Poo-Looza"

..and..um..of course..

..the place you can buy all that really really cool and awesome shit.

* whistles

Now...ONWARD!!

*******************

Motivate THIS.

(points at crotch)

Nothing to see here today...

...except a custom "motivational poster" made by yours truly over at Big Huge Labs.

Seriously...

...I have no idea how I made it almost 40 years without finding this thing.

Here's today's poster for you (click to enlarge (that's what she said)):

Yep.

I know it's wrong...

..so shut up, mom.

If you want to see all of my custom posters, click here.

If you like them, feel free to post them on your site.

Just give me some credit.

God knows my bank won't.

Moog out.