Just like any other human (especially a human female), she’s a manipulative little bitch.  She asks to go outside, and as we get upstairs, she turns and chews on a bone instead. She just wanted to see if she could get me out of the chair.  When she wants to come in, she barks. But she won’t come in until you offer her a cookie, which of course, she gets.  Let’s not forget the way she leaves half eaten beetles and cicadas squirming about the house, you know, to save them for later.  I tolerate it, all of it.

I have recently learned that despite not actually wearing pants, dogs can poop themselves.  Yes, it’s possible.

You see, I picked Jinx well.  Ever since being a little pup, she has had the ability to eat 3 ounces of kibble and make 6 ounces poop, just like me.  Ok, well, it’s not 3 ounces of kibble with me.  It’s more like 8, I’m a much bigger animal. Don’t judge, times are tough and kibble is cheap.

Moving on.

There’s two things that Jinx MUST have every day, besides kibble, denta stix and every one’s undying attention.  The first is a bout of our favorite game of “You smack me in the face and I bite your hand”.  She LOVES this game and can keep it up for hours, mostly because she always wins.  The second is a walk. She has to have one every day, if only to mark her territory.  Yes, this bitch lifts her leg to keep her ‘hood’ hers.

It was on one of these walks where I discovered a pantless animal can poop themselves.  As she usually does, she turned three times, walked three paces, turned three times again, walked another few paces, then bent to poop.

The first two were the pretend poops to throw me off guard. She’s tricky like that.

She started straining, and grunting, and flexing her little bum. It was then that I knew this was going to be a big one. No ordinary poo, but the magical poo that makes a walrus sized load from a terrier sized bum, poor dog.

But it didn’t drop to the ground as it normally did.  No, this time it started to curl and didn’t stop. It curled right around and around and stuck to her little bum so bad she couldn’t lower her tail or even attempt to leave the squat.

She did what anyone in this position might do.  She did a bum wiggle. She wiggled here and there and up and down and side to side. The poop wiggled too but wouldn’t leave.  She then tried the one foot stomp.  A little wiggle from the poop but no dice.  She then did the bull riders buck, but that turd was stuck there for good.  Yup, she shit herself and she shit herself good.

It was then that I got the look, and I knew exactly what it meant:

Yup, you know it. I am Jinx’s bitch, and she’s got me wrapped around her little paw.  Because she knows that she can poop herself in public and I’d clean it up for her.

But just so you all know, after I came out of the coffee shop washroom where I used their TP to wipe my dogs ass, I bought a coffee. Because I’m a good man like that.

This morning I had such a poop.

It came without warning. I was filling the dogs food dish and BAM! There I am running to the toilet with the dog in hot pursuit cleaning up spilled kibble.  There’s nothing like a surprise, especially a pleasant one.

I couldn’t believe it.  There was no little piece hanging on the end that you had to wiggle your butt to get to drop.  There was no leftovers or surprises, like when you think your done, you clean up, and you poo some more.

No ass rain, no associated flatulence, and the stink level was on the tame side of Liza Manelli.  I didn’t need half a roll of toilet paper and the courtesy flush was entirely unesseccary.

I don’t know what I did to deserve such a wonderful poop. God knows I’m an asshole.

I mean, I didn’t even eat well yesturday.  I’m pretty sure the piece of meat I had for dinner was growing green stuff, damned bachelor fridge.

It just goes to show you, even a jerkhole destined for a lifetime in hell can get a break once and a while.

Amen.

Just like wrong number phone calls, I decided to fuck with the texter.  And he/she was kind enough to oblige me. Observe.

Doofus: Tell bob to call the house this is Dalls

Me: Yo momma

Doofus: Wat

Me: No you!

Doofus: Yes

Me: Maybe?

Doofus: Who is this!

Me: Yo Momma

Me: Can I have $5?

Doofus: When

Doofus: No

Doofus: Ok

Me: Do you still have the stuff?

Doofus: What stuff

Me: Don’t hold out on me

Me: You used all four bags?

Doofus: What dus that mean

Me: Shit. Now I really need that $5

Me: My ass itches!

Doofus: My dad side no

Me: $2?

Me: My o’henry has corn

Doofus: But i’m not going to give you 5$ or 2$

I actually got that last text the next morning.  He/she/it didn’t text for a while so I got bored and went home to bed.  I hope he/she/it texts again. That was fun, wouldn’t you say?

Well, they wrote back.

Thanks for contacting Febreze, Mike.

Our goal is to produce high quality products that consistently delight our consumers and I’m sorry this wasn’t your experience. Please be assured I’m sharing your comments with the rest of our team.

Since your satisfaction means a great deal to us, I’m sending compensation by postal mail. You should receive my letter within the next 2-3 weeks.

Thanks again for writing.

Of course, I had to respond.

Thank you for the very quick response. I will be sure to tell many people about the quality of customer service Febreze provides, and I hope the rest of your team enjoyed my letter as much as I hope you did.

The compensation package is appreciated but not necessary. I’ll still take it as I’m curious as to what your various product offerings are. That being said, the intent of my letter was not one of complaint, but to make you aware of an advertizing deficiency. I’m sure you can understand that your advertising claims to remove odours from air, but your product seems to fall short in the bathroom.

Perhaps your engineers can be made aware of this deficiency and work to improve your product in the future.

An improved formula that can destroy odours from fecal molecules, or poocules as I call them, can open up your company to manufacture a vast array of new and hopefully popular products to the end of massive financial gain.

With a product that can neutralized poocules, I can think of several potential new Febreze products:

1. The Febreze undergarment pad
2. Febreze disposable undergarments
3. Febreze under the rim toilet deodorizers
4. Febreze Portable battery powered travel deodorizers for public restrooms
5. Febreze Discreet Pocket sized hand held fresheners
6. Febreze Audio devices for idea #5 that emit a diversionary sound such as traffic or a dog barking

The above ideas are just from the top of my head, but you see where this is going.  And in today’s economy, I’m sure you can appreciate that any edge over the competition will work in your favour.

I would be more than happy to work with your company for product ideas from the resulting improvements of your formula to eliminate poocules.  My compensatory packages are very affordable, I assure you.

I did get a free can of Febreze, which I will be giving to Big Eddie for his birthday.  I think he might need it more than me.

The other day I found such a thing.

I can’t convey to you in words what I’m feeling right now. I’ve searched high and low for the perfect funny, and after thirty-one years of life on this planet I’ve finally found it.

The funny that sums up me. All of me and all of my funny. Not the tangent funnies but the funny that you see in the blog cloud on this blogs sidebar.

So for me, this is the perfect funny.

Wait for it…

Wait for it,

It’s coming…

Soon……

And here it is

My perfect funny!

You see, I have a new inspector from the health unit.  She’s working under new regulation that requires her to inspect each and every one of our small water systems, at length, with me there as she’s grilling me with inane questions. And yes, she’s offensive to ALL the senses.  She is:

• Incredibly ugly and fat, offending my eyes
• Disgustingly greasy and clammy, offending my right hand (when we shake hands you pervs)
• Her broken English is screechy and never ending, making me want to poke out my eardrums with ice pics

But that’s not the worst.  You see, she’s a close talker.  And if you edge away for personal space, she edges closer to you.  I swear, we ended up halfway to Toronto that way in the space of a two hour meeting.

Your probably saying “But Spaz! You only mentioned sight, sound and touch! There are two other senses!”.  You’re right, there are two other senses.

You see, her greasy appearance is most likely due to her unwillingness to bathe.  Apparently for her the 10 minute daily routine of stepping into a shower, lathering up with an $0.80 bar of soap and rinsing off is too complicated.  No, instead she pours on gallons and gallons of horribly cheap perfume, probably right on her nasty gooey snatch.

The taste part comes in with the smell.  Have you ever smelled something so bad you can taste it? That’s her.

Today, both my boss and I were with her, and she was EXTRA offensive.  My eyes turned red, I couldn’t control my coughing, and I was on the verge of puking. All this coming from a guy who thinks poop is funny.

So him and I have devised a plan.  Next time we have to see her, we’re going to load up on roughage: Cabbage, broccoli, curried foods, beans and the like. We’re going to do that two hours before we see her, and stand at either side of her.

And let off the SBD’s in turn.

That’ll teach her for being stinky.

There was something very different about when I got home today. Something unusual. Something I haven’t experienced in almost four years.  When I opened the door, it wasn’t just the usual odour of prepackaged bachelor chow and loneliness I smelled.  There was another, more pungent odour mixed in. I stepped into the living room to find this:

Well what the hell. I don’t remember pooing anywhere but the toilet, and besides, it’s WAY to small to be one of mine.  I’ve got to figure out how it got there, so I put on my detective cap.

It’s too small to be one of mine. Hmm. Who else? Who’s small and has a lot of poop.  I know, it was that dastardly bastard moooooooooog.  He’s small and poops a lot, and I wouldn’t put it past him to leave a present on my floor.

It couldn’t be mooooooooog though, because not only have I taken every precaution to make sure he doesn’t know where I live, he’s also afraid to come back to Canada. It seems last time he was here he got a thrashing and hasn’t been back since.  That’ll teach ya to try to be a smart ass in the French Quarter Moooooog.  We all know Francophones have zero sence of humor.

I then thought that perhaps the magical poo fairy had left a deposit for me, after years of neglect.

So it wasn’t me, it wasn’t mooooog and it wasn’t the poo fairy.  There are no poo flinging monkey’s in Canada, so how the hell did it get there?  It was then that I heard a noise. It was very faint, and it almost sounded like whistling.

That’s right dog, hang your head in shame. That is NOT where you’re supposed to poo. Now pick it up and put it on the front steps of the school, just like I taught you.

Good girl.

You see, this weekend, someone out poo’d me.

That’s right.  Someone outdid old Captain Colon himself.

It was Saturday.  My friend Big Eddie (name changed to protect the guilty) was over helping me with my basement renovations.

When I say big Eddie, I mean BIG.   The man says he’s 6’4″. Yea right, maybe because he slouches.  He’s an easy 350 lbs.  This guy is a shaved bear.

We were working away with some insulation. He stood up, sniffed, and asked what the hell that smell was.

I told him it was the dog.  She farts when she gets nervous or excited.

Eddie took that as competition to his overactive anal gland. He hoisted a meaty hoof in the air, his face wrinkled in concentration, trying to push one out.

Push one out he did.

You see, I’d fed him some lunch.  We were at home depot buying several thousand drywall screws.

Hey, don’t look at me like that. Everybody likes a good screw. Why not several thousand?

Anyways, he was hungry so I bought him some lunch from the Harvey’s located right inside the home depot.

No side salad and a chicken burger for this man. No, no way. Large pop, poutine (with extra gravy and cheese), and a huge sirloin bacon cheeseburger.

Back up an hour to when we got to my house.  As I was cutting insulation, I heard his large round belly give a resounding gurgle, followed by a second and third, longer gurgle.

“Eddie, are you ok?”

“Yea Spaz.  It’s just lately, fast food has really been affecting my digestion.  An hour or two later and I’m not doing so good, usually.”

Uh, is that so.  I have a moose in my house with an upset anal gland, with only one toilet.

Fast forward now to when Eddie decided to compete with my dog in an impromptu farting competition, and come hell or high water he was going to win.

Like my dog gives a shit and I want a monster of a man crapping his pants to “beat” her.

With a look of determination in his now red and strained face, and his leg in the air, beat my dog he did.

Pfffffffffffffftb! bbbtttbbbtthhh!  Bthhttbhhhthpphht SPLOOCH!

Yes, the last one was a splooch.  A sound that only happens when you let out a wet fart, possibly with a little shart mixed in.

“Dood, I think you might want to check your pants”.

“Spaz, I need your toilet. NOW!”

So I kept working away, but forgetting something important, something very important.  It was bugging me in the back of my head, and I couldn’t’ remember what it was, until I heard Eddies booming voice from upstairs telling me he’d just painted the back of my toilet.

Fuck.  I remember now.  I had a leaky flapper valve in the shitter and I hadn’t yet replaced it.  Instead, I’d turned the water off until I could do it later.

He only had one flush.

He needed at least five.

I ran upstairs, only to be confronted with the worst ass explosion I’d ever seen, all over the back of my toilet.  Two hour old poutine and burger, passed through the gut of a 350lb man, slopped all over the shitter.

Do you know how bad it was?

Twenty four full hours later, I had a visitor ask me why my house smelled like poo.

Great. Not only did I lose my title of poo king, but his ass gas is probably permanent.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go open all the windows and go buy a drum of fabreeze.

So I’m just going to write any and all things that come from my head, first time, no planning, no editing.  Not even for spelling.

Not that I edit for speeling anyways.

Moving on.

Fucking hippies. I hate them.  Yea, that’s right. I hate hippies.  They need to shower. Women hippies need to shave their legs and their vaginas. My god, can you imagine an unwashed hippie vagina?  I mean, when you let after sex juice combinations stew just for a few hours it smells like hell. Can you imagine unwashed free sex afro like hippie vagina?  I bet she can open her foul legs and drop a fly at fifty paces.

I mean, the hippies general bad hygiene isn’t the only reason I hate them. It’s also along the lines of demonstrating for things they don’t understand and are too dumb to look at the big picture.  But hey, that’s what free society is all about, right?

I thought I hated children. But I really just hate what they have become due to helicopter parents.  Hey parents! Stop hovering and maybe your children will grow up to be adults!  Then again, if you’re not an adult how will they ever be?

Man, I’m such a bitter bastard. Lets’ liven this shit up, shall we?

Why exactly do people have so much problems shitting?  Seriously. Every time I’m in the drug store buying bandages, rubbing alcohol and do it yourself burn kits, I see people buying stomach remedies off the shelves.

It’s either stuff to stop the shits or stuff to make the shits.

I eat food, I turn it to poo, I pass it through my ass. At least once a day, usually twice. It rarely comes out runny, but it ALWAYS comes out.

So what we need to do is selective breeding.  I mean, I could jerk off into every single sperm jar on the planet, but then we’d all be TOO perfect.  And if we were all too perfect, much of my blog fodder (when I’m not subject blocked) would disappear.

No, what we need to do is turn the drug store into a giant dating service.

We’ll force those who have to buy runny shit medication to mate with those who buy can’t shit medication, and the resulting children will be people who shit normally, like me.

Ok, I’m done.
Later everybody.

The butter chicken you had for lunch. The keg of beer you had for dinner. The ex lax you mistook for valentines day chocolates.

You have to go, and you go to the nearest bathroom you can find. You’re in such a panic, you don’t even check for pee puddles or little curly pubes before planting your ass down on the seat. You let go, and it comes out like an nuclear explosion. You are relieved beyond relief.

Then, you look over to the toilet paper dispensor and realize with utter horror that something is completely wrong.

That’s right. Your bum is an absolute sticky mess and there’s but one square of TP left.  You can’t even do the pants around your ankels shuffel to the cabinet for another roll, because you’re in a public stall!

Not to fear, because I have the solution. First, you fold that one square in half and fold it again, such as so:

Then, where the folded edges meet, you tear off a small piece like this:

Before going on to the next step, save that little piece! It’s very VERY important.  The next thing you want to do is unfold the piece of toilet paper such as so:

You see now that there is a hole in the middle. Perfect. Take that piece of TP and insert your finger through the hole. It’s best to use the index finger of your wiping hand, such as so:

Now, your finger ABOVE the toilet paper is what you use to clean your bum with. It’s important that you use that portion of the finger only because the next step is folding the edges of the toilet paper up and using it to wipe the poo from your finger, as demonstrated in the next photo:

Remember that little piece that I told you to keep? Can anyone guess what it is used for?

That’s right! You use it to clean the poo from under your finger nail.

Next time you experience an exlposive ass rocket and have only one square, remember this technique. It could save your hygene.

Special thanks goes out to father spaz.  He taught me this life saving gem, and most of the other necessities of life.

Like high speed nose picking.

But that’s another tip for another day.

Good luck!