The Mind of Spaz

When I go off to work in the morning, I usually come home. When I go out to run some errands, I come home. Heck, even if I go to Toronto when I feel like being an ethnic minority, I usually eventually get home.

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.

poo, talking out of my ass feces, monkey, mooooog, poo, shitting, surprise

To my 2.78 fans who actually read this drivel, you may remember how I lost my crown as king shit.  Well, my friend was over at my house once again, and once again he completely and totally destroyed my toilet.  At least it was working this time.

Still, the smell hung heavy and I used some febreze air effects odour eliminator spray with less than satisfying results. So poor did this product perform, I felt compelled to write the company.  Below is the email I sent:

To whom it may concern:

I’m writing to you today in regards to the efficacy of your Febreze Air Effects product.

You see, one of my friends was at my home yesterday helping me do some drywall work. This particular friend is in excess of 6’4″ tall and weighs in somewhere around 350 lbs.

The issue is that his normally overactive gut was compounded that day by a double cheeseburger with bacon, fries with extra gravy and an extra large milkshake. He’s not supposed to eat fast food and the effects were disastrous.

He spent the better part of two hours flatulating in my little bungalow before decimating my toilet for a period exceeding twenty-five minutes.

The results were horrid. I could not get the smell out of my house, despite turning the bathroom fan on and opening all the windows.  The smell was heavy and pungent and would not go anywhere.

It was then I saw a commercial on T.V. advertising your Febreze air effects, and how your product claimed to eliminate odours from the air, not just mask them over.

I quickly went to the store and purchased a can of your febreze air effects linen and sky odour eliminator.

I probably used at least half the can and the resulting smell was linen and sky poo.

I’m very disappointed that your product did not work as claimed, and feel perhaps you should add a disclaimer to your advertising before someone launches a lawsuit.

Respectfully yours,

Mike

Rest assured I will post any future correspondance with the company.

Uncategorized corporate emailing, false advertising, febreze, king shit, poo

It’s not that I’m apposed to anal sex, it’s just that I won’t stick it in a woman’s bum.

Not because of any particular reason other than my own brand of fucked up logic.

You see, for some reason it’s one hole or the other with me, but not both.

Poo comes out of the one hole, and babies come out of the other.

And I find babies slightly less gross than poo.  Only just slightly.

Therefore, I won’t stick it up her bum, no matter how much she begs.

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Ok, but only if she begs.

That is all.

talking out of my ass anal sex, babies, gross, poo, vaginal sex, woman

I thought I was the best.  Mind you, I’m still good, I’m just not the best.

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.

poo, rant farting competition, fast food, Harvey's, poo, shart, shit covered toilet, TMI

The ever lovely Ettarose organized a roast for fellow humor bloggers to be posted the very first of May.  I did the fabulous Kirsten of the Soccer Mom Files, and the poor unfortunate fellow roasting me is the talented Renal Failure.

So, let’s see how this guy rips me from poo to fat chick.

Enjoy.

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Here he is! Spaz, The man of the hour, which is fifty-five minutes
more than he takes to write one of his posts.

But who is the Spaz that apparently has a Mind which we should be made
aware of? Well, that’s why Cthulu created “About” pages. His picture
shows a man who is obviously proud of his watch, or his beefy arm, or
calling people out at home plate.

He’s a Canadian in Ontario so odds are he’s a Maple Leafs fan, which
would explain his Wendel Clark-like goatee. You might ask yourself why
someone would kept a goatee in memory of someone who hadn’t played for
the Leafs since 1996 but then again irrelevancy is a way of life for
Maple Leafs fans (they’re still mad about the ‘93 Conference Finals
against Gretzky’s LA Kings).

But enough about the man who looks like the brother of Egon Spengler
who ate paint chips instead of learning how to bust ghosts, let’s look
at his blog, which bills itself as “Social Commentary with a Side of
Flatulence.”  Oh good, I was sick of of all these private commentary
sites that spring up like so many Tim Horton’s. And I’m glad that the
flatulence is on the side, because farts are garnish.

So… Spaz likes to talk about poop. A lot. Christ, Robert Mapplethorpe
wasn’t even this interested in poop. Is Spaz short for Spastic Colon?

But don’t think that Mind of Spaz is just one long brochure for
irritable bowel syndrome. It’s also the largest repository for fat
chick pictures this side of the folder holding all the Nutri-System
“Before” pictures.   Baby got back?  No baby got front, sides, and
everything in between.

Most of these pictures end up as part of fake motivational posters,
perhaps for the purpose of your office co-workers including them in a
hilarious email to be passed around your office until Human Resources
puts a stop to it.  So next time HR forces you to sit through a
tedious meeting regarding proper use of office email and Internet
usage, you can probably thank Spaz for that.

But Mind of Spaz wasn’t Spaz’s first blog. His first was called
Spazoid’s Space, which was just like Mind of Spaz except with a
Blogger template. And the last two months of material were just
cross-posts from his water-filtration blog, which is actually funny.
Reverse osmosis system? Ultraviolet disinfection device? The jokes
write themselves, which leaves Spaz a lot more time to scour Google
images for the morbidly obese.

Water filtration, poop and fat girls… I don’t know what Spaz is into
when it comes to bedroom activities, but I’m thinking it involves a
lot of Indian food, a Brita filter, and a tub of Crisco.  Just don’t
forget the plastic tarp, unless you really enjoy constantly steam
cleaning your carpets.

Anyway the side of flatulence hadn’t shown up yet at Spazoid’s Space,
though the poop was always there. Instead he was “hurdling towards
insanity.” Obviously the path to madness involves a 11o-meter Olympic
event.  Not quite as impressive as the other guy “HURTLING” toward
insanity, and obviously not as quick either.

But Spaz gives back to the HumorBloggers.com community, always eager
to help out. He’s an author on the community blog.  He’s a fixture in
the forums and the chat room, much like how AIDS was a fixture in the
musical Rent.  I recall him once asking the forum if he needed a
tetanus shot after stepping on a nail while renovating his basement,
because as we all know the best medical advice comes from an internet
message board full of people whose expertise is jokes about dicks,
farts, and Vince the ShamWow guy. SlapChop your lockjaw away!

So let us direct a round of applause for Spaz, but not the
slow-building kind that comes at on the tail end of a big emotional
speech at the end of an 80’s movie. That’s for special occasions.
But let’s at least applaud him for taking the slings and arrows of a
notorious liar and fabricator with the grace and dignity befitting a
noble water management technician with a colon that could bench press
a zamboni.

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That. Was. AWESOME!

‘Nuff Said

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