The Mind of Spaz

I know I haven’t been around much lately.  And I’ve told that is a good thing. Let me explain.

To anyone who has been around this blog since the beginning (thank you, I can’t believe it, you are amazing), anyways, you’ve noticed my full attention hasn’t been paid to it lately. By lately I mean the last, say, 60 horrible posts.

I’ve gotten worse and worse.

Now, for some reason my father found my blog. Since I don’t put anything personal on it (like taking the poop yourself before a colonoscopy drink for no good reason) I haven’t minded.

I was having lunch with my old man last week. I’m his spawn, so we both dabble in mental retardation. Last weeks retardation was ordering hot and sour soup with a big bowl of extra hot sauce. We took turns adding more hot sauce, with the winner being the guy that didn’t make a hot spicy shart before getting home.

In between nose blows and tears of pure Jalapeno oil, he asked me if I was still going to write in that Spaz blog.

I told him no, I was doing other things, I didn’t have time.

He said “That’s good son, because your blog was getting lame. REALLY lame.”

I got called lame by a 60 year old accountant.

For that, I apologize everybody.

Also, I don’t want to abandon a PR3 website just cuz I’m lame. So I’m going to be taking this thing into a new direction. Whatever that direction might be. When I figure it out.

Cya’ll on the flipside of trying not to be so lame.

shameless promotion father, lame, shart

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

A certain somebody left this rather surprising comment on my blog the other day:

On another note, damn do you talk about shitting a lot.

Well yea. Poo is funny. Bodily functions in general is funny.  Anybody who is cool understands that.

You also understand that if you’re a mommy blogger.  We all know how much mommy bloggers suck, because it’s only funny if it’s coming out of their little ugly babies orifices.

ALL bodily functions are funny.

So to commemorate poo, and to commemorate my poo commentor, I give you some poo de motivational posters.

Enjoy.

poo, talking out of my ass big huge labs, bowel, de-motivational posters, fart, poo, shart, shit

….. But it wasn’t.

I thought it was just two and a half hours of hell. But it was more, much more. It lasted for the next few days.

It started the night of. I thought I was going to be ok. It had been 10 hours since my last meal and I wanted to test out my now fragile digestive system. And so I downed a small piece of dry white toast. Apparently, that was enough food to dislodge another round of liquidy bum pow.

A few hours later, I tried soup and a sandwich to the same result. Yay me.

And the fun continued. The gas! Oh the gas! My gut was producing gas in quantities to power New Orleans during Mardi Gras. With the exception that ass gas doesn’t let me see boobs. No, this was far and above my normal flatulent self.

There is a problem with my new found friend.

You see, I found that my new gaseous companion was actually a gamble. If I thought it was gas, it was more likely his best buddy shart. And so, it became a gamble I was likely to lose. I don’t gamble to lose, so I stopped gambling, and that really put a damper on my free time.

The next morning it was time for my regularly scheduled poo. Yes, I schedule poo time. I’ve trained my body to expel waste first thing in the morning. That way, I minimize toilet paper consumption and make use of my shower head to clean up the mess. Don’t judge, it works.

Sitting down on the cold porcelain, I open the trap door to let the bomb fly. Only it wasn’t a bomb. Some jackass had replaced my bum rocket with ass molasses. Cleaning that up wasn’t wiping. It was like daubing a bleeding wound.

It continued. It happened at 9 am at work. I was trying to get my second cup of coffee and was re-routed on my way to the kitchen. I never made it to the kitchen.

Just after lunch it happened again. And again. At three, it happened yet again.  And then I left work to find something very interesting.

You see, after the fourth runny ass vomit, my anus was sore. Very sore, and throbbing.  Throbbing loudly.  I thought that I was the only one who could hear it, but I was wrong. There was a contingent of hippies outside dancing to the beat of the throbbing. They had thought it was a love in. They were wrong, so very wrong.

It’s now Tuesday, three days after I subjected myself to the colon cleanse.  I finally have had a solid shit and I’m no longer afraid to fart.

Kids, there is a moral to this story.

Don’t be stupid like Uncle Spaz.

‘Nuff Said.

dumb things I do to myself, poo colon cleanse, fart, poo, shart, stupidity