I’ve got a booger on my finger and I’m looking around my office and I don’t see any kleenex.  Dammit.

“Stick it to the bottom of your chair and flick it off later”, says the little voice.

“Ok”, I say out loud only to find out… Ick – there is other shit down here.  What the hell!  Are they mine?

Probably.

As this seems to be a recurring issue I can’t imagine that I am unique to this experience.  So I dare you to run your hand under your chairs around your house or in your cars.  It is a safe bet you’ll hit crunchy, flakey, dried up pieces of snot somewhere.

Now don’t get me wrong.  I’m not saying they are yours, but that may not be your thing either.  Maybe you prefer to snort them back and then choke on it as it slides down your throat bouncing back and forth along the walls of your esophagus.  HAACHCHOUGH!!  And then again, maybe you have a spit cup that you use.  Or maybe, just maybe, you aren’t as lazy as I am and you’ll go get something from the bathroom just across the hall.

Anyways, I’ve solved one of my problems.  Now all I have to figure out is: how the hell did I get this shit on my shoe…

Today I decided to do some experimenting.

That right there should scare you.

The last time I decided to do some experimenting I chose to see if a stream of piss could hit a piece of lint floating harmlessly down towards the toilet from somewhere around my shoulders.  As the airflow dynamics of a stream of piss proved: you can’t.  Or at least I didn’t.

So, let’s just say that the loss of my shirt and pants was nothing compared to the loss of bathroom privileges at this one particular friends house.

Anyways.

Today I decided to take a shit while jerking off.

The act of writing that last sentence was almost as difficult as the actual act so let me repeat it:

“Today I decided to take a shit while jerking off.”

Now some of you are like “Ewwwww, gross!”, others are like “Huh?”, and then there are those of you who are like “So the fuck what?” and to them I say:

I wasn’t in a bathroom.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BcQ7RkyBoBc

And yes. It is six months old. And no. It won’t get old.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uqt3Zb7BItA

I love to read.  I rarely put down a book.  But it happens.  Usually after I realize it was written by a woman.  Sorry, does that make me sexist?  No?  I didn’t think so either.  It’s just that … well in real life women talk too much.  Really.  You do, and in too much detail.  This is where it bleeds into a woman’s  authoring skills.  Just too many thoughts and feelings for me to process and give a shit about.  So much so, that it sort of, well it pisses me off.  Instead of reading why so and so decided why she was going to go the beach at J Street instead of L Street, I’d much rather know her cup size and know that she is going to the beach.  And lets just hope she isn’t fat and ugly.  Which would of course beg the question as to why a guy would write about a fat ugly girl going to the beach in the first place…

So where is this coming from?  Let me tell you.

This morning I am reading Boobsday written in 2007 by Christopher Buckley and on page 66, 4th paragraph, 8th line down, first word is “mainframe”!  Mainframe?  Really?  In 2007, this guy writes a book about a blogger who is using a mainframe?  Holy shit.

Congratulations Chris, I have put down your book and in my opinion, you have joined the ranks of the women writers who can’t write for shit.  You are a pussy and are to be ever refered to as Christina.  You dillhole. [Note –  I decided to read the next few chapters of this book to see if he really meant to say mainframe.  I am giving him the benefit of the doubt, but only because ‘Thank You For Smoking’ was such a great film.]

Glenn