What the poop??

Ok, I know there is something wrong with me because I enjoy reading stories about frozen waste from airplane bathrooms that falls to Earth and almost kills people. Seriously, it happened in Calgary. A bag of frozen poop from an airliner came hurling through a lady’s roof and nearly killed her.

When I think of the ways I could die, almost all of them are better than being killed by flying poop. That’s the sort of thing that could erase a lifetime of accomplishment. I would instantly stop being as “me” and forever be known as the dude whose head was crushed by a turd. If I die from frozen restroom waste, my friends and family would have trouble stifling a laugh. And who could blame them, really?
“How did he die?” someone might ask. “I guess you could say he got pissed off,” one of my ex-friends would reply, before laughing heartily.

It seems unlikely I would be killed by airplane waste, but it seems just as unlikely we would have had a woman, and black dude, and a Mormon in the running for president and that happened. I don’t rule anything out. From now on when I hear jet sounds, I’m standing under a doorway.

I recently went to see The Foo Fighters. I can imagine standing in line and the guy next to me getting knocked the fuck out by a bag of frozen poop. When telling the story later, would I be able to resist saying “The shit hit the fan”?
I think not. And that is why I probably deserve to be killed by frozen poop.

Dead butterflies killed my keyboard

I recently had to babysit some contractors at work which meant I had the miserable joy of sitting around for 12hrs. In this time I got on blogspot and just clicked away. Blog after blog.
I knew that there were a gazillion blogs out there but I didn’t realize how many stupid ones there are. And by stupid I mean, REAL FUCKING stupid.(even more stupid than this one)

Do you have ANY idea how many people have dedicated a blog to the daily activities of their dog? Their fish? What they knit? The children they don’t even HAVE?? WTF??

One lady has a blog in which she actually shows DAILY “growth” pictures of a plant.
A PLANT.
Pictures of it.
Every. Fucking. Day.

There are also a hundred million women at home alone that simply blog about how unhappy they are in their lives.
And still MORE that are more than happy to post photos of their entire family (complete with first and last names), pictures of their home (complete with street address) and tell everyone when they will be home or on vacation and the hotel they will be staying at.
I didn’t find the one that posted their social security number and mother's maiden name but I’m sure it’s out there. (if you find it, please forward the link)

I also discovered that everyone in China has a blog and all of them post pictures of food.
Every. Damn. One.
Another thing I noticed about the one billion Chinese blogs is that apparently it is mandatory you put the following phrase in your profile:
“I like care very much for those I have care for.”
The Fuck??? What does that even mean?

I think that in the morning I’m going to come into work and start speaking Chinese…only in English.
It’ll be awesome.

I didn’t know that there were so many women in the world that are “totally in love with Jesus and have a totally hot husband.”
I saw that line on no less than 300,000 profiles and for some reason that phrase creeps me out. Totally.

Some of the catch phrases after blog titles that made me burp dead butterflies were:
“We are but sojourners on this earth”
“I search for my soul but maybe find yours”
“My life is a tulip in your hands”

And my favorite “dead butterfly burping blog catch phrase” IS…..waaaait for it…….
“I am but a lily in your field of daffodils.”

Oh. Please. Make it stop.
And all this time I thought the internet was just for music, silliness, porn and the occasional Goggle Map thingy.

After about 10hrs of clicking “next blog” and being quite disgusted with the majority of them, I clicked “next blog” one more time and there it was.
My OWN fucking blog.

I threw up.
Now my keyboard doesn’t work rrrrrigghh%//////////@t.

Why yaks like climbing mountains.

The best kind of personal defects are the ones that other people notice but you can’t. It’s bad enough to have a defect in the first place; there’s no point in having to think about it all the time. It’s bad for your self-esteem.

For example, I envy the people who don’t know that other people hate spending time with them. I see these defective people all the time, endlessly jabbering at trapped victims. The defective people think they are having a great personal encounter. The victim feels like he has an SUV parked on his chest. Other people can identify this sort of tragedy by the fact that one person is smiling and doing all of the talking and the other person is squeezing his own thigh to cut off blood to his brain.

I’m the opposite. I assume other people want me to go away as soon as I show up. It’s probably not always true, but I like to play it safe. A little bit of me goes a long way. That’s why I try to leave before I use up my welcome. It’s a tight window.
Dude: “Hi, Brian.”
Me: “Gotta go.”

Some one once told me it was “poofing” and I don’t necessarily disagree but I viewed it as giving people a break and minimizing my chances of getting told to go pound sand and hump ferrets.
Another personal defect I’ve noticed, in other people of course, are close talkers. Usually those are the people with the worst breath too. If I don’t know you, you can be rest assured I have a personal space bubble of at least 3 feet. Even if I do know you that doesn’t imply I want to smell your teeth so back off zippy. Trust me; you will know if I’m interested in smelling you.

How about the “One Uppers”? These are the people that, should you tell them you climbed Mt. Everest for example, well…they climbed it backwards, naked, with an amorous yak tide to their ass.

How about the “But any ways”? These individuals have no clue what you are saying. You could tell them that the moon is going to crash into the earth and annihilate all life on the planet and they would go right back into their mundane story, “Uhhhhh, yeah. BUT ANY WAY so there I was in Wal Mart…..”

Or, how about the “Stupid Bloggers”? These damn people…uhhhhhh, wait a minute.
*poof*

Colosso isn't gay. But he IS a Homo.

Apparently they once discovered these little hobbit like creatures in Indonesia. They referred to them as “H. Erectus” instead of the full name Homo Erectus. I figure this is to prevent jokes about why we don’t see any of them around these days.

I’m crossing my fingers that someday scientists will discover one of these hobbit dudes encased in amber or whatever-the-hell would allow us to snatch some DNA and clone them. Since they aren’t human, I think cloning would be legal.
And although they had heads the size of grapefruits, scientists believe they were smart enough to use tools and hunt tiny elephants. That spells one thing: Hobbit slaves!!

I think it would be cool to order a hobbit slave and have it show up in a box with air holes. My hobbit slave would always wear a tiny tuxedo, mostly for the coolness. I’d call him Colosso, because of the irony factor.


Colosso wouldn’t be bright enough to purchase .99 cent tacos on Sunday, or big enough to drive a car, so his use would be limited. But he’d be perfect for playing ring toss. I’d have him stand at the other side of the room and train him to yell funny things when I got a ring over him.
“You are the best ring tosser of all time, you magnificent, gigantic bastard!”


When Halloween came around I’d get Colosso a winged monkey costume and I’d go ahead and dress up as the Wicked Witch. You can’t tell me that wouldn’t win some sort of prize.

Colosso could ride my dog Ian lika a horse! When I wanted some green tea from the fridge, Colosso jump on Ian and ride him to the kitchen and get it. Would I ever get tired of that? Not likely.


Hey! I’d never have to find the remote control again, because I would use Velcro to attach it to Colosso’s head. When I wanted to watch TV, I would just whistle and he’d run over and face the TV.
I’m sure there are more uses for a hobbit slave, but none come to mind. What would YOU do with a three-foot tall Homo?

Nostradumbass knows what Alice did with the butcher.

Behold…ME!

In light of a recent revelation I shall hence fourth be known as…Nostradumbass.
For I can predict the past and vague things that shall never pass.
I…am…Nostradumbass.

Here are but a few of my Quintrains:

1) One day some things will happen
These things will affect things
And things will begin to do things
One thing affecting the other thing
Yet therefore…and some other stuff


B) There will be a bovinescatologist born in the 14th century
He shall say things that bringeth many baffoons together
They shall begat
And when the baffoons disperse
They will Google


4) A small but mighty power in Europe shall lose its quest to win the Second World War
Its leader will commit suicide along side his dying whore
His people will forever be embarrassed
Not for their loss
But for his mustache


L) There will be a lovely lady
Who shall bring up three very lovely girls
All of them shall have hair of gold
Like their REAL dad
And the maid shall fuck a butcher



Hark! Hear my words! For I…am Nostradumbass

Why the "creator" has hairy palms.

This is going to scare some of you. Still others may shrivel in denial and disgust.
I suppose in some circles that may be enough to stop me. Naaaaaaah………
It may help to understand that I’m an agnostic and that this is simply a humorous alternative point of view. Even ________ has a sense of humor.

How many times have you heard, “God made man in his own image.”? This has been the mantra of the more fundamentalist Christian for eons. Usually I would jump up and down and pounce on the ridiculously sexist comment. But then it dawned on me…it may be more interesting to nod in agreement and then follow through with a logical conclusion.
In order to do that we must take the comment “God made man in his own image” and line up its premises.
These are:
God is male (he made man in his own image)
God is perfect (because if he is not, why do you follow “him”)
God is unique (because if he is not, why the rift with other religions)

If these are agreed on the rest is simple logic.

To be male one must have a penis. So God, being male, must have a penis of divine proportions.
To be perfect, a being would suffer no waste. God then would have no wasteful organs. Having said that we can deduce that since God is male and has a penis He must use it. But use it for what?

The penis only serves two functions. The elimination of waste and sexual reproduction.
If a perfect being would no more produce waste than have wasted organs the possible uses of God’s penis is reduced to those of a sexual nature.

This brings us to our third premise. God is unique.
If God is unique then there is and will never be another like Him so sexual reproduction is out of the question.
Now if this divine penis is not used to eliminate waste (because there is none), nor is it use for sexual reproduction (he is unique), then what does He use it for?
There is only one option left.
Ready?

God masturbates.

That’s right – problem solved.
God is male.
All males have a penis.
God is perfect.
A perfect being has no useless attributes.
God has a penis therefore he must use his penis.
God is a unique being.
A unique being has no others like him.
A penis is used for waste removal or reproduction.
God must use His penis but not for waste removal or reproduction.
Therefore God must masturbate.

I’m certain that at this point one might believe I will burst into flames at any moment but I submit this; God gave me this thought process and my sense of humor…as it is.
Given that, let me take this one step further.

Christianity does not merely assert that God is only perfect and unique part of the time. On the contrary, Christianity tells us that God is always perfect and always unique.
Ok, if that is to be understood as fact let me add this additional deduction:
God must masturbate if He is male, perfect, and unique.
God is always male, perfect, and unique therefore God is always masturbating.

There ya have it. It’s not all bad though. If one thinks very hard about it, through these deductions, we have serendipitously answered another theological question: Philosophers and skeptics have often asked, “How can such an all powerful being tolerate so much evil in the world?”
The answer is clear. He’s too busy with cosmic self pleasure to worry about earthly affairs.
Looks like we are on our own – God or no God.

You're welcome. :)

It's ok...'prolly a bus full of mistakes anyway.

Are school bus drivers everywhere certifiably insane or is it just around here?
I’ve noticed that they commandeer the only vehicles not abiding the speed limit in a school zone and, for that matter; they seem to pay no attention to any speed limit anywhere.
Hauling ass seems to be the MO for these people. Whether it be screeching out of the parking lot right in front of you or throwing gravel in the face of the poor kids that live within walking distance, these wild eyed maniacs have apparently one thing in mind:
1) Load the little bastards up
2) Drop the little bastards off (there is a 3rd step but we’ll cover that later)

As annoying as it is to see these busses bending around corners, rolling through stop signs and stop lights, and coming to abrupt and unannounced stops; it’s always interesting to see the looks on the little faces inside as they bounce off the seats and windows in complete terror. Sometimes you can actually see them hanging out the window screaming.
Even as you see these frightened little scholars hanging out the windows screaming and hoping for an escape the expression on the pilots face never changes: “Drop the little bastards off. Drop the little bastards off.”
It’s not their fault we force them to ride in death traps driven by a transient with a Marlboro and no apparent understanding of traffic flow. We could at least see to it that our future drive through cashiers are taken to our under funded and inadequate public schools in a safe manner and in something that doesn’t look like The Partridge Family tour bus.

What are the requirements for “school bus driver” anyway?
Convicted of no more than 3 felonies?
Not on any current sex offender list?
Have not “lived in a van down by the river” for more than 6 consecutive months?

From what I can gather it’s as easy as 1-2-3:
1) Pick the little bastards up
2) Drop the little bastards off
3) Do it again – in due haste

I’m going to the river to investigate further.