Mental Poo

Fatty McFatShit and Physics 101

2009-11-12T07:00:00.006-05:00

Trust me...this stupid title will explain itself in a minute.

You people are so fucking impatient.

But...sit down..this is a long one today.

(that's what she said)

Here goes:

When I was a kid, I was fat.

If the news ever would have run a story on obesity in children back then, the odds would be that the crews were at my house filming me from the neck down while the anchors were back in the studio going:

"Holy fuckshit...that kid's a goddamn porker! Look! He jiggles like Santa!! And now, in sports..."

I ate cookies and junk and didn't exercise and watched television and had little boy fat tits.

("Little Boy Fat Tits" would be a great name for a rock band)

So, yeah. I was fat.

But I had a skateboard.

I had a lime green skateboard, and my buddies and I would hang out during the day and do jumps and shit on them.

When I say I would 'do jumps' on my skateboard I mean 'did not do any fucking jumps.'

I was fat.

Jumping constitutes exercise.

The Gods of Nabisco frown on that shit.

("Gods of Nabisco?" Holy shit! I need to be a band manager.)

Whatever.

So, one day, when I was about 10 or so, my best friend Ed has this idea:

Ed: "Why don't we do this:

Someone starts across the street on his skateboard, and someone else shoots his skateboard in front of them...then they just jump from one skateboard to the other.

..and they'll just keep going, but on the other skateboard!"

Let me draw out the plan so you get a visual:

Oh. My. God.

FUCKING BRILLIANT!!

I imagined the moment of moving in one direction...then, suddenly, BLAM!! moving in a whole different direction.

It would be like riding those cars in 'Tron' except it would be skateboards and there would be no neon and I'm pretty sure I'd look like an overstuffed sausage if I ever tried to squish my fat 10 year old ass into spandex.

It was...

GENIUS.

So I volunteered.

This turned out to be a bad, bad idea.

Here's what happened.

I started out on my skateboard heading across the street.

Ed then kicked the other skateboard across my path of travel.

At the right time, I leaped.

Thoughts of pulling off one of the greatest stunts of my short, creme-filled life traveling through my fat little skull.

Until, that is...

I landed.

For, you see...

The absolute second my feet landed on the other skateboard, it shot out from under me like a fart out of Richard Simmons' gaping asshole and rocketed down the street.

I, on the other hand, went ass over teakettle in the air...

...landing with a *THUD* in the middle of the street.

Here..this should help:

THUD.

As my fat ass lay semi-conscious in the middle of the street, I can hear my friends discussing whether or not they should just up and fucking run.

I have good friends.

That's when I hear the car pull up.

With my eyes closed, I can hear a car stop in front of me, the door open and someone get out.

Great.

It's my little league coach.

Coach: "What happened?"

Ed: "He fell off his skateboard."

On a related note, Ed learned at a very young age that one should cover his own ass whenever possible.

(click to enlarge)

My mother opens the front door of our house (we were right in front of my house) and starts screaming.

So...my coach...in a fit of heroism unknown to any man at that time...

...decides to try to bring me inside.

Eyes closed, I feel him wrap his arms around my limp gelatinous body and...

"HMMMMPPPPHHHHHHH!!"

Nothing.

Didn't budge.

Again.

"HUUNNNNGGGPPPMMMPPPPPHHHH!!"

Then...

Reminiscent of the opening credits of 'The Incredible Hulk', my coach somehow manages to pick my flubbery fat shit carcass off the ground and make his way to the house.

All the time as he's carrying me, I can hear this:

Coach: "Jesus Christ...holy shit...mmmpphhh...oh my God...Jesus...hnnnggghh...fuck he's a goddamn heavy shit...gaaaa"

Nice guy, that coach.

On the bright side, I learned some new words that day.

In the end, I was fine.

But...see?

Had I never thought of jumping, that never would have happened.

Fat kids shouldn't exercise. It may lead to their death and/or hernias for their little league coaches.

But, whatever.

Nothing that a couple of Twinkies and Oreos won't fix.

*************************

UPDATE

I just want to acknowledge that yesterday was Veteran's Day, and I'd like to say 'thank you' to all the military personnel who have made it possible for me to live in a free country and offend the shit out of you on a daily basis.

At the end of this post is a story about how I bumped into one of these returning soldiers on my way back from the shithole known as Jackson, Mississippi.

This post, from one of the greatest Boston websites of all time, Barstool Sports, will rip your fucking heart out. If you aren't touched by these videos even a little bit, get the fuck out now because - honestly - you're a douchebag.

Now. Enough seriousness.

LET'S EXERCISE SOME RIGHTS OF FREE SPEECH, BITCHES!!

Doodler Dandy

2009-11-10T13:30:00.003-05:00

I have a confession to make to you all.

I can't..

I can't seem to stop myself.

It's a..COMPULSION.

I HAVE to do it.

I don't feel like a whole person unless I'm doing it.

Making the swirls...

..the..mmmm...the circles...

..the smooth strokes...

Yes, folks.

I'm a doodler.

No..no..

Not a DIDDLER.

That would be my dad and, honestly, I'd rather keep that part of my life a secret.

Oh.

Um.

Oops.

No, I'm just a doodler.

When I'm in a meeting, I doodle.

It's not like I'm not listening (it's EXACTLY like that), it's just that I can't stop drawing stupid shit on my notebook when other people are talking about something that I should probably be listening to because it might be important and relevant to my job, OH LOOK A LADYBUG, and oh shit I have to really get an oil change for my motorcycle soon and you know what? I think I'm gonna draw me a scary octopus.

I probably shouldn't go to meetings.

What the fuck was I talking about?

Oh.

Doodling.

So, normally there aren't pet ladybugs walking around in meetings craving my affection...

..so I end up drawing shit.

What do I draw?

Your guess is as good as mine.

Let's take a look at some of the ACTUAL shit I've drawn in my notebook during meetings:

(click to enlarge the images)

Apparently, I have some type of fetish with comets and shit that's flying at you.

Don't judge.

NEXT!

Um.

* cricket

Not a clue, there.

The best I can guess with this thing is it's some sort of crazed octo-squid-alien. I really have no fucking idea where I was going with that.

NEXT!

Oh..look. I actually know what this one is.

We were talking about one of our software agents that installs on a computer.

So, of course, I drew an agent.

Like, you know, a secret agent.

With creepy trenchcoat and everything.

Then I went to the trouble of writing 'Agent' just in case maybe someday archaeologists find this notebook and are all like, 'What do you think? Hieroglyphic symbol of their leader?' and the other guy would go, 'No..it's just an agent.'

Then to clarify this brilliant art even more, I wrote the word 'DOODLE' over my fucking doodle so now the archaeologists are all thinking, 'Oh this is just shit' and throwing their notebooks down and then going to check out naked pictures of Laura Dern.

NEXT!

This is an alien that was obviously ripped off from 'Toy Story' except I was all like, 'oh shit, Copyright infringement' and added 10 more eyes. SUCK IT, PIXAR!

NEXT!

I got nothin.'

So, that's just a few snippets of shit that's sitting in my notebook.

Comets and aliens and agents and octo-squids and flying boxes and faceless men riding giant dildos and shit.

Welcome to my head.

Scary shit, isn't it?

Hi. My name is Rodney.

And I'm a doodler.

I wonder what the archaelogists will think.

Moog out.

Se coge nuestro país, la parte dos (Our Country is Fucked, Part Two)

2009-11-09T07:00:00.000-05:00

Today I present to you, fine reader...

Further evidence that our country is headed right down the shitter.

Or, in this case:

"Chitter."

In part one of the 'Our Country is Fucked' series, we learned that the kids in my wife's inner-city Kindergarten class think that letters are actually animals...

...and that some letters make trampoline sound effects.

That's just great.

You know, I believe it was Whitney Houston who said it best:

"I believe that children are our future
Teach them well and let them lead the way"

Great words, Whitney.

However, I'm assuming that the children you're talking about don't think that the letter 'C' actually has feathers.

Today's post, though, isn't about the children.

Oh, no.

It's about my wife's teaching assistant.

She also speaks very little English, so you know these kids are in for a great learning experience.

"The United States Education System: Not helping your children even a tiny little friggin' bit since 1997."

So my wife is at her desk doing paperwork...

...and can hear her assistant working with some of the kids.

Her assistant is giving the kids a letter, and asking them to say words they know that begin with that letter.

She starts with 'A.'

Juanita: "Cho..what ees a werd dat stahts whit de letter, A?"

(English translation: "So, what is a word that starts with the letter A?")

The kids come up with the following words:

Alphabet
Apple
Alligator

After every word the kids say, Juanita writes the word down on a large piece of paper.

This is where my wife looks up.

IN HORROR.

Why?

Well...

Here is an actual photo of what my wife saw when she looked at what the TEACHER'S ASSISTANT wrote down on the paper:

Alfabet
Apple
Alegator

* sigh

I guess getting 1 out of 3 words spelled correctly isn't that bad.

You know...

For an infant.

Ooops...

I meant for a 'niño.'

Gotta get my Spanish straight if I'm ever going to make it in this world, apparently.

Adios.

Motivational Filler - Humor

2009-11-06T14:00:00.002-05:00

Before I start today:

New Bling

I got a new award from The Screaming Me-Me's Caption Contest last week.

I also got the 'Best Blog Award' from BuzzardBilly.

You can see those, and my other trophies that did not come with any freaking money attached on my Awards page.

I'm ruling Urban Dictionary

This one is my pride and joy.

The phrase "Mental Poo" is now on Urban Dictionary.

*******************

Mental Poo:

'Mental poo' is stuff that people will start talking about that have no relevance to anything, including the current conversation, and usually includes just random stuff that has no bearing on ANYTHING.

Basically, their head is filled with random shit and they're just spilling.
We were talking about cars and then Jim came over and started spewing all this mental poo.

He started talking about a shit he took and how it reminded him of banging this chick in college and that he needs to go buy bread on the way home.

*******************

YAY ME!

Okay...enough back patting (like there is such a thing).

ONWARD WE GO!

*******************

Motivate THIS.

(points at crotch)

Nothing to see here today...

...except a custom "motivational poster" made by yours truly over at Big Huge Labs.

Seriously...

...I have no idea how I made it almost 40 years without finding this thing.

Here's today's poster for you (click to enlarge (that's what she said)):

Kids.

Shit like this is why I keep mine locked in the basement.

If you want to see all of my custom posters, click here.

If you like them, feel free to post them on your site.

Just give me some credit.

God knows my bank won't.

Moog out.

The Great Celery Incident of 1988

2009-11-05T07:00:00.006-05:00

WARNING:

Gross blog post ahead.

(grosser than, you know, usual)

You've been warned.

*************************

Well...looks like it's another of Lilu's TMI days here on "Mental Poo."

Saying there's "Too Much Information" here on Mental Poo is like saying there's too much cat in my Sweet and Sour Chicken at the Chinese restaurant.

Redundant redundancy.

A while back, I wrote a post about taking my daughter on her first ever loop coaster ride.

In that post, was this picture:

If you're wondering what a picture of Diana Ross getting nailed from behind has to do with an article about my daughter going on a roller coaster, then you don't know me very well.

This is how my mind works.

Scientists from around the world have yet to figure out why.

I've digressed.

Regardless, the above picture was actually an inside joke and 'tip of the hat' to my buddy, Jim - a guy I used to work with YEARS ago.

Knowing that he'd know what this was, I sent him this email prior to posting that article:

*****************

Hey Jim…today’s post has a tip of the hat to you in it.

See if you can pick it up.

*****************

Shortly afterward, I get his email reply:

*****************

OMFG!

Dude….

You’re killing me. How did you even remember this?

Only you could tie the “great celery incident of 1988” into your blog.

*****************

The Great Celery Incident of 1988.

Here...in Jim's very own words...

Is his recap of the story.

It's long...you might want to take breaks.

Especially when you start to feel nauseous.

And you will.

Enjoy.

*****************

I don’t remember it that well myself…..

Here is what a do remember:

My girlfriend Donna lived at home with her parents. Occasionally I would stay over at her parent’s house (if there was room- she had 5 other siblings also living at home).

This was back in the 80’s and her parents did not allow us to sleep in the same room.

On this particular night one of her brothers was away from home so I was able to sleep in the bedroom right next to hers.

Since I didn’t have to drive home, that meant I could drink massive quantities of alcohol. So we walked downtown, hit a few bars and got hammered.

On the way home we decided to play “hide the salami” at her house.

We both said “good night” really loud (in case her parents were listening), then Donna snuck into my room.

We tried to be discreet, we were very quiet and we kept the lights off.

Here comes the TMI part:

For some strange reason, I prefer the “doggie-style” position when I am plastered.

So Donna got on all fours and I plowed ahead into the darkness (remember, it was very dark and I was very hammered).

However, instead of the expected “loosey goosey”...

...I got the unexpected “righty tighty”.

Then Donna gasped:

“That’s the wrong one!”

I had never done buttsex before.

Yay me.

Since it actually felt pretty good, I said “Why don’t we try it?”

All I heard was a drunken “Oh, OK”.

* blink

Green light, GO!

That is all I needed to hear and the reaming commenced.

She started making some pretty funny noises at this point, so I (quickly) finished up and she waddled back to her room to sleep.

I had to pee so I quietly went into the bathroom.

After “little elvis” took the stage I looked down.

Something didn’t seem right.

There was something...

...ATTACHED to him.

I turned on the second (much brighter) light.

I couldn’t believe my eyes.

There was something green stuck to my dick.

I pried it off with a piece of toilet paper and looked closely at it.

(Editor's note: Um...Jim...you looked CLOSELY at it? Dude..wtf.)

It was a piece of…

Celery.

Yep.

Celery.

A piece of celery was stuck to my dick.

Awesome.

It was in pretty good shape too...kinda like the “magic bullet” from the Kennedy assassination.

Not quite pristine, but still re-edible.

(Editor's note: Never let Jim write for you ever again. Ever.)

I flushed the evidence down the toilet and went to bed.

The next morning Donna said something about “me taking advantage of her last night” and she never wanted “to do that again."

Blah blah blah. Whatever.

Note:

I had seen anal sex in porno movies before this event, but I had never seen any shit (or food) hanging around.

Apparently, they must do some prep work before filming.

*****************

* cricket

You still there?

Shit. I'm surprised I still am.

But..

Maybe now you know how I've never been able to forget this story.

And now you won't, either.

You're welcome.

Little Elvis has left the building.

..and he took his celery with him.

Moog out.

She's Once, Twice, Three Times a Lady....Bug.

2009-11-03T13:00:00.003-05:00

Meetings bug me.

In this case, though...

I mean it LITERALLY.

Today I was in a meeting filled with 20 people.

I fucking HATE meetings.

Regardless, I sat in the corner of the room near the window, next to my friend Kristin.

As I was sitting down, I noticed her.

No, not Kristin.

I notice Kristin every morning and, since we sit in the same cube, tend to look her up and down longingly while biting my lower lip mouthing stuff like 'oh, yeah' and fake twiddle her hair while her back is turned to me.

I have issues.

No...it wasn't Kristin I noticed near the window.

There, on the window sill...

..a ladybug.

Awww.

However, this was a business meeting after all.

Important people.

Hot topics of discussion.

No time to play with a ladybug.

So what did I do?

Well...

I did what anyone would do:

I immediately picked up the ladybug and named it "Lucy" for some fucking reason and then proceeded to pat it and pretend to tickle it as it walked all over my hands while Kristin laughed with her hand over her mouth and I whispered shit like, 'she's a goood girl...yes she iiiis...' and there was Dan with the missing tooth sitting on the other side of me all like, 'THE FUCK?!' and by the time the meeting was over I learned absolutely nothing and may or may not have answered a question about a network protocol by randomly yelling out 'I LIKE BLUE!'

That's me in meetings.

And I wonder why I have no clue what I'm supposed to be doing here.

For those of you wondering, I released Lucy back into the wild after the meeting where she was probably immediately eaten by a spider or died in the 30-degree weather.

It's just like they say:

"If you love something, set it free.

But sometimes it gets eaten by spiders or dies in the cold and maybe it would still be alive if we could just stop having these stupid fucking meetings."

Huh.

Maybe I should have just left her alone.

*********************

UPDATE!

I needed a way...somehow...to express my angst about this whole ordeal.

And now...

THE VIDEO TRIBUTE TO LUCY

(yeah..that's me singing):

I'm sad.

In many more ways than one, obviously.

Moog out.

Doing Halloween...Doggy Style

2009-11-02T06:30:00.001-05:00

Shit.

I've become one of THOSE people.

I know you're thinking 'underwear model,' but that's not what I mean.

(Hanes...call me)

No..this Halloween I became one of those people...

...who DRESSES UP THEIR DOG.

* blink

You know, for Halloween.

The other times I dress her up are strictly for sexual purposes.

Perhaps I've said too much.

We planned on taking our new dog, Sophie, out with us for Halloween.

My daughter Payton BEGGED me incessantly to buy her an outfit.

Payton: "Hey Dad, can we buy her a Halloween costume?"

Me: "Okay."

Maybe 'begged' is too strong a term.

We tried a few things on her.

Count Soph-ula:

Sophie Montana:

Wonder Sophie:

My wife, upon seeing these photos looked at me and said:

Wife: "I guess I know what you do when I'm out of the house, now."

Honey, you have NO idea.

Regardless, we ended up settling on a little outfit with a tutu that said:

"So Cute, It's SCARY!"

On a related note:

I may be gay.

So, some random notes about Halloween this year:

The Kids

My kids went as a Vampiress and a Ninja.

My daughter, Payton, got tons of great comments about her Vampire costume.

My son, Cam, instead got shit like this:

"Oooh..a Jedi!"

"What are you...a sous chef?"

"Wow...Darth Vader!"

Really?

Darth Vader?

Idiots.

When someone looked at him and said, "Cool Ninja," my son yelled out:

"FINALLY! Someone gets me!"

And now I'm jealous.

No one ever gets me.

The Pencil Lady

Every year the kids stop at one house where the lady just apparently doesn't get it.

Last year, she handed out pencils.

Pencils.

Listen, lady, if I wanted to spend forty bucks on costumes so my kids could get office supplies, I'd take them to fucking Staples.

Bitch.

So this year, as the kids were heading up to the door we reminded them to say 'thank you' no matter what they got...

..even if it was a stupid fucking pencil.

Seriously, lady.

The fuck you thinking?

So, the kids go up, she pops out and drops something in their bag.

My son, still standing at the top step with the woman still in the door, turns around and yells to us in the street:

"HEY! WE DIDN'T GET A PENCIL THIS YEAR!"

Um.

Great.

Not too embarrassing, Cam.

No..no pencil this year.

They got a plastic centipede instead.

Lady, you suck at this shit.

Just do us all a favor and shut your lights off next year.

The Chinese Kid

My wife and I, and a couple of our friends are standing on the street as the kids go up to another house.

An Asian family comes up, and their son runs to the door as they stand right next to us.

My son recognizes the boy and says 'hi' to him as they pass each other.

As Cam is walking towards us, he yells:

"Hey mom! You know that Chinese kid I told you about..?!"

* cricket

Our friends look up, stifling a laugh, and immediately flee the area.

Awesome.

Another Halloween done...

...and all we got was plastic bugs, beastiality references and embarrassing racism.

Can't wait til next year.

Motivational Filler - Sexy Halloween Costume

2009-10-30T10:30:00.001-04:00

Before I start today I need to announce that, yes...

I have yet ANOTHER word accepted into Urban Dictionary!

Burpspeak

*******************
Burpspeak (n):

The words you speak when you burp.

John has awesome burpspeak, he can do the entire alphabet after a single swig of beer.
*******************

First Holemates and now Burpspeak.

And mom said I'd never amount to anything.

Huh.

She's a pretty smart woman.

ONWARD!!
******************

Motivate THIS.

(points at crotch)

Nothing to see here today...

...except a custom "motivational poster" made by yours truly over at Big Huge Labs.

Seriously...

...I have no idea how I made it almost 40 years without finding this thing.

Here's today's poster for you - a special Halloween edition!

(click to enlarge (that's what she said)):

BOO!

I know.

Scary.

If you want to see all of my custom posters, click here.

If you like them, feel free to post them on your site.

Just give me some credit.

God knows my bank won't.

Moog out.

Watching "Paranormal Activity" with Randy Jackson

2009-10-29T07:00:00.004-04:00

Just some random thoughts as I sat through 'Paranormal Activity' last Friday night:

1) I liked this movie better the first time I saw it when it was called "The Blair Witch Project"

2) This chick in the movie kind of looks like my sister in law but heavier.

This doesn't mean much to you readers but if you knew my sister-in-law you'd all be like, 'whoa.'

True story.

3) The huge black guy in front of me just told the guy in front of him to stop jerking around in his seat.

He's used the word 'dawg' in this two second conversation at least four fucking times.

I had no idea anyone actually used that word in actual sentences outside of 'American Idol.'

4) I can't believe that Randy Jackson is apparently sitting right in front of me!

I'm gonna sing something...maybe some Whitney Houston.

Contestants always seem to do well when they sing that shit.

5) I SWEAR TO GOD if I ever, EVER wake up and my wife is standing over me like this broad is, I will dropkick her right in the throat.

Honey, love ya, but remember:

Creepily standing over me = goddamn crushed esophogus

6) Never sit near the back row of a theater.

Ever.

There is a group of four teens sitting behind me who haven't shut the fuck up for two minutes.

They're trying to whisper...but all I can her is their 's' sounds.

From what I can tell..they've been talking for an hour and a half about 'silly salty seashells sitting by the seashore so someone said Susan should suck short silicone saucers.'

7) If this movie theater weren't so packed, I'd be responsible right now for the murder of four people who all apparently have lisps.

8) You know..the movie is almost over and it kind of sucks.

I really thought it would be a lot scarier than OH MY FUCKING SHIT JESUS CHRIST WHAT THE FUCK I THINK I JUST SHIT MYSELF.

9) It's times like these I wish movie theater restrooms had wet wipes.

If only to clean the blood off my hands from those four fuckshits in the back row.

Moog out.

Engaging Magic

2009-10-27T14:00:00.002-04:00

I’m no David Copperfield.

What gives this fact away is that I’m short, I don’t have a flowing mane of hair, and haven’t banged Claudia Schiffer.

YET.

You’re on my bucket list, woman.

On my bucket list.

Why this comparison to David Copperfield?

Because October 28th is my 14th (I think) wedding anniversary.

Duh.

Now, some of you have already learned how the wife and I met in fantastic high-definition video complete with Barbie and Bratz doll action!.

That's right. It's a movie with Barbie dolls in it.

Go ahead..click it. I'll wait.

WELCOME BACK!! Are you really disturbed now?

Good.

Because today you get the story on how we got engaged.

Thrilled?

No?

Tough shit.

The night that I proposed to my wife, I had the whole thing planned out.

We were to have dinner at one of our favorite local restaurants.

And then…when the time was right…

I would show her a magic trick.

* cricket

Shut up.

It sounded like a good idea at the time.

Why a magic trick to propose?

Let me explain:

The magic trick entailed me, sitting across from the table, showing my wife a folded cloth napkin.

Inside the napkin sat, in all it’s glory…

The diamond ring.

HOW THIS PLAYED OUT IN MY HEAD:

Me: “Want to see a magic trick?”

Wife: “OH, DO I?!?!?”

Me: “You sound overly excited. Yay me.”

As I show her the empty napkin, I say:

Me: “Do you see this empty napkin?”

Wife: “I DO! I’m so giddy with excitement!”

I then fold the napkin…

...deftly placing the diamond ring inside.

Me: “When you open the napkin, you will now see that I have changed it into a vegetable!”

Wife opens the napkin.

She's speechless.

Me: “TA-DA! It’s a carat!”

Get it?

Carat?

Vegetable?

Like a carrot but instead it's CARAT?

BRILLIANT!!

So, yeah…

That’s how I ENVISIONED it.

HOW THIS PLAN ACTUALLY PLAYED OUT:

Me: “Want to see a magic trick?”

Wife: “No.”

Me: “Come on…it’s a good one.”

Wife: “No, I don’t want to see a magic trick.”

* sigh

Un. Fucking. Believable.

Does the light bulb go off in my head at this point telling me this is some sort of sign?

No.

Light bulb stays off.

Stupid light bulb.

I persist:

Me: “I’m showing you anyway. I will now turn this empty napkin into a vegetable!”

* cricket

Seriously?

It’s a fucking magic trick.

WHO DOESN’T LIKE MAGIC?!?

Sonofabitch.

So I take the ring…slide it inside the napkin very quickly and secretively…

…then I put the napkin on the table in front of her.

Me: “Ahem. Here…open the napkin and you will see that I’ve turned it into a vegetable!”

My wife looks at the napkin.

Wife: “No."

Me: "Open it."

Wife: "I’m not opening it."

You’re kidding me.

Me: “No…just open the napkin. It’s a good trick.”

Wife: “No.”

Me: “COME ON..OPEN THE NAPKIN.”

I almost said ‘bitch’ at this point because, seriously, JUST OPEN THE FUCKING NAPKIN!!

Wife: “Ugh. Fine.”

Now…instead of daintily opening said napkin with 1 carat ring inside…

…my wife grabs a CORNER of the napkin…

…and FLICKS IT OPEN.

She flicked it.

Like someone flicks someone in the ass with a towel.

As she flicks the goddamn napkin open, the ring – in all it’s sparkly glory – goes shooting up into the air…

…and flies 20 feet across the restaurant.

Awesome.

Somewhere, far away in the restaurant, I hear it hit the wooden floor and hop around with a bunch of little ‘tink tinkity tink’ sounds.

Just. How I’d. Planned it.

Not even a little.

I shoot up from the table…scramble across the restaurant…and find the ring.

Making my way back to the table, I look at my wife who is wondering what the fuck just happened and say:

Me: “Unbelievable. See? It’s a carat. I turned it into a carat. Ta da. I can't believe you just fucking did that.”

Wife: “Oh..oh my..”

Yeah…’oh my’ as in ‘oh my you almost just threw away 3 thousand dollars.’

Me: “Nice job, kid. Will you marry me?”

She said ‘yeah.’

Happy 14th anniversary, honey.

I love you, woman. Thanks for putting up with all this bullshit.

Oh yeah...

I got you a carrot.

Can Someone Please Splain This?

2009-10-26T07:00:00.002-04:00

Yet another episode of "The ICKF."

(The Inner City Kindergarten Files)

Right on queue, my wife starts bringing home the comedic gold as soon as school starts.

She teaches in an inner-city school.

For those of you who live in that city, let me rephrase that:

"Chee teech inna inna chitty skoo."

Spanish.

Such a beautiful language.

She teaches kindergarten, which is safer for her.

At that age they really haven't fully mastered the automatic weapon yet.

That's why I told her to turn down the second grade position.

Regardless...

She sent a homework assignment home the other night, with these simple instructions:

"Color the shape that is the same as the first shape in each row."

Pretty easy, right?

RIGHT?

Well...not if you're one of my wife's non-English speaking students.

Or...apparently...

...their mother.

Because the next day, the kid turns in the homework, unfinished, with this note from his mother attached:

(actual note - click to enlarge)

Please say the following in your best Desi Arnaz impression for best effect (punctuation added by yours truly for clarification):

"I dont andertand by each shap.
Is it all the same shape or what.
Can u splain for me nex time.
Please.
Thanks."

* blink

* blink blink

Can.

U.

Splain.

Can u splain?

Sure.

Sure, I can splain.

You're a fucking idiot.

How's that for a splanation?

Oh...wait...

Maybe I should translate that into Spanish:

Choo ees won stoopid chit.

There.

Better.

Spanish just rolls right off the tongue, doesn't it?

Motivational Filler - Smart Thinking

2009-10-23T14:00:00.000-04:00

*******************

Motivate THIS.

(points at crotch)

Nothing to see here today...

...except a custom "motivational poster" made by yours truly over at Big Huge Labs.

Seriously...

...I have no idea how I made it almost 40 years without finding this thing.

Here's today's poster for you (click to enlarge (that's what she said)):

What?

Seriously...guy at Home Depot told me that.

I'm just passing the info along as a public service.

You're welcome.

If you want to see all of my custom posters, click here.

If you like them, feel free to post them on your site.

Just give me some credit.

God knows my bank won't.

Moog out.

The Blinding Light of my Anus

2009-10-22T07:00:00.000-04:00

We should sell electric razors to polar bears.

That's the conclusion I've come to after environmentally friendlinizing...

...environmentalizing...

...environinzing...

...friendlyerating ...

...after buying some new squiggly lightbulbs for my house.

Friggin' hippies don't make the explanations easy.

Yeah - I'm looking at YOU, Oregon.

Put down the pot and goddamn protest signs and go buy a decent car with some legroom.

Regardless...after suffering through the movie "Arctic Tale" I realized the following:

1) No matter how cute the seal cub is, you still want to see something eat it

2) I'm most likely solely responsible for at least one glacier disappearing

Apparently, power vaginas use a lot more wattage than I originally thought.

Regardless, I'd be fine with #2 and the extinction of animals that I would have to go to a zoo and pay to see instead of doing something stupid like 'camping' or 'hiking' or 'watching the Discovery Channel'...

...if it weren't for the fact that my kids were watching this movie as well.

Stupid life lessons.

Why must you inconvenience me so?!?

Daughter: "DADDY!! YOU LEFT A LIGHT ON!! THE POLAR BEARS!! THINK ABOUT THE POLAR BEARS!!"

Ugh.

***************
Dear National Geographic Films:

I hate your soul.
***************

As such, my house has been thrust into a vortex of darkness as every single light and electrical appliance MUST BE SHUT off...

...or else something cute and fuzzy (or cold and edible by said cute and fuzzy thing) will get a sunburn and die.

Also, Global Warming will take hold!

This means that it will get warmer everywhere! Glaciers will melt!! Animals I never see - ever - will certainly die!!

Also, I will have to shovel less snow and have an extra month or two to swim in my pool and I'll be able to drive my motorcycle longer and...

* Flicks all lights on in the house

I've lost my point.

Oh yeah.

Dead animals and shit.

As such, I ran out the following weekend and bought $200 worth of those squiggly light bulbs that look a lot like the thing I found in my mom's dresser drawer that one time.

I still have nightmares.

Apparently, these squiggly light bulbs are supposed to save energy...and, therefore, save me money.

Hopefully, they save me enough money for that Hummer I want...

...you know, the one with the 62" Plasma TV in the back.

Sweeeeeeet.

But I digress...

I realized quickly, though, WHY these bulbs save so much energy.

It's because when you turn them on, they emit as much light as your ass does.

*flick*

(darkness)

Me: "What the...? Did I turn it on? Where's the light? Who just grabbed my ass? Mom...why are you here?"

I don't sleep well at night.

Then...from Mr. Squiggle Bulb comes...

...a flicker of light.

Nice.

So, somewhere, the hippies and Al Gore neglect to tell you that although you'll be saving a polar bear...

...you have to wait 6-1/2 hours for the fucking lights to actually turn on.

That's just fan-foogoo-tastic.

So to compensate now I have to turn on every other light in the room and surrounding rooms to try to equal the light THAT I NEED RIGHT NOW from these stupid things.

I can't poo in the darkness.

Bum goblins come up from the toilet if you do that.

That's right.

Bum goblins.

While you're waiting for this magical "light" phenomena to happen, you can cry over your Visa bill...

...which shows that you just spent $200 on FUCKING LIGHT BULBS.

What a goddamn moron.

Somewhere, in the distance, I hear a polar bear laugh.

I'm putting my old flood lights back in.

Then, I'm going out to eat a fucking seal.

Take THAT, National Geographic.

The Shitty Answer

2009-10-20T13:45:00.001-04:00

..and the answer is...

About two pounds.

What's the question, you ask?

Bear with me my sexy toothless poodle in the leather mask and Indian moccasin puppy shoes, and I'll tell you.

Huh.

You know..sometimes I don't get where this shit comes from, either.

I've digressed.

My cell phone rang the other morning while I was at work.

Me: "YAY! My heroin is ready!"

Helpful tip: Never yell that shit out loud while at work.

Unless you work at a heroin factory.

True story.

The phone call was from my wife.

She was calling about our new dog, Sophie.

Me: "Hey."

Wife: "Sophie has worms in her shit."

Um.

And 'good morning' to you, too, honey.

As I cleaned up my freshly vomited oatmeal from my desk, I continued the conversation.

Wife: "I took her outside to go to the bathroom and thought I saw straw or something in her poop, but when I turned around and looked closer they were moving."

So far this is ranking right up there as:

Worst. Conversation. Ever.

Well, I'm no underworked yet ridiculously overpaid Quality Assurance Engineer for a privately held company who makes world-class networking products...

...but I would say that having squiggling worms in your shit probably isn't right.

Wait..wait...

I meant 'doctor.' I'm no doctor.

That makes much more sense.

Either way:

Shit + worms in it = just plain fucking wrong right there, my friends.

I've always been good at math.

Having explained the above quantum mechanics to my wife, we decided to take the dog to the vet.

The vet asked for a stool sample from the dog so they could examine it.

They specifically said 'from the dog' because of the last time I brought in my own shit after eating 3 ears of corn and a bag of peanuts and thought it would be funny.

They didn't think it was funny.

However, they did find that I had heartworm, so that was a plus.

When I got home, I grabbed Sophie, opened the fridge to grab the bag of shit and left for the vet.

Yes. You read that right.

I opened the fridge to get the dog shit.

Apparently, dog shit is best kept refrigerated after opening.

Good to know.

Not really.

The fridge shit was in a brown paper bag marked, "Sophie."

I did not open the bag.

I had no desire to look at a container of shit.

I do that enough in the red light district on weekends.

You pay extra for that. I'm not sure why.

Whatever.

So with a big bag of stanky fucking dog shit in hand, and a song in my heart, I went to the vet.

Checking in, I handed the paper bag to the receptionist...and after waiting like a fucking 1/2 hour finally got to see the doctor.

Doctor: "So..what color were the worms?"

Me: "I don't know...my wife saw them..I think she said they were white."

* pause

Me: "You know...I brought in the stool sample."

You know...if I could rewind the clock 20 years and imagined myself there today...

...standing in an office that I just carried a paper bag full of dog shit into while discussing the color of the fucking worms we found in it..

..I probably just would have shiv'd myself in the fucking eye.

Time travel: Fixer of lives gone awry.

The doctor then leaves to get the stool sample.

She comes back a few minutes later.

She's laughing.

Hard.

In her hands are two containers.

Doctor (still laughing): "Okay...okay...just so you know...when you bring in a stool sample, we only need this much."

She holds up one of the containers.

In the container is, like, a cotton swab with a tiny spot of brown shit on it.

Doctor (STILL laughing): "This is what your wife collected."

She holds up my wife's container.

So...you see the answer up there?

About two pounds?

Here's the question:

How much dog shit can my wife stuff into a container the size of a finger?

ABOUT TWO POUNDS.

Seriously.

The container looked like my wife had taken all the shit she'd found since the beginning of time, smushed it into the container...

...tamped it down like a guy paving a driveway...

...then stuffed even more shit into it.

How that thing didn't shatter under it's own weight of shit is beyond me.

The poor doctor could barely hold the fucking container up to show me.

It was pretty funny, actually.

You know...minus the whole worms plus shit plus vomiting thing.

..and the scene of me holding a cold bag of poop.

Man...

I seriously need to invent time travel.

The Blindski Leading the Blindski

2009-10-19T07:00:00.004-04:00

FYI - Before I start, I need to confess that I made a minor publishing snafu this morning, resulting in a couple of people commenting on a post that is now scheduled sometime around the Apocalypse...

..or when 'balloon boy's' dad gets a reality show.

Which I think are the same thing.

My bad.

ONWARD WITH THE CORRECT POST!!

*************************
"Silently making fun of the blind,
It's a good thing."

- Martha Stewart

*********************

Actually...that is less a direct quote from Martha Stewart and more of a quote from my blow up doll named "Martha Stewart."

"Latex blow jobs, it's a good thing."

"Mmmmffff..mmfffff..."

- my blow up Martha Stewart doll

There.

That's more like it.

Wait...

Where was I?

Oh...yes...

Blind People.

There's a guy in my office who sits two cubes down who is blind as a bat.

For the sake of brevity, he shall hereafter be referred to as "Blind-O."

I'm a sensitive guy.

I swear to God this guy has three monitors on his desk, and the magnification is so high that the mouse cursor thing on it looks like a fucking street sign.

Holy fuckshit.

Sure you can see that, Mr. Magoo?

You know how they say when one of your senses is dulled, your others become more acute?

Well..that's this guy.

Except instead of his other senses, it's just his GODDAMN VOLUME THAT'S BEEN CRANKED UP.

Seriously.

They should use this guy on the front lines in Afghanistan and just have him walk Al Qaida through troubleshooting their network.

Blind-O: "WHAT YOU WANT TO DO IS FIRST CHECK THAT THE..."

Jimmy Bin Laden: "INFIDEL TOO LOUD! TOO LOUD! WE SURRENDER! OSAMA'S IN THE BATHROOM PERFORMING CUNNILINGUS ON A GOAT!"

So, the other day, Blind-O and this other asshole who chews with his mouth open across from me (we'll call him 'Chewy') decide to have a conversation...

...right beside my desk.

Now, I share a cube with my friend, Kristin.

We sit RIGHT NEXT TO EACH OTHER...but I sit on the aisle.

Blind-O is right next to me.

Chewy: "So..you just got back from Russia?"

Blind-O: "YES! JUST GOT BACK FROM MOSCOW! WHAT AN AMAZING PLACE!...THEY.."

* eardrums pop

Apparently, Blind-O was sent to Russia for some tech support job.

And now he can't stop ~~discussing~~ yelling about it at the top of his goddamn lungs.

Ugh.

I'm getting a migraine.

That prompts this Instant Message exchange between me and Kristin (remember, we're IN THE SAME CUBE):

*******************

midgetmanofsteel: ok, dude, get away from my fucking desk now

Kristin: throw something at him...he can't see who did it anyway

midgetmanofsteel: lol

Kristin: wait...we sent a blind guy on a trip to Russia?

Kristin: or did i hear that wrong

midgetmanofsteel: maybe that's where he thinks he went

midgetmanofsteel: probably went to Vermont or some shit

midgetmanofsteel: looked at a big maple and thought it was the Kremlin

*****************

Now that I'm rereading this, the funniest part of this conversation is:

Kristin: we sent a blind guy on a trip to Russia?

Because what self-respecting company would send a blind guy anywhere to do anything other than play piano or some shit?

EXACTLY.

Like I said.

I'm sensitive.

Or, as Blind-O would say:

I'M SENSITIVE!

Moog out.

Motivational Filler - Foreshadowing

2009-10-17T14:00:00.002-04:00

Before I start today, I have a few announcements to make:

1) Got me a domain name...finally.

Please note that you are now at 'www.midgetmanofsteel.com.'

Please modify your feeds, bookmarks or blogroll appropriately if you need to do so.

Yay me.

2) I'VE FINALLY BECOME SOMEONE!!

* cricket

You people are jerks.

I'm on the verge of famousness..famousnicity...famosity...

I'm gonna be popular

Why?

Because Urban Dictonary published one of my words.

Holemates.

******************
Holemates Definition:

Holemates: Soulmates - people who are meant to be with each other - but only for sex.

Holemates Example:

Pamela and Tommy tried to get their relationship to work, but they were only great together in bed.

Turns out that they were not soulmates, only holemates.

******************

You may begin using it, starting now.

Enjoy.

3) I Got Me Some New Bling!

You'll notice a few things different on this page.

First off, got me a new header.

That's what she said.

Secondly, I now have some new links just below my header..including a new 'About Me' section, a 'Contact Me' page, and...

..an Awards page.

This is good timing as a few people have given me some awards lately...accompanied by no money, as usual.

FYI - if you've given me an award previously and it is NOT there (because I lost almost all of them and really didn't feel like digging around to find them again), send it to me and I'll post it there.

4) The Mental Poo Store is reopened for business!

Just click the link under my header, or go here, and be completely overwhelmed with all the shit you can buy.

New products, new logos, new prices!

I know times are tough, but this will help spurn the world's economic recovery by giving me more money to buy XBox games.

Please, folks.

Do your part to help the less fortunate and buy a goddamn mug.

The homeless thank you.

Also..you'll find two intriguing new links to something soon to be known to the world as:

"Mental Poo-Looza"

..and..um..of course..

..the place you can buy all that really really cool and awesome shit.

* whistles

Now...ONWARD!!

*******************

Motivate THIS.

(points at crotch)

Nothing to see here today...

...except a custom "motivational poster" made by yours truly over at Big Huge Labs.

Seriously...

...I have no idea how I made it almost 40 years without finding this thing.

Here's today's poster for you (click to enlarge (that's what she said)):

Yep.

I know it's wrong...

..so shut up, mom.

If you want to see all of my custom posters, click here.

If you like them, feel free to post them on your site.

Just give me some credit.

God knows my bank won't.

Moog out.

Objects in the Rear View Mirror may be my Bare Ass

2009-10-15T07:00:00.003-04:00

It's kind of a TMI day here on Mental Poo.

Saying today is a 'TMI Day' here is like saying it's "Annoying Bitch Host Day" on the Rachael Ray show.

Seriously.

Can someone stuff a sock in her mouth, please?

"Yumm-O! That was sure delishhmmmfffmmffff..."

Yay! It has been quieted!

Thanks in advance for your cooperation.

A while back on Lilu's blog, I made a comment on one of her TMI Thursday posts.

The comment was in regards to an incident that happened back when I was in college.

Yes, there were colleges in the 80's.

And no, we didn't study hair bands and leg warmers and shit like that.

That was High School.

Idiots.

Regardless...

The comment I made on her blog has morphed into this post.

BUT, instead of TELLING the story...

I've decided to SHOW you.

A rare, Mental Poo...

MOVIE!!

* cricket

Assholes.

My last Mental Poo movie involved stop-motion animation and an up-close look at my boss' testicles.

The things I do for you people.

This one is essentially the same, yet completely different.

However...YOU WILL NEED SOUND for best effect.
Enjoy.

(if you can't view the embedded video, click here)

Yep.

That happened.

Honey..if you just watched this, yes...once upon a time I did have sex with people.

It was fun, if I remember correctly.

But..yeah...that's what happened.

I'm getting all busy like...probably had some part of her anatomy near a part of my anatomy (again, this is all trying to recall what sex was like)...

And then...outside the window:

A Rear view mirror tied to a stick pops up.

I'm, like:

"Mmm..oh..oh yeah...does this go there?...maybe if I push harder it will give...oh..oh yeah...huh?...what the..? What the fuck is that?!"

I see my friends in the mirror all staring at me.

When they realize I see them...

* Rear view mirror goes down

Awesome.

I laughed.

If I recall, the girl was laughing, too.

In fact, I think she was laughing BEFORE we saw the mirror.

I miss the 80's.

Christopher Columbus Didn't Leave Me Squat

2009-10-13T13:00:00.002-04:00

File this under:

"Another reason my children will need therapy."

Aside from, you know, the obvious.

This past Monday was 'Columbus Day' here in the United States.

That prompted this exchange between me and my son on Sunday:

Me: "You don't have school tomorrow..it's Columbus Day."

Cam: "Tomorrow is Columbus Day?"

Me: "Yes..so you know what that means, don't you?"

Cam: "No."

Me: "That means that today is Columbus Eve. Tonight, when you're asleep, Christopher Columbus will come into everyone's house through the garage and leave all the good little boys and girls little toy ships."

Cam (eyes wide): "Really!?"

Me: "No. Not really."

I love that shit.

Kids are so stupid.

You should hear what I told him they get on Labor Day.

My wife is not amused.

Moog out.

Jack Sparrow and the Class-3 Felony

2009-10-12T07:00:00.000-04:00

If I was a pirate, I'd swab all the girls' poopdecks.

Man.

I'm a fucking poet.

Let me explain . . .

My five-year-old son was invited to a birthday party for one of his "friends."

I put 'friends' in quotes there...

...because when you’re four, you define a 'friend' as:

1) anyone

Not sure why I needed a bullet for that, but whatever.

If the other child is physically in the same room, this becomes their “best friend.”

When you’re older, you define a friend as “someone who doesn’t violate your sphincter without your consent.”

At least that’s how I define mine.

I have no friends.

They never, ever ask for my consent.

No, guys. THE ROOFIES DON'T HELP DULL THE PAIN!!

I've digressed.

So, this party happened at the place where my son used to do gymnastics.

At five years old, gymnastics is defined as:

"The art of running around yelling ‘I’m Spiderman!’ and making shooting ‘choom – choom' noises while sometimes doing somersaults . The somersaults are usually done by accident.”

SUCK IT, WEBSTER'S!

A room full of five year olds is akin to being at a local shelter for homeless dogs:

1) There’s lots of noise

2) There’s lots of chaos

3) Sometimes, there’s poo on the floor

Actually...now I'm a little nostalgic for my college dorm room.

Good times. Good times.

At one point in the party, the birthday boy exclaimed:

“I'm Captain Jack Sparrow . . . Pirate!”

Awesome.

Isn’t that movie, like, rated fucking PG-13?

Didn’t I see people getting run-through with swords?

Doesn't everyone who sees that just want to bend Kiera Knightley over their knees and stick something battery powered in her toolie?

I mean...um...

Didn't I see people getting run-through with swords?

TOTALLY appropriate for a four year old.

Nice job there, Captain Jack’s dad.

Here . . . why don’t you babysit my son for a bit.

However, please refrain from giving him TOO MUCH alcohol – because sometimes he takes his pants off.

And, really . . . none of us want to see that.

Kid's got a huge wiggly. I have no idea where he got it from.

I suspect the UPS Guy.

So while they’re playing “pirate,” one of the little girls looks at me and says:

Girl: “I’m his mate!”

Me: “WHORE! ! ”

Shit like this is why my wife insists on going to the birthday parties.

Girl: “I’m Captain Jack’s first mate!”

Well . . . really . . . how many mates can he have had?

I mean, kid's only five.

Granted, I was all up in Melissa Limpfert's shit by the time I was four, but that's me.

OH.

Wait a minute.

You’re a PIRATE mate.

Nevermind the whole 'whore' thing. Total misunderstanding.

Christ almighty.

For a second I had this twisted vision of “Caligula meets Barney.”

It was NOT pretty.

Especially the “I love you, you love me” montage.

I mean, really . . . that Barney is HUNG.

I suspect the UPS guy here, too.

"Delivering packages," my ass.

Motivational Filler - Giants

2009-10-10T21:00:00.000-04:00

*******************

Motivate THIS.

(points at crotch)

Nothing to see here today...

...except a custom "motivational poster" made by yours truly over at Big Huge Labs.

Seriously...

...I have no idea how I made it almost 40 years without finding this thing.

Here's today's poster for you (click to enlarge (that's what she said)):

Poor Gulliver.

On the bright side, he can walk everywhere really really fast AND he gets to step on people.

Great.

Now I want to be a giant.

If you want to see all of my custom posters, click here.

If you like them, feel free to post them on your site.

Just give me some credit.

God knows my bank won't.

Moog out.

My Daughter Embraces my Gynecomastia

2009-10-08T07:00:00.004-04:00

I’m thinking of going with the underwire model.

Let me explain.

You see…my daughter likes to draw.

First, it was me shitting on a rocket toilet.

And now…

This shit.

Mark your calendars, folks...because...

...today...you get...

THE MOOOOOOG REVEAL!!!

Kind of.

You see…

...aside from the occasional high school photo...

(complete with vest AND mullet…that's right...LOOK OUT, LADIES!!)

..I’ve never posted an actual photo of myself.

But…TODAY…

Through my daughter’s artisan craftsmanship and unparalleled artistic abilities…

I give you her sketch of:

ME

(click to enlarge…that’s what she said)

Seriously?

Fuck.

I think I need to start breaking her goddamn fingers soon.

Or enroll her in art classes.

I haven’t decided yet.

Parenting means making the tough choices.

Let’s dissect this fucker, shall we?

Let’s start with the head.

(I’ve often dreamed of saying that…you know…without paying first)

Jesus H. Christ.

It’s like I’ve been manufactured by Spalding.

I’m assuming I’m smiling because they’re giving me royalties.

Also, apparently, I have a small shoe for a nose.

Showing this to my wife, she says:

Wife: “Well..she got the hair right.”

She’s funny.

And when I say, ’funny' I mean ‘cruel.’

I cry sometimes.

Going lower, it gets better.

(dammit…there’s ANOTHER thing I usually have to pay up front for)

My arms?

OH FUCK YEAH.

Look at those goddamn pythons.

FINALLY…something that’s accurate.

Welcome to the gun show, bitches!! BAM!! KA BAM!!

I love myself.

Usually, in the dark with lube and ‘Busty Cops’ on Cinemax, but whatever.

Back to the sketch.

And...the arms.

My arms are not only big in this drawing…

..but they are riddled with what appear to be giant tumors.

Joy.

Oh…

And this is a nice touch, too, honey…

They are apparently attached ABOVE my shoulders by some type of hinge.

How frigging cool would that be?

Fold those suckers up and I could fit into a carry-on when I fly.

You know…a little better than I do now.

Airfare is outrageous.

(click to enlarge)

My daughter then drew my abs.

Daughter: “…and these are your ribs…”

Honey.

I haven’t seen my ribs since I was 12 years old and 160 pounds and laying on the beach with my cousin’s friend trying to make her like me and I was sucking that fat shit gut of mine in SO HARD that I almost fucking passed out and I swear a Japanese guy on the other side of the earth saw my belly button poke out of the ground.

Japanese guy: “biiing booowaannng kungpao gwanngg”

(I see fat American outy! Mel Gibson likes peas!)

That may be an incorrect translation.

But now…let’s focus on my greatest attribute.

My chest.

I love my chest.

And you can too for only $10 an hour.

(good marketing is the key to a healthy business)

Especially now that it’s shaved and looks like a two-day unshaven scruffy Christian Bale (left side) and ½ hour unshaven scruffy Christian Slater (right)...

You know...if they both looked like tits.

Holy shit.

I just realized my pecs are both Christian.

I should probably stop trying to get them to participate in my masturbation routine.

Yes. It's a routine.

Where was I?

Oh..

I love my chest.

It’s big and all muscly and does tricks and smells like strawberry shortcake.

Not Strawberry Shortcake the cartoon character.

That would be weird.

Whatever.

My kids often ask me to make my chest bounce to songs like ‘the ABC song’ or ‘In-a-Gadda-Da-Vida’ or the guitar riff to ‘Iron Man.’

My pecs fucking rock.

However…according to my daughter…

..they less ROCK and more look like female porn star implants.

Nice, kid.

So, this is about as close as you get to see what I look like.

However, as a last visual aid for you, I’ve come up with a composite based on my daughter’s sketch.

It’s at the bottom of this post.

Enjoy.

I’ll be over here, making the Christians dance to Black Sabbath.

They’ll hate that shit.

*************************

Well...here's what I came up with:

Holy fuckshit.

I think 'breaking the fingers' is gonna win here.

Moog out.

Cast Away

2009-10-06T12:00:00.002-04:00

As I sit here with my left hand in a cast for the second time...

SECOND TIME?!

REALLY GOD?!

YOU WANNA PLAY IT THAT WAY, HUH?!

BRING IT ON, BROTHA!! BRING. IT. ON!!!

Sorry.

I get all "Obamacare protester" sometimes.

Where was I?

Oh..cast on my hand.

So, for the second time in 6 months I've broken my hand.

I masturbate furiously.

That has nothing to do with why I broke it.

Just thought I'd put that out there.

Regardless, I've decided to come up with a list of things that are harder to do, easier to do, and the same to do...

...all while wearing a cast.

You may want to Clip-N-Save this shit.

Things That Are Harder To Do In A Hand Cast

1) Picking your nose

This sucks..because it's now Fall here and the air is dry and I have little boogers in my nose caked on there like a day-old bowl of half-eaten Corn Flakes left in in the sink without rinsing it and I'm trying to dig in there with my OPPOSITE hand and scrape them the Hell out and all I'm doing is managing to get arthritis in my neck because my head is tilted at all crazy angles like Paris Hilton in a hotel room.

So, yeah..picking your nose is kinda difficult.

2) Driving

I've almost fucking died twice by steering with my cast hand which has roughly only my spindly little fingertips showing and then going onto an off-ramp and screaming "JESUS HOLY SHIT!" as I realize that I'm not actually HOLDING the wheel and I'm about to miss the ramp, drive through a field and plow through a school bus.

Plowing into a school bus.

Best way to die?

Quite possibly.

3) Anything Involving Water

Showering?

No you're not..not unless you wear a giant arm condom so your stupid cast stays dry.

Oh..oh..you want to wash your armpits?

Good luck asshole...here...here...

Why don't you rub that soap all over your arm condom and then move it around vigorously in the general vicinity of your opposite armpit and hope you actually get some friggin' soap in there and don't end up smelling like John Goodman's ass crack after he's climbed a ladder.

John Goodman's ass crack.

Worst way to die?

Quite possibly.

Things That Are Easier To Do In A Hand Cast

I got nothing.

Everything fucking sucks.

Things That Are The Same In A Hand Cast

1) Yelling at the elderly

Old people friggin' suck.

Thank you, God, for not taking that away from me.

2) Making fun of blind people you work with

I find no better joy than secretly shitting on the half-blind guy that sits two cubes away.

Sometimes, I move his jacket around to different places in the office.

Apparently, you only need one working hand to be a complete and utter asshole.

Yay me.

3) Losing half a day to internet porn

Broke my non-masturbating hand.

You know, sometimes the stars just align.

Thank you, God.

I take back all that heathen shit I said earlier about you.

Moog out.

The Power of Moog Compels You and Gives You Money from West Africa!!

2009-10-05T07:00:00.001-04:00

Who knew that West Africa was a hotbed for comic fodder?

Um...

Put your hand down, Carrot Top.

Using Pygmies as props is SO 1997.

Fucking freak.

I mean that it's a hotbed for comic fodder in regards to all the goddamn spam emails I get.

Hot on the heels of Charles Collins' letter promising me vast fortunes...

( that stupid fucknut never did send me that money...or the info about anally violating hookers...what a jerk)

..comes a new letter.

And, of course, a new reply.

I got the following email the other day:

(abridged...for her pleasure...seriously...it was WAY fucking longer than this)

(click to enlarge...that's what she said)

*************************
FROM: Mrs.Joyce Ghagahaini

Subject: Apostolic Greetings !!!

Dearest In Christ.

My name is Mrs.Joyce Ghagahaini a widow to Mr.Krossa Ghagahaini who was a competent business man here in Abidjan Cote d'ivoire , we were married for many yrs without any child till his death in October 2005 after a brief illness.

My happiness is that my late husband lived a life of a true & worthy Christian and he has this plan before his death which he pleaded with me to appropriate it to accomplishment.

He took this decision with me to use this fund in building an orphanage in his name that will accommodate thousand's of children, and also to use part of this fund in helping the less fortunate and to spread the gospel of the lord to the remote places of the world.

He made this deposit of $( 2.7 Million )USD Two million Seven hundred thousand in a Finance Security Company here in Abidjan .

Recently, my Doctor told me that i would not last for the next 5 months due to cancer & stroke illness.

Having known my condition i decided to seek for a competent and reliable God fearing person or church to entrust this fund to utilize this fund the way i narrated above as my late husband desired.

The Bible made us to understand that "Blessed is the hand that giveth".

I don't want a situation where this money will be used in an ungodly way.

I want you and the church to always pray for me because the lord is my shepherd.

My happiness is that i and my late husband lived a life of a worthy Christian. Whoever that Wants to serve the Lord must serve him in spirit and Truth.

Please assure me that you will act accordingly as i stated herein. Hoping to receive your reply.

Your's Sister In Christ,

Mrs. Joyce Ghagahaini.

************************

Wow.

Fucking touching shit, eh?

Here's my touching and heartfelt reply:

************************

Dear Mrs. Joyce Ghagahaini,

Wow.

That last name sure is a mouthful!

That's what she said.

Ha ha!

Man...that reminds me....

I once got a blowjob from a girl...

(I will attach photos to describe this 'blowjob' phenomena in our next correspondence because I believe it says in the Bible that to 'puteth ones mouth around thy man's cocketh and sucketh and sucketh and sucketh til it blows like Hurricane Katrina' (The Book of Lindsay Lohan, 3:12) is an abomination unless you fondle his 'balleth sack' at the same time.)

...and she made a sound very similar to your last name:

"Ghaaa...ghaaa...hhaaaniecckk"

Creepy, huh?

Wait, your name is JOYCE?!

It IS you!

Yeah...sure...you're a 'good Christian.'

You weren't such a great Christian when you stuck your pinky in my ass.

Good times, we had, Joyce. Good times.

Anyway, sucks to hear about your husband shitting the bed. And to top it off you've had a stroke AND cancer?!

Jesus H. Christ, Joyce.

Hold on...just heard lightning.

I'm back!

Where was I? I'm confused.

Man...these mushrooms work fast!

Oh yeah.

Husband croaks. And you've apparently become Stephen Fucking Hawking.

Did you ever think that maybe God is punishing you because you wouldn't give your guy a fucking blowjob?

There...live with THAT shit during your last 5 months on Earth, you bitch.

Regardless, I appreciate your offer of the 2.7 million dollars.

However, I think I'd probably blow it all on hookers and "Don't Blame Me...I Voted for Bart Simpson" bumper stickers and shit instead of building a fucking orphanage.

Listen, put on a fucking condom or just blow the guy (don't forget...you always have confession...that's how I'll still get to Heaven even after posing as a back alley gynecologist).

Then you won't have kids that will need to have an orphanage built by someone who'd rather spend the money on hookers and bumper stickers and electric vaginas and shit.

See how that works?

Good luck, Joyce. May the sun rise to meet you...and may your pinky always smell like lube and yesterday's special.

By the way:

I'm a Jew.

************************

Then I sent it.

And, once again, I have not heard back.

Fucking ay.

Joyce Ghagahaini, you are a tease and a vile temptress!

Just like way back when.

Don't act like you don't remember it.

Sneaky...Like Ninja Dog Crap

2009-10-01T12:45:00.001-04:00

Well..

It's Fall here in New England.

And that can only mean one thing.

What's the one thing, you ask?

You may be guessing that "Fall in New England" brings:

1) Vibrant Fall foliage bursting through the landscape

2) Crisp, fresh apples arriving in the orchards

3) The farms are full of joyous laughter from children on hay rides

4) Mental Poo will have a story about dog shit

If you were thinking anything other than #4, then you don't know me very well.

Hello?

Mental POO.

Moron.

You see...

..when the weather in New England starts to get cold, the leaves change color and begin falling off the trees.

It's truly magical.

I hate this.

I hate this not ONLY because it brings throngs of dipshits through my state with the sole purpose of looking at leaves.

Seriously..people.

They're LEAVES.

LEAVES.

You're looking at LEAVES.

How does this NOT make you sit back and go:

"Hey...honey...it just occurred to me that we've driven more than 3 hours to look at a red leaf."

Freaks.

So not only does the onset of Fall bring out those idiots, but it also brings about this phenomenon:

The mysterious and elusive camo-poo.

Yes.

Camo-poo.

Or, the proper Latin term:

Camouflageus Defecatious

Camouflaged poop.

Not mine, mind you.

My poop remains large with bright red stripes (I should probably have that checked out) and stares at me from my own toilet.

Seriously.

It's like the corn is peering into my very soul.

Freaks me out.

No...I'm talking about my dog's poop.

My dog has run of the yard...which is okay because she tends to launch her turds over near my back fence.

Where the trees are.

In the summer or winter, this is fine...because I can find the poop pretty easily.

Me: "AHA! There's the poop!"

num num num num.

I mean, um.

To scoop it up.

Phew.

Dodged a bullet there.

However...

Cover said poop now with 15 million goddamn leaves of all different shades of brown, green, red, brownish red, greenish red, taupe (taupe?!)...

...and finding said dog shit becomes an effort in detective work.

Here...let me show you some examples.

Here is a photo of a bunch of leaves in my yard.

Your task:

Can you spot the pieces of shit?

(click to enlarge...that's what she said)

Well...

How did you do?

Were you able to find the dog crap?

No?

Do you know why you couldn't find it?

Because it's all stuck to the bottom of my goddamn foot, that's why.

That's a fantastic feeling.

Let me tell you...

There's nothing better than going blind searching barefoot (yes...barefoot) through a pile of friggin' leaves like you were searching for diamonds and then realizing that OH..OH I JUST STEPPED ON A DIAMOND !!!...

...but instead of a diamond it's just a big, giant, squishy pile of dogshit.

Awesome.

Here...here's one you may fare better with.

Can you spot the pieces of shit?

Hint: there are three.

(click to enlarge)

There.

I made it easier for you.

I wish my dog would make it easier for me, though.

Maybe I'll start feeding her Chinese food.

Or better yet...

Maybe I'll just invite some of those stupid friggin' leaf-peepers over the house and wait for those stupid bastards to yell, "OH, JESUS!! I STEPPED IN CRAP!!"

Ha.

Serves 'em right.

Two birds, one stone.

Se coge nuestro país (Our Country is Fucked)

2009-09-30T07:00:00.003-04:00

Well..it's back to school time.

That can mean only one thing here on "Mental Poo"....

I'm no longer allowed within 1000 feet of a school.

Woops.

Wait...wrong thing.

It can only mean:

MORE HORROR STORIES FROM MY WIFE'S KINDERGARTEN CLASS!!

There.

That's less creepy.

My wife works at an inner-city school teaching Kindergarten.

Here, "inner city" means "if you don't speak Spanish and have one pant leg rolled up you're a dead man."

In her Kindergarten class, kids don't eat paste...they freebase it.

They don't build houses with popsicle sticks...they make shanks.

I can't blame my wife for working here, really...

The wonder you see in a child's eyes when he shivs his first bitch is truly magical.

* sniff

Sorry..sorry...I get emotional.

But my wife started school, and her first order of business was to evaluate the kids' level of education.

Or...really...the lack thereof.

You see...none of the kids speak English.

None.

Awesome.

The following two examples are TRUE stories of what my wife went through in these evaluations.

Enjoy.

Story #1: There are 26 animals in the alphabet

My wife has to show flash cards of the letters of the alphabet to the children and ask them these two questions:

1) What letter is this?

2) What sound does it make?

Simple, right?

I mean..these kids are 5 and 6 years old for Chrissakes.

Yeah..okay.

My wife holds up the letter 'B.'

Wife: "What letter is this?"

* pause

Kid: "A COW!"

My wife looks down at the card.

Nope...nope...

It's still a 'B.'

Wife: "No..this is the letter B. Now...what sound does the letter 'B' make?"

Kid: "Moooooooo."

Nice.

This went on for several letters...where the letter 'C' was also called a 'bumblebee' and makes the sound 'buzz.'

Brilliant.

2) Letter: CHECK!....Sound it makes: notsomuch

Another kid is going through the alphabet and not faring any better than Farmer Gonzales over there.

FINALLY...my wife gets to the letter 'W.'

Wife: "What letter is this?"

The kid starts freaking out.

HE KNOWS IT!!

HE KNOWS THE LETTER!!

Kid: "W! That's a W!"

My wife is pumped as finally this little shit gets a fucking letter right.

Wife: "THAT'S RIGHT!! And what sound does the 'W' make?"

Kid (still excited): "Boinkity boinkity boink!"

* blink

Boinkity.

Boinkity.

Boink.

The letter 'W' says 'boinkity boinkity boink.'

Good to know.

I mean.

Good to kno-boinkityboinkityboink.

I shit you not.

Folks...

As a society in general...

We're fucking doomed.

Hey...Obama...

That speech you gave to the schools the other day...

Think you can have that shit dubbed in Spanish?

Gracias.