I came home from work a few nights ago, at 2:30 in the morning, and went upstairs to remove my contacts. After the chore was done, and I rubbed my eyes for a full minute (the greatest feeling!), I lifted the toilet lid to take a leak. And I gasped with horror: nothing but shit stew, all the way to the rim.
I’ve asked this question before, and I’m going to ask it again. What’s the story with teenagers and their titanic dumps? I don’t go around clogging up pipes, and Toney doesn’t even use the upstairs bathroom, so it was definitely one of those two mega-shitters. And it’s just not right, to deposit something the size of a Christmas ham into a toilet bowl.
So, I found myself plunging — once again. This time, in the middle of the night. And at one point I had the horrifying water so agitated, I felt some of it splash on my leg. Dammit! I’d just worked twelve hours, and now this?? Finally, after about five minutes of pushing and pulling on the turd-buster, something broke loose and everything disappeared.
I sincerely don’t understand. Both our boys are as skinny as Black Crowes. If somebody in this house were to be pegged as a toilet clogger, it would clearly be me. But it’s those two. I think it has something to do with their age, but can’t really figure it out. Help me understand, my friends. What the heck is going on?!
A few weeks ago I received a jury summons in the mail, and was excited. I prayed that I’d be chosen for a long, drawn-out murder trial that would take months to complete. Or, at the very least, be gifted with a day of sitting around the courthouse in Scranton, reading a Dean Koontz novel. I get paid by my company if I’m out on jury duty, and a little vacation from that pressure cooker would be just what the doctor ordered.
Unfortunately, however, I called the number on the day instructed, and was dismissed. Before it even started, I was sent packing. “You have fulfilled your obligation,” the recording told me. Wotta ripoff!
I rarely get called for jury duty, and have never made it to the point where somebody actually asked me questions. The only time I had to physically show up, I just sat around for eight hours, and some judge came in and told us all to go home. Nobody said a word to any of us, they just made us sit there for a long time, and dismissed us.
So, I had high hopes that this one would lead to something fruitful. But, no. I fulfilled my civic duty simply by punching ten numbers into a telephone. I’m deeply disappointed.
Over the weekend a couple of high traffic websites linked to my Sam’s Club update, from Friday. And everybody hated it. In fact, it requires all caps: they HATED it. In the comments section I was savaged, brutally. Which is fine. I don’t care anymore. I used to care, but fuck ’em.
The thing that does bug me a bit, however, is that so many people who don’t read the site fail to understand that I’m being silly a lot of the time. And that’s on me, I guess. There were people arguing about my Dyson Airblade diatribe, discussing the accuracy of what I wrote. I was just going off, talking about poop spores, etc. And they were fact-checking me. Holy shit, people. Take that paint stirrer outcha ass!
And here’s the best part: somebody called me a “rich white liberal” who doesn’t have any idea how good I have it. You know, compared to people in African nations… I nearly did a spit-take. Wow. It was a humor article. You guys know what I’m doing, but the readers of those other sites were taking everything literally, and far too seriously. And they hated my guts. Yes, it was a lot of fun.
Heh, rich white liberal.
On Saturday the kickball-shitters and I removed all five(!) of our window air conditioners, and moved them to the basement. It sucked so bad I nearly cried. (See, right there… silliness. And those other site dipshits would think I LITERALLY almost cried, and would comment at length about it. See what I mean?) But we’re all ready for winter, and the Soviet humboxes are safely stored away for the season.
And when we were returning the screens to the windows, I noticed some stickers the previous owners put on them. Jen’s room… Daniel’s room… It was another family who lived here for many years, which is kinda weird. It’s our house, but it wasn’t always. Other people slept here, and laughed here, and called this place home. It rarely occurs to me that our house has a history that predates us.
Wonder what happened to Jen and Daniel? Maybe someday I’ll try to track them down, and invite them over for a beer. Of course that’ll never happen, but it’s fun to think about. Have you ever returned to a house or apartment you lived in many years ago? I haven’t, but would love to. If you have any experience with such a thing, please tell us about it in the comments.
And I’m going to eat a gigantic salad now, and leave for work. Have a great day, my friends.
See you tomorrow!
Now playing in the bunker
Treat yourself: testicle self-exam model!
I’ve got the drizzlin’ shits…………
Jen & Daniel are doing 30-Life in Sing-Sing for butcherin’ their parents.
If I remember correctly they diced their parents and flushed them down the shitter. I’m surprised it doesn’t block more often, when a turd snags on a bone wedged sideways in the pipe downstream.
Of course! That’s the only logical explanation. I’ve never, ever heard of anyone having as many “terlet troubles” as Jeff has. Shoulda ground em’ up a little better.
That’d be your accomplice, in the chipper.
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LOL I’ve been doing the Fargo accent all week… much to the dismay of my long suffering wife. Her sister has moved in with us (ok so maybe not a bright idea but it’s a good liberal white thing to do) and every once in a while she’ll say “oh yeah eh?” with more enthusiasm than needed. Get’s me going every time with the Fargo-ese.
For bitchin’ about their kickball turds!
I think waking them up at 2:30 and making them take turns plunging would be great character building. I imagine it would make for a great update as well.
You damn rich liberal and your fancy shmancy club. Go back to communist Russia!
They DID get you pegged correctly as white.
jtb
Make them break up the kickball turds up with a rich white liberal paint stirrer. Or use the spoon to scoop them out so that they are small enough to go down the poop catcher.
I seriously doubt one of them shit something the size of a Christmas ham. That would have torn their anus.
I hate the goddamn self righteous idiots that comment on a lot of sites (this one not included). I used to go to another site, years ago. It’s been gone for a long time but I’d read the comments where people said, “Wow, you sent your kid to school with cocaine in their lunchbox to sell so you don’t have to work? You’re a shitty parent.” And I’d just think, “Are you seriously that fucking stupid?” The answer is “Yes.” They are that stupid.
I don’t return to the places I used to live. Ever. Because of all the blood and because I’m sure they’re looking for me around there.
I saw what you did there with the torn anus reference. Good stuff.
I wonder if any of those poor not-white conservatiives read any of the comments on The WVSR page.
That should have tipped them off a little bit about the working environment here.
Turds are like fingerprints. My money is on whichever secret is more extroverted.
You’re eating a ‘gigantic salad’ and wondering who is clogging up the John? Hmmmm…
5 window air conditioners? So, do they not have them new-fangled central air conditioners in the “Perogie Belt” yet? I’m from Ohio, so I just don’t know!
Having worked for Mr. Sam Walton myself, I thoroughly enjoyed your Sam’s Club update. As usual, you were spot on! I reckon some folks don’t have any sense of humor at all and spend their entire, miserable, pointless lives being offended! Nuts to them!!!
I had a nightmare one night not too long ago, about the house we used to live in when I was 9 or 10 years old. There was nobody home and I was looking around at all of the changes to the place and all of a sudden, this big Mabel King (Wiki it) monster woman comes out of nowhere and chases me with a butcher knife. She corners me and just as she is about to run me through, I wake up thinking, this is a dumb-as-fuck dream you idiot. Musta ate barbequed fritos or something before going to bed. Jeez.
Whoever Bundy’d the terlet should’ve dug up a Christmas bow & stuck it on the lid!
And that’s the way I like it
I am disappointed today. Thought for sure I was gonna get the story behind that interesting pic atop the blog. No such luck. Left to wonder all sorts of things. My mom has sold several houses in her lifetime that she lived in. Two of them, the people who bought them actually send her letters, pix and Christmas cards. She knows their kids’ names and everything. I think it’s kinda strange. Like when I went back home to visit from college and the fabulous Aztec sun I had painted on my wall was all covered up. With colonial soldier vinyl wallpaper. Still processing that trauma….Everybody has their own boundaries, I suppose. It was a really cool sun pic, though. The one I painted on my brother-in-law’s bedroom wall is still there, I guess. They have painted around it for years. It’s kind of nice to go back and visit someplace where what you did has been respected. Even if you were just a kid when you were there.
I remember some serious sphincter stretchers as a teenager. I think it’s the age.
Closest to ever going back to an old house is using Google Earth. Never go backwards. Been there, done that, what’s the point?
I’m a super shitter from way back. Some of mine are bigger than babies. Try flushing a baby.
It’s the head that’s usually the problem. At times you may have to trim the shoulders a little, though.
I never have a problem because I’ve already seriously greased them up by the time they go down the porcelain.
Tell ’em they better do a courtesy flush or you’ll be waking their rich white liberal asses up at 2am so they can declog it. And unlike the lawn, no short cuts.
Tip: pour some bleach into the toilet. And by some, I mean a good quart or so. Let it de-stew a bit. Follow up with a bucket of water poured firmly into the bowl.
Does anybody else feel like there was a time that eating a turkey sandwich was like hitting the jackpot?
Opiates and synthetic opiates (Vicodin, percocet) make you shit huge.
Since you started cutting the grass again and took away the opportunity to huff gas, one of the youngin’s might be stealing old lady Marpaw’s hip pills and getting funked up on them.
They back you up for a few days, then you unleash ongodly perfectly cylindrical turds as big as eggplants of which Giada De Laurentiis can’t even jack off.
I second that motion and I resemble that comment.
I read the other day about how Jesus perhaps had a wife. That really got me thinking about how Jesus was a person just like you and me. I imagine that He pooped, too. I wonder if an archeologist will ever find one of Jesus’s poops. That would probably be worth a lot of money.
I am so glad that this forum is available for me to post my thoughts on matters such as these. Just think of the criticism some of this material would be subjected to on sites like the ones that JK’s Sam’s Club update was re-posted.
Shouldn’t it be He Pooped and Jesus’s Poops? Just sayin’.
Dude…
You wouldn’t say Jesus’ Finger or Jesus’ Foot. And they’re still attached. Interestingly enough, it’s Jesus’ penis and John’s Penis, but that has more to do with size than holiness. Just trying to keep the language clear and the women happy.
jtb
When I say “God’s teeth”, by way of an oath, should ‘teeth’ be capitalized? It seems to me that it should not, but I don’t really know.
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Better to be safe than sorry. CAPITALIZE EVERYTHING.
These are all important theological questions. I appreciate your support in my holy quest.
Having another couple drop over unexpectedly was never a problem…dinner would always stretch. I just wonder whether they slept in a water bed.
jtb
I don’t really have any Olympic sized turds to brag about , but I will weigh in on the whole revisiting a previous residence thing. It sucks. I don’t do it , but I live in a very old house , and random people are always dropping by to look around.Two notable people come to mind.
The first was an oxygen tank toting octogenarian , complete with a nursing aid , whose grandmother had been raised here along with several generations of this guys family. Until someone decided to trade it off for another house about a hundred miles away. I never knew you could just “trade” houses?
The second was a middle aged biker , who had obviously spent a large part of his life partying and kicking peoples’ asses. He literally broke down and cried in my driveway when he found out that his Granny’s grapevine and beloved Catalpa tree had been removed after a bad storm damaged them.
I’m not a fan of random visitors. I’m currently waiting on one that looks wealthy enough to have a house at the beach somewhere , so I can try to engineer a trade.
Yeah…and wait until those bastards find out one (or is it both) of the Secrets suffer from CCC..Chronic Commode Clogging…and Jeff’s doing nothing except writing jokes about it. His ass will be hauled into Child Services quicker than you can say, “Where’s the fucking plunger”. The posionous populace suffering from terminal humor loss will stop at nothing when it comes to being complete assholes.
My brother visited our old house in western Mass. a while back. Apparently it is now some sort of home or halfway house for “special” people. The Christmas trees that we planted in the 1970s are now gargantuan pines.
“Rich white liberal” – that’s pretty good. Enjoy the winter in Soviet Pierogistan.
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The last kid to poop knows the first batch didn’t go down when flushed….if in fact that stew came from both kids. However, if one kid unloaded that present, from the description of it, he should be about 10 pounds lighter and needs smaller pant size. There. Mystery soved.
I have only driven by an old house once. Never stopped or anything. It was a weird feeling. Kind of a homesick feeling. I just remember being sad because they destroyed the front yard to put in an ugly driveway.
Kids systems are extremely efficient, new plumbing and all. Unlike the 40+ year old pipes that you are dealing with. Add to that the fact that they are eating and growing at a ridiculous rate…they’re going to produce a lot of poop, efficiently.
But to me, the more important question is WHY AREN’T THEY FLUSHING?!
I like to leave the larger specimens so that the whole family can enjoy. Especially if it coils out like a cobra just above the water.
But is there very much in life that feels better?
Or for that matter, worse when systems are not all go? Ever felt constipated WHILE you’re excreting? It’s such a paradox.
And at other times, I hate it when the O-ring doesn’t feel like it’s snapped back to its original size/shape…. kinda like the portal didn’t fully close.
Hey, I read something in the paper about people being unhappy with the Seahawks rather convincing two-point win on Monday night. Don’t blame the scab workers; they’re just trying to get by in a terrible economy. In this case, the problem lies with the one man who can solve it: Rockin’ Roger Goodell. For an amount less than his annual car service, Rog can bring back genuine union game officials and end the lockout.
Look for the union label.
jtb
I like the replacement refs. It add a new exciting dimension to the game. Kind of like the genius that took an oval race track and made it into a figure eight. Lots more action.