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Friday the Twentyoneth

sock it to me

Comments


Comment from Lokki
Time: September 22, 2007, 10:39 am

And so, after one of the wildest fortnights on record (frankly, well more than you know re: Lokki) – with soaring UP’s and shockin’, scary lows with a nice dash of bitters thrown in – we have reached the weekend.

Our time of rest, where posts do not require wit, nor rhyme, or even rationality…. no, our biggest concern is the deliciously warm and (sometimes) moist combination of sleep and micturation…..

Relax all, and sleep well. A good sleep which casts out all demons and cares is a rare treat. Enjoy it, and peace to all.

Buying new sheets is a small price to pay for such bliss…..

 


Comment from jwpaine
Time: September 22, 2007, 11:20 am

Softly now, close your eyes
Lightly will you fade
The moon was made for wakeful boys
To keep the night away.

Lay down, and don’t wake ’til mornin’
Close your eyes all through the night
Lay down in all your glory
This is a lullabye.
-Janis Ian, “Lover’s Lullaby”

 


Comment from S. Weasel
Time: September 22, 2007, 11:46 am

Nothing too dire I hope, Lokki.

Whenever I have to make wee at the doctor’s office I think of Victoria Falls (pictured above). Last time, I wasn’t very productive anyway. I apologized to the nurse, but she was like, “Oh, we only need a little bit.”

Oops! Really? All these years, I’ve been trying to serve them up at least a pint. How they must’ve hated me! “Oh, swell…another giant tankard of warm piss from the weasel…”

 


Comment from S. Weasel
Time: September 22, 2007, 11:47 am

Oh, great. I didn’t notice JW’s lovely lyric and I’ve just capped it with a piss anecdote.

I have a soul full of poetry.

 


Comment from Dawn
Time: September 22, 2007, 11:47 am

Good Yontif ya’ll.

 


Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: September 22, 2007, 11:55 am

Opportunity knocks! My wee story:

When I worked at Weapon_Systems_R_Us they – being a mil-aerospace co – conducted random drug tests. One day my number came up. I went in, got my cup, went into the bathroom, and did my donation thing. No biggy. And – no – I wasn’t usually on opiates or even pot then.

When I came out a lady happened to be coming out of the ladies room with her own sample. I happened to get to the nurse first.

The nurse said, “There! That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

I replied, “No, but I’m drawing the line at a sperm sample!”

The lady behind me laughed so hard she dropped her sample on the floor.

 


Comment from jwpaine
Time: September 22, 2007, 11:56 am

Gawd, after carrying a torch for her four decades, I just found out Janis Ian has been a lesbian all that time! How could she be so cruel? How could she be so inconsiderate? O, bitter tears!

 


Comment from jwpaine
Time: September 22, 2007, 12:05 pm

When I was in the Navy, my entire division (19 swabbies) came down with some mysterious flu-like illness. We all went to sick call and were given bait cups (yes, bait cups) and told to return with stool samples.

I threw my cup away as soon as I could; I preferred (and still do) to be sick rather than suffer the indignity of filling and then carrying around a bait cup of my own crap.

 


Comment from S. Weasel
Time: September 22, 2007, 12:08 pm

My pee story:

When I applied for my present job, twenty some years ago, the personnel lady I went through clearly didn’t think much of me. My boss did, though, so that’s okay. Anyway, on the day of my physical, Personnel Lady told me to bring a morning urine sample. Um, okay. Only, my appointment was in the afternoon and I worked in the kitchen of a Dunkin’ Donuts. And it was August.

I couldn’t very well put my jar of piss in the fridge at work, could I? So I just…left it in my purse all day. My goodness, was that ever a ripe sample of wee by afternoon! The nurse looked at me (and it) as if I’d gone mad and taken a dump on her desk or something. No urine sample was needed. Personnel Lady was just wuffin’ me.

JW, how you could you POSSIBLY miss the fact Janice Ian is a lebesian? Isn’t that part of her schtick? Come to think of it, being an ugly duckling is definitely part of her schtick. Kind of an odd person to fixate on…

 


Comment from jwpaine
Time: September 22, 2007, 12:08 pm

BTW: I’ll be holding a ceremony this evening, at which I’ll be burning my “Janis Ian Will Be Mine (Oh Yes)” tee-shirt.

 


Comment from jwpaine
Time: September 22, 2007, 12:16 pm

Weel, I of course heard rumors, but the exercise of bellicose & deliberate ignorance in the face of information contrary to my dearly-held convictions has always been one of my more finely-honed skills.

 


Comment from Dawn
Time: September 22, 2007, 12:24 pm

Ok – quick before I have to go. I had to do a google image search to find out who in the heck Janis Ian was and what she looked like (forgive my ignorance) and this popped up.
http://romanovskyandphillips.com/flag.jpg

 


Comment from Gibby Haynes
Time: September 22, 2007, 12:27 pm

I don’t have a wee-wee story, and I’ve been housetrained for some years now. I did used to be a bedwetter though.
If I might McGoo – what sort of opiates? And what for i.e. recreation or pain &c.?

 


Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: September 22, 2007, 12:55 pm

Gibby – I suffered with a very bad hip joint for 1-2 years before I got it replaced (7-12-07! 10 weeks ago! yay!).

Hence my occasional reference to my titanium knob.

And – yes – all possible combinations and variations on “polishing my knob” jokes have been uttered by friends and such – repeatedly.

Before surgery, I was prescribed opiates (percosets) for the pain and occasionally (ahem) over-did them a little – usually on fridays (poetry night sometimes) here at Weasels. It showed a bit, sometimes, I think.

After my surgery I was prescribed even more-powerful P’s and damned near OD’d on ’em. Doc switched my meds (Darvosets this time), but I still have some “leftovers” of each, hee hee!

So from a legalistic viewpoint, I have a prescription. But strictly speaking, if I’m doin’ them now, its recreational.

But I have learned to quarter the tablets. A whole one is past my limit.

 


Comment from S. Weasel
Time: September 22, 2007, 1:06 pm

Ohhhhh…so THAT’S why the poetry dried up. Run out of smack, and the muse moves in with some other guy…

 


Comment from porknbean
Time: September 22, 2007, 1:12 pm

but the exercise of bellicose & deliberate ignorance in the face of information contrary to my dearly-held convictions has always been one of my more finely-honed skills.

Ahh…you used to be a lib.

 


Comment from porknbean
Time: September 22, 2007, 1:37 pm

Don’t have a pee story really, other than bad memories of being 9 months pregnant and having to give a pee sample.
Can’t see the adorable fluffy parts, so you hold the cup where you think they are and hope for the best.

 


Comment from jwpaine
Time: September 22, 2007, 2:38 pm

Good guess, PnB. A VERY long time ago. And I didn’t even come by that libitude honestly; I was a lib because people I admired were libs.

 


Comment from jwpaine
Time: September 22, 2007, 2:39 pm

So you’re saying, PnB, that pregnant women suffer the same aiming problems for a couple of months that men suffer most of their lives.

 


Comment from porknbean
Time: September 22, 2007, 3:05 pm

jw – Sort of. At least pregnant women have the excuse of ‘aiming blind’. And while the hand, cup, and seat may get watered, I don’t ever recall sprinkling the floor or walls.

 


Comment from jwpaine
Time: September 22, 2007, 3:17 pm

…or the cat (sorry, Muffy!)

 


Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: September 22, 2007, 4:28 pm

“…I don’t ever recall sprinkling the floor or walls.” -PnB-

You just haven’t tried!

Actually, if any of you ladies think a weiner is a precision weapon capable of even moderate accuracy – well, you’re dead wrong. Any guy will tell you that the initial aiming direction has essentially NO bearing on where those first few teaspoons are headed.

Guys – the one I really hate is when it splits into two independant streams – one more-or-less on target, and one spraying…way over thataway! Or worse, on your pants. Bet you ladies didn’t know that that happens – didja?

 


Comment from S. Weasel
Time: September 22, 2007, 4:43 pm

Show me the woman who can write her name in the snow. Unless there’s a woman out there named .

 


Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: September 22, 2007, 4:49 pm

“…Ohhhhh…so THAT’S why the poetry dried up. Run out of smack, and the muse moves in with some other guy… ”

You nailed my secret (and very serious) concern, Weas. I haven’t said anything, but I’ve been Muse-less for 10 weeks, missing Her very much, and getting really worried. I wonder if the Muse made Her home in my left hip, and has been evicted by a titanium knob.

(I even spied on Lokki’s house to see if the hussy was shacking up over there. Nope. His Muse-babe is one of those gorgeous high-maintainance cuties. I think She’s European.)

Maybe its just a case of knob-polishers cramp or sumpin, and I’ll get all better.

 


Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: September 22, 2007, 5:02 pm

jwp was a lib?

I’m standing beside myself!

Whoa – I bet he has some stories to tell…

 


Comment from jwpaine
Time: September 22, 2007, 5:58 pm

Reminds me of the farmer who showed up outside his neighbor’s house late one night with a shotgun. “Send your boy out here, Hiram,” he cries.
Hiram steps out in his longhandles. “What’s the matter, Fred?”

“I found your boy’s name written in the snow!” shouts Fred. “Right outside my daughter’s bedroom window!”

“Come now,” Hiram says. “Just boyhood exuberance. Haven’t we all done something foolish like that?”

“Sure,” Fred says. “But don’t you think I recognize my own daughter’s handwriting?”

 


Comment from jwpaine
Time: September 22, 2007, 6:01 pm

And no, Steam, no stories to tell. Just the usual episodes of youthful moonbattery that thankfully subsided once I stopped paying attention to the gibberish the other idiots were spouting.

 


Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: September 22, 2007, 7:07 pm

Oh – just youthful exuberance, huh? Darn. I was hoping you could maybe tell me where the Ultimate Source of all lib idiocy is.

 


Comment from jwpaine
Time: September 22, 2007, 7:44 pm

Sacrifice.

 


Comment from S. Weasel
Time: September 22, 2007, 8:00 pm

Compromise.

 


Comment from jwpaine
Time: September 22, 2007, 8:03 pm

Same thing.

 


Comment from S. Weasel
Time: September 22, 2007, 8:04 pm

Negotiation.

 


Comment from jwpaine
Time: September 22, 2007, 8:14 pm

Yes, compromise and negotiation–the way the libs define the terms–all insidious ways of saying sacrifice.

 


Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: September 22, 2007, 8:39 pm

Sooo…just self-indulgent and manipulative bullshit, then?

To quote Chief Inspector Clouseau: I knew that.

 


Comment from jwpaine
Time: September 22, 2007, 8:51 pm

10-four.

 


Comment from porknbean
Time: September 22, 2007, 9:59 pm

the initial aiming direction has essentially NO bearing on where those first few teaspoons are headed.

All the more reason to sit down whilst whizzing or at least wiping up the splatter afterwards.

Bet you ladies didn’t know that that happens – didja?

We ladies know you like we know every square inch of our glorious nekkid bodies. That, and we have the same stream dividing issues on occasion, only it doesn’t cause as much problems since we sit.

 


Comment from Dawn
Time: September 22, 2007, 10:05 pm

When we were building our house my husband thought it would be a good idea to put in a urinal. I think I talked him out of it?

 


Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: September 23, 2007, 12:42 am

Actually, Dawn, you’re right: I (at least) have learned to sit. Especially at night. At night, if I sit then I can continue to sleep while I go! It can be dangerous though.

 


Comment from S. Weasel
Time: September 23, 2007, 9:30 am

In the small, wee hours
Steamboat McGoo sits to pee.
Wonders never cease.

 


Comment from Lokki
Time: September 23, 2007, 10:35 am

Night in the filter
Never sit down OR sleep
You might miss lose something

 


Comment from S. Weasel
Time: September 23, 2007, 10:53 am

Aw, man! The faggoty little “boohoo leave Britney alone” boy is from my hometown.

 


Comment from Gibby Haynes
Time: September 23, 2007, 11:00 am

I’m usually pretty accurate when I piss. Sometimes I hit the rim or miss altogether, but that’s only because I’m not really paying attention.
Maybe I should consider it a skill or something, a bragging right.
‘So Mr Haynes, why should Northern Cheesekickers p.l.c. consider hiring your to work in our accounts department?’
‘Well sir, I don’t know much about counting, but by golly, I can pee real accurate.’
‘Welcome aboard son.’

 


Comment from S. Weasel
Time: September 23, 2007, 11:23 am

My oldest brother was born with hypospadias, a condition in which the urethra exits in the wrong spot. He was heartbroken when they fixed it surgically; apparently, he had been an Olympic distance-pisser.

I know this because my mother told me, not an eyewitness account. We aren’t that Southern.

 


Comment from porknbean
Time: September 23, 2007, 11:56 am

Johnson City, huh? There is a joke in there somewhere.

He is pure creepy.

 


Comment from S. Weasel
Time: September 23, 2007, 11:58 am

Marcel Marceau es muerte.

 


Comment from S. Weasel
Time: September 23, 2007, 12:02 pm

I used to date a mime.

Whew.

Man.

It feels good to get that off my chest.

 


Comment from Mrs. Peel
Time: September 23, 2007, 12:39 pm

Almost 50 comments and no one has pointed out yet that the spam misspelled “micturition”? Y’all need some more biomedical engineers around here.

I’ve already got the boy trained to put the seat down, and I don’t even live with him. Ho-yeah!

 


Comment from S. Weasel
Time: September 23, 2007, 1:10 pm

Funny you should say that, Mrs Peel…I thought it was “micturation” too. And there are 40K hits for it with that spelling (as opposed to 660K for “micturition”).

Trivia: there are two sites listed for “rectromicturition” and I’m one of them. It’s a little brain-hurty to Google for information and turn up yourself.

My grandfather once flung himself on a toilet without checking to see if the seat was up, thereby thoroughly jamming his old man ass into the bowl, trapping himself. He howled for help until my grandmother appeared. She crossed her arms, tut-tutted and said, “what do you want me to do…flush?”

 


Comment from Lokki
Time: September 23, 2007, 2:11 pm

I had pretty well convinced myself that I had subsumed the urge to post this, but dammit it just go to be too much.

The standing man-piss is an point of honor; drunk or sober; ill or not. It is what separates the men from the boys wussies, and girls, and animals. We did not evolve from amoeba to fish to rodents to mammals to chimpanzees to man sit around pissing. As kings of the food chain we stand around, pissing down, where we damn well please* (certain restrictions may apply in your area).

For Steamboat, with hip surgery, there’s a deferment, but from the rest of you I expect duty and honor. Ye need not piss like racehorses, but it’s little enough to ask that ye piss like men.

The occasional missed target should be dealt with, quietly, without comment – just as you have an obligation to hunt down game and finish it off with a clean kill after a botched shot during a hunt. Find it, do what needs to be done and don’t tell your friends. Never leave your enemies or your women a hint that you’re made a bad shot. You’ll never hear the end of it.

Notes to young lads for whom these facts are new:
1. If you’re drunk enough to sing while you piss, it’s best to use both hands.
2. When courting be sure to put the seat down. She thinks it means something.
3. If you get the desire to sit down to just piss, remember your grandfather – the one who owned the 1919 Harley. Don’t make him get out of his grave just the beat the snot out of his sissy grandson.

Enough. Carry On Gentlemen

 


Comment from jwpaine
Time: September 23, 2007, 3:34 pm

I made a deal with my wife: I would always put the seat down if she would always put the toilet paper roll on with the paper coming off the top. In twenty years, we have both kept our end of the bargain. Happy marriages are made of such stuff.

JW
Pissing upright for over half a century.

 


Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: September 23, 2007, 5:14 pm

Hey – sitting down (at night) is awesome. you can continue sleeping while wee’ing (or whatever). I’ve been known to sit there for an additional 30 minutes – snoozing merrily away. I have reason to believe I actually slept for several hours on the can once; I only woke up when I had to go again. I can assure you I was most pleased to find my self having already “assumed the position” so-to-speak.

And Lokki is right: wee’ing upright is an evolutionary step that we men take justifiable pride in. Yes – it’s not perfect yet, but give us time.

Meanwhile the ladies need to evolve a better neck joint: one that will permit you to TURN YOUR FRIGGIN’ HEAD AND LOOK AT THE FRIGGIN’ SEAT BEFORE SITTING DOWN, DAG-NABIT!!! WE MEN DO!!!! EVERY FRIGGIN’ TIME!!! HOW HARD CAN IT BE!!!

 


Comment from Uncle Badger
Time: September 23, 2007, 5:18 pm

You know, I’ve always wondered that, as well, McGoo.

Those of the female persuasion seem to set such store by this, but I can’t help thinking – don’t you ever look before you squat?!

I mean, FFS, there could be anything lurking beneath those descending globes.

 


Comment from S. Weasel
Time: September 23, 2007, 5:23 pm

See, this is exactly the sort of obtuseness and lack of empathy we’ve come to expect from the Long Urethra crowd. It’s all well and good to talk about self control and stopping to inspect the facilities when you’ve got a bloody great firehose to piss out of. Me, I got a little bit of nothing between bladder and sweet freedom. When a girl tells you she’s got to go RIGHT NOW, back up or put on your wellies, gentlemen.

And don’t get me started on people who put the lid down. More than once, fuzzy seat covers are all that saved me from a terrible lavatory faux pas.

 


Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: September 23, 2007, 5:24 pm

“In the small, wee hours” – Weasel-

Whoa! Now I know why they call them the wee hours! I never knew that before.

…And you’re just rubbing my nose in the fact that I am presently Muse-challenged.

 


Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: September 23, 2007, 5:43 pm

Long Urethra? Long Urethra?

I’m not sure how to respond to that. But I can’t wait to brag about it.

(hey) (psst) (wanna see my urethra?)

Empathy!!?! What? Are we hoser-sapians supposed to go, “Aww. They can’t turn their widdle necks and use der itty bitty peepers to SEE THE FRIGGIN’ SEAT AIN’T DOWN!!!”

We’re supposed to empathasize with the absolute refusal of pooter-sapians to LOOK rather than risk dunking their junk in the potty? What part of “Its wet & cold in that bowl!” don’t you get?

Us guys dunk our stuff about once or twice in a lifetime: then we LEARN to LOOK! Is there a left-right or M-F brain issue here?

And don’t get ME started on fuzzy seat covers – PUT ON BY FEMALES WITH THE RESULT THAT YOU CAN’T LIFT THE LID AND LEAVE IT ‘CAUSE IT WON’T STAY THE FUCK UP ‘CAUSE THE FUZZY SHIT MAKES IT TOO THICK TO STAY BALANCED IN THE UP POSITION!!!

Its a scientifically proven fact that no (hetero) male in recorded history has ever put a fuzzy seat cover on his toilet. Also, no males were involved in the design and manufacture of said fuzzy things. No male can in any way be held accountable for fuzzy seat covers. I think God made them from one of the ladies’ ribs. Or their urethra.

Boy! am I having fun. Venting is such sweet pleasure.

 


Comment from EW1(SG)
Time: September 23, 2007, 5:58 pm

McGoo spouts:

Its a scientifically proven fact that no (hetero) male in recorded history has ever put a fuzzy seat cover on his toilet. Also, no males were involved in the design and manufacture of said fuzzy things. No male can in any way be held accountable for fuzzy seat covers. I think God made them from one of the ladies’ ribs. Or their urethra.

Hear, hear!

 


Comment from Pupster
Time: September 23, 2007, 6:05 pm

Mrs. Pupster and I had made it through 5+ years of marriage before a bathroom renovation made her want a fuzzy toilet cozy. When she asked what color she should choose, I only answered, “I don’t care, as long as it’s absorbent.” Plain porcelain potties are the way to go.

 


Comment from S. Weasel
Time: September 23, 2007, 6:07 pm

It’s a tyranny of urethras. I said tyranny, Sir!

My father was famously capable of short, controlled bursts into any convenient container. I never witnessed this performance — not that Southern, I plead again — but I have it on good authority that this is why we never, ever stopped on a car trip for the primary purpose of taking a whiz.

Yeah, I can hold it. But later, I’ll make you pay…

 


Comment from jwpaine
Time: September 23, 2007, 6:23 pm

It’s my theory women’s bladders ARE their urethrae. I’ve seen shot glasses with more holding capacity. And tastier contents.

BTW: What’s tiny and wants R-E-S-P-E-C-T? Urethra Franklin.

 


Comment from porknbean
Time: September 23, 2007, 7:14 pm

Two things –
1. I don’t care if you stand to tinkle, fellas, but wipe your damn piss up.
2. Which brings me to the main reason why I want the seat down. (I really don’t care about the lid)
It is a seat. As a seat, it should be in the position of ‘seat’. And if I come in from a long trip, dancing the pee-pee dance in the attempt to unbutton my jeans, I want the seat to be at the ready once my rear is fully exposed and bladder screaming “NOW”. A second or two can make a difference between a puddle on the floor or wet pants. And IF I have to take that time to put that seat down in the position God made seats to be in and in the process put my hand in Mr. Long-Urethra’s piss….I get a little cranky.
That’s all.

 


Comment from porknbean
Time: September 23, 2007, 7:18 pm

Heh…good one JW.

I don’t care for putting hats on my toilet. The way my monkeys smear crap and aim wrong…unh uh, no way.

 


Comment from jwpaine
Time: September 23, 2007, 7:21 pm

Over in Turkey (and thereabouts) the toilets are concrete squares with two slightly raised footrests and a hole between them. No Turkish women bitch about hubby leaving the seat up.

Of course, they don’t bitch when they’re convicted of a crime and have to do their time in a “public house”, either–not if they know what’s good for them.

 


Comment from jwpaine
Time: September 23, 2007, 7:32 pm

The Turks: Spanking babies with an ax since before the Ottoman Empire.

 


Comment from porknbean
Time: September 23, 2007, 8:09 pm

Over in Turkey (and thereabouts) the toilets are concrete squares with two slightly raised footrests and a hole between them.

Good Lord, can’t imagine that scenario while being nine months pregnant. Do you think they install handicap rails nearby?

 


Comment from jwpaine
Time: September 23, 2007, 8:17 pm

Over in Turkey, handicap handrails are the curb (in the few places it exists).

 


Comment from Lokki
Time: September 23, 2007, 9:02 pm

Ladies, get ready….. It’s 9 p.m. and the Night of the Long Urethras starts Now.

Watch your bottoms.

It’s possible that some of you may be saved by love, of course;

“ Greater love hath no man than this, that he should put down the seat for his wife. ”

 


Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: September 23, 2007, 9:44 pm

Turkey reminds me of Malasia, but more modern. In Malasia there is just….the hole. They haven’t discovered concrete yet.

 


Comment from porknbean
Time: September 23, 2007, 10:24 pm

My husband went to Malaysia several years back on business.
One of the things he was told before going was to never extend his left hand in greeting, giving, or receiving.

After a look at what constituted a toilet and restroom at the building he reported to for work, he made sure he used the hotel toilet prior to arriving at said destination.
Hole in the floor with a hose next to it. No sink, no soap, no toilet paper. Good thing his lovely wife packed him some TP and alcohol wipes (for doorknobs and keyboards). His coworker was such a goober. He couldn’t figure out that he was supposed to squat and did a ‘crab’ instead. Not a pretty visual.

Dingdong still came down with ‘something’ as he foolishly ate at a roadside eatery where they ‘rinse’ their utensils.

 


Comment from Dawn
Time: September 23, 2007, 11:21 pm

One of my friends husband grew up in Singapore. We had a conversation oddly like this discussion at the Sushi restaurant just the other night.

 


Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: September 24, 2007, 6:02 am

My malaysia hole story is the classic horror tale: using a gas station restroom. You’d think it would be no problem snce ya don’t sit down on anything. Nope. Being new to this squatting thing, I was having balance problems so I had been putting a hand on the wall to steady myself.

There was no way I was touching the wall in the gas station. I swear, guys had been hosing it down for years.

I had to clean a spot on the gas station wall to put a single finger – then I washed the finger. Twice.

 


Comment from lauraw
Time: September 24, 2007, 9:45 am

Wow. This one went bad nearly from the start.

You are some funny, funny people.

 


Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: September 24, 2007, 9:52 am

Tell us your wee story, Laura!

Hell – tell us any story! We’re easy – and its Monday!

 


Comment from lauraw
Time: September 24, 2007, 11:01 am

One stormy night…

Eh, got nothin.

Stomach’s rumbling and the dog is sending up clouds of nerve gas today, subtly flavoring the pangs of hunger.

Not to mention enhancing my customers’ service experience, especially those who don’t know there’s a dog lying behind the counter. They must think it’s me, and it’s not like I can tell them ‘My dog is violating the Geneva Conventions,’ and even if I could, isn’t that the oldest trick, to blame the dog?

*deep breath*

Nope, got nuthin.

 


Comment from the dog behind the counter
Time: September 24, 2007, 11:10 am

Yeah yeah yeah. Always the dog. How ’bout a couple a Tums down here? My nose is 1000X more sensitive than yours, imagine how I feel.

 


Comment from lauraw
Time: September 24, 2007, 11:16 am

God idea. I think I’ll give him a pepcid. This is what he does on the days he yaks hideous things.

 


Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: September 24, 2007, 1:08 pm

Laura – you fit right in here! Dog-honks, dog-yaks, etc.

It is my fervent hope that your business is not a cafe or some other food-service store/restaurant.

Say! (whistles innocently while looking skyward) You wouldn’t happen to like … haiku … would you?

The clouds of nerve gas
Subtly flavor a dogs world
Scented pangs of hunger.

 


Comment from Cuffy Meigs
Time: September 24, 2007, 1:19 pm

Fumes of a canine
Blow westerly in the night
No Spaghetti-O’s!

 


Comment from jwpaine
Time: September 24, 2007, 1:41 pm

German step-grandma,
When asked what is for dinner:
“Hund furzt und Schwein-Füße!”

 


Comment from jwpaine
Time: September 24, 2007, 1:50 pm

BTW: If that last line has six syllables, it because I don’t know German, and remember the phrase as it sounded to me: “huns foots und sigh feez.”

 


Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: September 24, 2007, 1:52 pm

Undercounter dog,
Stealthily cutting some cheese.
Customer leaves change.

Undercounter dog
Pooting at the customers
Shopping gets tougher.

Undercounter dog
Kentucky fried last evening.
No business today.

 


Comment from S. Weasel
Time: September 24, 2007, 1:52 pm

You had a German stepgrandmother? Did she look like this?

 


Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: September 24, 2007, 1:54 pm

…and if any of mine don’t parse right it’s simply ’cause I screwed up! I’m outa practice.

 


Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: September 24, 2007, 2:02 pm

Undercounter dog
Smelling like kraut step-grandma
But just in one scents*.

Mispelled on purpose – I think it might be artistic, but I could be full of shit. I’m just really happy right now.

 


Comment from Pupster
Time: September 24, 2007, 2:05 pm

Hey, the muse is back with steamy-vengeance. Nice of you not to hold her dalliances against her, McGoo.

 


Comment from jwpaine
Time: September 24, 2007, 2:07 pm

Naw, Weez, that one looks positively Easter Bunny-benign compared to my Skeletor-clone common-law step-grandmother. My Granddad abandoned his wife and four kids to run off with Skeletor, and a stroke in his mid-50s meant she got to spend the rest of his life (and most of the rest of heres) wiping his paralyzed ass for him. There is a God.

 


Comment from S. Weasel
Time: September 24, 2007, 2:08 pm

Undercounter dog. It’s got a real “spastic colon girl” feel to it.

Hey, I’m happy too! I just finished the first complete draft of a multimedia dingus I’ve been working on for a year! It’s a training tool for factory workers on the dangers of some particular thing they have to do and it’s boring as shit!

Bonus — the draft is narrated by me. So I get to hear me say things like “molybdenum — metal of the future!” and “The Larch.”

 


Comment from S. Weasel
Time: September 24, 2007, 2:10 pm

Nice, jw. A little kosmik justice.

 


Comment from jwpaine
Time: September 24, 2007, 2:15 pm

Molly be damned! I actually worked in the Leadville molybdenum mine for a while (a zillion years ago).

…”The Larch”…. Isn’t that from Monty Python?

 


Comment from S. Weasel
Time: September 24, 2007, 2:31 pm

The Leadville molybdenum mine! It has a charming hint of nutty preposterousness.

Yes, it was a Monty Python bit. The really boring slideshow voiceover.

My fatal mistake was to try to make this thing good. It’s a self-study CD aimed at floor workers in a factory, and the client kept writing all this boring blah about the periodic table and company jargon and shit (“colleagues” instead of “employees” or even “coworkers”). I kept trying to jazz it up and make it…not suck so hard.

Finally, I gave up and did it his way, with his bad script and tacky clip art, and he’s happy as a clam. Except I’m a month late, but hey…

 


Comment from jwpaine
Time: September 24, 2007, 2:44 pm

I once worked as the marketing director for this guy who owned a small factory. I was not allowed to talk to other employees (nor were they allowed to talk to anyone). I’d told him I was no artist when I interviewed with him, but he insisted I do artwork for advertising campaigns solo. Then he stood over my shoulder as I layed-out an ad (I can do layout, but not artwork) and criticized me for my lack of art talent. I told him to go fuck himself and walked out. Had to sue him for my final paycheck, and after he lost, as we were exiting the courtroom, the idiot offered me my job back.

I politely declined.

 


Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: September 24, 2007, 2:55 pm

Give the putz what he wants and take the paycheck, Weas!

If you get constipated with all that un-ejaculated creativity I know you generate, make an “unofficial” version of the thing with your own comments – and a healthy touch of vulgarity (my favorite!). Work in some limericks, and references to spastic colons and the client and – tada! – stress relieved.

And – yes – the Muse-bitch returned with a roar when Laura mentioned dog yaks, begging for forgiveness and knob-polish in hand. I am once again captain of my soul.

 


Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: September 24, 2007, 3:00 pm

jw – if you ever write a biography I’ll buy a copy. Count on it.

 


Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: September 24, 2007, 3:08 pm

“Molybdenum – for spastic colons everywhere.”

“Molybdenum – you’ll think you just dropped an wildebeast foal!”

Undercounter dog
Smelling of molybdenum
And Kentucky fried.

 


Comment from jwpaine
Time: September 24, 2007, 3:32 pm

Biography? I don’t think so. Having never fucked a celebrity, stolen millions, been to rehab, met the Dalai Lama, changed my gender, or developed a diet plan, I just don’t see it on the NYT bestseller list.

 


Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: September 24, 2007, 3:48 pm

Well, you could kill someone famous, but I do not recommend it.

I’ve never stolen millions either. But I’d like to, someday.

 


Comment from jwpaine
Time: September 24, 2007, 3:53 pm

You and me both (the stealing millions thing, not the wacking of someone). Howzabout you steal millions, then I’ll steal them from you, and we can both write books. I hear prison food has improved immensely.

 


Comment from lauraw
Time: September 24, 2007, 4:05 pm

Awesome dog flatulence haiku, Steamboat! Why did all these people decide to come do business and keep me away from my precious blogreading?

 


Comment from Gnus
Time: September 24, 2007, 4:06 pm

Customers tarry not
camouflaged dog lies waiting
No Summer’s breeze this

Not much, but quick. Anyhoo, I’m still bemused by “crab.” A slow day here on the tidal flats.

Or maybe, a flat day here on the slow tide.

 


Comment from Gnus
Time: September 24, 2007, 4:10 pm

Jehosaphat, ma’am,
Did you just step on a duck?
It’s fowl in your shoppe.

 


Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: September 24, 2007, 4:12 pm

“Why did all these people decide to come do business and keep me away from my precious blogreading?” -LauraW-

Could it be something in the air….?

Laura – Thanks for the “awsome” but – if you will notice – the words are essentially all yours. Almost verbatim. Your own writing tripped my haiku formatting function into operation. Thank you – more than you may know.

 


Comment from Lokki
Time: September 24, 2007, 4:39 pm

My old farting Dog
Or repeat customers?
A hard decision….

Woof! Poot! Woof! Poot! Woof!
Canine multimedia
Has its great moments

Yesterday’s Alpo
Or just glad to see me?
I can never tell

 


Comment from lauraw
Time: September 24, 2007, 5:44 pm

I’m getting teary-eyed and emotional over here.

Oh- no, that was just my little buddy cutting another hot one. Nevermind.
Poor thing. His O-ring must be glowing like the tiles on the Space Shuttle at reentry.

Time to burn the building down, seal the ashes under concrete and go home for the evening.

Have a pleasant evening, nice people.

 


Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: September 24, 2007, 7:13 pm

This guy was walking down a long sidewalk that had a tall brick wall to the side of it – cutting off the view of what lay beyond. As he walked along her heard voices from over the wall, chanting at the top of their lungs, “Thirteen!, thirteen!, thirteen!, thirteen!, thirteen!, thirteen!, thirteen!,……”

This puzzled him mightily, so he searched high and low for some way to see what was beyond the wall and who was doing this seemingly mindless chanting. Finally he found a little peephole – at just about eye height – that would allow him to satisfy his curiosity.

He stuck his eye up to the hole – and instantly a finger came out of the hole and brutally poked the shit out of his eyeball!

As he stood there, wincing in pain, he heard the voices chant triumphantly, “Fourteen!, fourteen!, fourteen!, fourteen!, fourteen!, fourteen!, fourteen!,……”

 


Comment from Pupster
Time: September 24, 2007, 8:23 pm

Heh. I’ve used that joke as an icebreaker during construction meetings, except I stumble in late to the job-site trailer with one hand over my eye and my hardhat in the other hand, swearing a lot. It works best if it’s the first meeting after the construction fence goes up.

 


Comment from S. Weasel
Time: September 24, 2007, 8:28 pm

Hello, Lokki. You know where you and your dogfart haiku have been for three hours, don’t you? Of course you do. Have a nice night…

 


Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: September 24, 2007, 8:41 pm

Pup,

I honestly don’t know why I typed it out here, other than the fact I like the twisty end. Haven’t got a clue. But I felt it was ….. necessary.

Soooo….Lokii has spent some quality time with Akismet, has he? Hmmm.

 


Comment from Dawn
Time: September 24, 2007, 8:49 pm

I got washed out of the clink with Lokki. If he wasn’t such a repeat offender I might have spent the whole night in there. It’s good to have friends on the inside.

 


Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: September 24, 2007, 9:05 pm

They were worth the wait, Lokki!

 


Comment from S. Weasel
Time: September 24, 2007, 9:11 pm

Why does the filter hate Lokki? I do not know. It’s not as if he posts links or anything. I suspect “akismet” is ebonics for “snorri sturluson.”

 


Comment from Dawn
Time: September 24, 2007, 9:35 pm

dawns slight chill softens
vapors of last night’s kill
afternoon heat hones

My dog is a country dog and we never know what he ate.

 


Comment from Lokki
Time: September 24, 2007, 9:40 pm

Thrown into the filter for freakin’ DOG FART HAIKU? Damn Weasel, I must still have a lot of enemies left from the old days, before I went straight and went in to selling securities and used cars.
Today was bad, though – If it wasn’t for Dawn being there in the filter with me, it wouldn’t have been bearable!

I mean, Friday, Saturday, nights are OK. But on a weekday afternoon… they, they, they, put Oprah on the tube. And the controls are outside the cell. Do you know what they want to change the channel? Beasts.

But, Dawn and I played cards to pass the time. Her favorite card was the Jack of Hearts, but I’m partial to the the Queen of Diamonds… She’s a redhead in this deck. And Dawn, sweetie, don’t worry. I won’t sell your watch till you get a chance to win it back.

 


Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: September 24, 2007, 9:54 pm

Ya’know, we could do a scientific experiment here. (no – not one of “those” ones).

Someone could cut and paste Lokki’s poetry into a comment verbatim and post it. If Akisment takes the bait, its the words. If not, its Lokki specifically.

But I will not do it. Nope. No way I’m going in there on a Monday night – alone or otherwise. Uh-uh! The ones that are left in there Monday night are the ones that couldn’t make bail – and they’re really – um – aggressive in their attentions.

Dawn, you played cards with Lokki? With his deck? Heh.

 


Comment from EW1(SG)
Time: September 24, 2007, 11:23 pm

McGoo:

Someone could cut and paste Lokki’s poetry into a comment verbatim and post it. If Akisment takes the bait, its the words. If not, its Lokki specifically.

But I will not do it. Nope. No way I’m going in there on a Monday night – alone or otherwise. Uh-uh! The ones that are left in there Monday night are the ones that couldn’t make bail – and they’re really – um – aggressive in their attentions.

Oh, hell. I’ll try it. Dog farts led to flushing which I’m having trouble teaching my cats…so I could use a break.

So long as the light over the sink ain’t burnt out.

 


Comment from EW1(SG)
Time: September 24, 2007, 11:23 pm

My old farting Dog
Or repeat customers?
A hard decision….

Woof! Poot! Woof! Poot! Woof!
Canine multimedia
Has its great moments

Yesterday’s Alpo
Or just glad to see me?
I can never tell

 


Comment from EW1(SG)
Time: September 24, 2007, 11:25 pm

Well, it’s the words. But specifically, its Lokki’s words!

See, I wouldn’t ha’ been able to come up with them on my ownly.

 


Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: September 25, 2007, 7:36 am

This is Lokki Poetry Test 1

My old farting Dog
Or repeat customers?
A hard decision….

 


Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: September 25, 2007, 7:36 am

This is Lokki Poetry Test 2

Woof! Poot! Woof! Poot! Woof!
Canine multimedia
Has its great moments

 


Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: September 25, 2007, 7:39 am

Test 2 – the second poem – failed.

This is Lokki Poetry Test 3

Yesterday’s Alpo
Or just glad to see me?
I can never tell

 


Comment from S. Weasel
Time: September 25, 2007, 7:42 am

Yup. You each got one into the filter.

I’m guessing it’s the woof/poot combination that offends Akismet so.

 


Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: September 25, 2007, 7:46 am

Well, well, well.

It’s something in the second poem that attracts Akismet’s unwanted attentions.

I leave it to other dabblers to discover which words/phrases are objectionable in poem #2.

 


Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: September 25, 2007, 7:49 am

Weas – I think you’re right.

BTW: Good mornin’. I have a headcold and it sucks. I’m wondering if scotch would help.

 


Comment from S. Weasel
Time: September 25, 2007, 9:01 am

As much as I’m a huge proponent of brown spirits to fix what ails you, I generally don’t recommend Scotch in the morning.

Try Nyquil. It’s like a shot of spirits AND an axe handle to the back of your skull, rolled into one!

 


Comment from Lokki
Time: September 25, 2007, 9:11 am

Sigh –

Weasel has a hangover and a performance evaluation this morning, but I’m having my own dreary day, now.

Like all of us, I’ve harbored secret dreams of immortality but – realist that I am – decided that the best I could hope for is to have my words repeated by others… “Quoted” so to speak.

I had visions of (symbolically) residing for generations on a bookshelf in a hundred libraries or so. Humble immortality, if you will, but immortality.

Now it looks like I’m going to have to settle (immortality-wise) for a bunch of my kook friends (nothing much personal you understand) sitting around repeatedly typing some dog fart haiku I wrote – and, at that, dog fart haiku whose salient point of discussion is the phrase Woof! Poot!

Now, back to the filter for the likes of me for saying Woof! Poot!. Geez did Shakespeare ever go through this? It’s depressing, I tell ya.

Steamboat, don’t bogart that Nyquil.

 


Comment from Gnus
Time: September 25, 2007, 9:30 am

Is there a fate worse than a kismet?

 


Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: September 25, 2007, 1:01 pm

Nyquil makes the McGoo clan blow lunch – even if lunch has not been had yet. No one knows why. Why, I remember when my brother Dinghy sipped some of that vile crap and projectile vo-….well, nevermind.

Yeah – being immortalized for dogfart haiku is tough. But it was for Science, Lokki. We now suspect that The Filter doesn’t like poot/woof phrases. Good thing to know. Imagine how often those phrases come up in day-to-day life.

 


Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: September 25, 2007, 1:09 pm

Is it Poot or Woof?
(with apologies to…everyone)

Ol’ Akismet had a list
A-rooty-tooty-toot!
And on that list resided “poot”,
A-rooty-tooty-toot!

With a Poot! Poot! here,
And a Poot! Poot! there.
Here a Poot!
There a Poot!
Everywhere a Poot! Poot!

Ol’ Akismet had a list
A-rooty-tooty-toot!

 

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