Just a random time-killer for the day...
http://www.dadgonemad.com/This blog is pretty funny - his humor is right there for a lot of you too - potty jokes, lots of farts and burps and poops, foul language, sports. He IS in California, but he doesn't seem to be too liberal. Some of his commentary on fatherhood and the accompanying joys and pains are pretty freaking hilarious. It is worth reading the archives sometime when you don't have a lot to do. In early 2006 he got a vasectomy - THOSE posts are a riot...
A random sampling:
Meteorology teaches us that powerful forces sometimes collide, combining in the atmosphere to create “a perfect storm.” I witnessed this phenomenon first-hand today when the following forces clashed:
1) Ice cream gives me gas.
2) My boss talks on his cell phone in the men’s room.
3) I don’t really like my job.
I walked into the second-floor bathroom after lunch today to see if I had any spinach in my teeth (which would have been odd because I didn't have spinach for lunch, but whatever). As I entered, I heard my boss’ voice blasting from behind a closed stall door. Sounded like he was talking to the Vice President of Who Really Gives A Flying Fuck About Any Of This Bullshit Anyway about some super-duper important project.
I don’t know about you, but I think people who talk on the phone while they’re taking a dump are at a whole different level of batshitness. They have no boundaries. They lack even the slightest shadow of decency or decorum. Plus, where do you put the phone when the time comes to wipe?
I feel these people should be penalized stringently.
Rewind 48 hours. My family and I are indulging in Haagen-Dazs’ Carmel Cone ice cream (initially discovered by Wondersis), which is known at Evans World Headquarters as “The Greatest Invention In The History Of Mankind.” We are eating it straight from the carton, throwing caution and manners and lactose intolerance to the wind.
In the two days since, that dairy-laden goodness has been churning through my guts, percolating and macerating and preparing to make its triumphant exit at just the right moment.
As I stood there looking for spinach and listening to my boss “dial and dump,” I decided that the moment had arrived. I washed my hands, walked toward the door and grabbed the handle. Just before I opened the door, I lifted my right butt cheek about an inch higher than my left, winced slightly, and unloaded.
The sound emerged shocked even me. Imagine what it would sound like if a big white mama duck got crushed by a riding mower just as it was unleashing an angry “quack!” It was as if my asshole was yelling. Seriously. I tore the roof off that motherfucker.
To the Vice President of Who Really Gives A Flying Fuck About Any Of This Bullshit Anyway on the other end of the line, it must have sounded like my boss was standing on the flight deck of an aircraft carrier.
I heard my boss say “Son of a bitch!” and start shuffling his feet inside the stall, as if perhaps he thought he heard the end of the world a’comin’ and didn’t want to be found 600 million years from now by aliens and look frozen in mid-dump. Then I heard him say, “Uh, no… no, sir…nothing’s wrong. Just dropped the phone is all.”
Then I opened the door and ran like a pussy.
We cubicle jockeys have to fight back against The Man in whatever small ways we can.
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