Sunday, July 29, 2012

The Olympics: Shitting on the World’s Stage.


I hate the stupid Olympics.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s refreshing to see countries trying to assert their dominance over one another without dropping bombs on poor people and all. But come on… these events suck harder than an airplane toilet on steroids.

What boring old bastard reached up his butthole and pulled out badminton as an acceptable standard for judging a country’s worth? Table tennis? That’s the kind of crap you play when you’re drunk in your weird uncle’s basement during the holidays, not base your sense of national pride upon.

And no, I haven’t watched (nor do I plan to watch) a second of this global display of flag-waving, chest pounding dullness—but being American I feel no shame in spouting off about shit I know nothing about. We teach this crap in our public schools, under the No Child Unable to Talk From Their Behind Act. Or at least we did, until we cut off funding for those little snot-nosed shitheads. Good thing MTV was there to pick up the slack and teach our kids how to give birth and do Jagerbombs. Take that, future! But lo and behold, I’ve digressed.

The Opening Ceremonies can make a fun drinking game. Just take a shot every time you’ve heard of a country that’s introduced. But do not EVER under ANY CIRCUMSTANCES attempt to flip the rules and drink when you haven’t heard of the nation marching in; most of us Statesiders would die of alcohol poisoning before they even roll out Burkina Faso.

So how about some events we (and by we, I of course mean me--no one actually reads this shit) could actually sink our asses into? Ladies and gentleman, try to contain your excitement (and excrement): I present to you, the Toilet Bowlympics!

For the men’s portion of the games, all we really need is sword fighting. Not that boring ass fencing bullshit; participants will pull out their penises and settle who the big man is once and for all. Just imagine the fun that could be had at the medal ceremony! No prosthetics allowed though – sorry Marky Mark.

As for the women, we’ll start with some good old fashioned mud wrestling. Nothing says “country-wide camaraderie” quite like a bunch of grimy girls rolling around in a pit of filth.

To modernize the games, we should also sprinkle in some shit that’s popular now. Extreme couponing is getting pretty big… how about we just set a bunch of bitches loose in Wal-Mart and let them fight to the death over the “Buy 1, Get 1 Free” bags of Doritos?

You’re probably thinking I’m going to suggest a crapping contest, but I’m not quite as crude as you think. However, I think “synchronized shitting” could be artistic and tasteful.

The only existing event that should stay is gymnastics, but with a minor adjustment to scoring. I propose we introduce the Rip-Ass Rule: An automatic 2-point score addition for sticking a landing whilst farting. Of course, shitting one’s pants would result in disqualification. No one wants to see that shit. I thought about suggesting adding a pole dancing routine to this event, but since most of these girls look about 13 years old I think we’d better stick to flipping and farting.


So, Olympic Committee – get on it! I’m hoping for a much more excrementally exciting 2016. Although even with my proposed changes I’m sure I’d still ignore the global calamity in favor of sixteen straight days of soft porn. What? I like the story lines. Shut up. 

Assholes.

Sunday, July 22, 2012

Update On Some Old Shit.


Before we begin I should warn you this post is all about me. I know; I’m bored already too. But we can do this; I have faith in us. So let’s strap on our rubber boots and soldier through the sewage of my life together, shall we?

As I’ve mentioned before I've been doing the whole crappy college thing. My 4.0 GPA managed to survive my last shitfest of a semester (I’m sure you were all on pins and needles) but I left a big question mark on whether I would drag my whiny ass back in the fall.


Before the winter semester ended I decided (while on the toilet, of course) to spend my summer writing and flooding publications with my freshly shat stories. Between my glamorous gig as a customer service bitch and teaching a toddler to wipe her own ass I figured I had only enough time to spend on one more thing, and I had to choose between writing and school. Or sleeping, but I gave up on the whole notion of beauty rest years ago. Giant purple bags under the eyes make a person seem more interesting. And unapproachable, which is the style I strive for every day. I get along a lot better with other people if they don’t fucking talk to me. But I digress.

I’ve endured enough dung drawings on the walls of public restrooms to realize that shit doesn’t always go according to plan.

The majority of my summer of self-discovery thus far has been spent curled up in the fecal position in the black bottom of the bipolar bidet, yet somehow I’ve still had a few refreshing blasts of water shot up the ass of my “writing career” in the form of an acceptance letter from a publisher and the opportunity to soil some other websites and blogs with my pointless poop. In fact, if this trend continues I might almost feel comfortable enough someday to remove the quotation marks when I reference this little shit-slinging hobby of mine. (Doubt it.)

Although, before all this encouraging excrement started flowing my way I had already made my decision. (Oooh, the suspense!) I’m not returning to school in the fall. I have too many conflicts and the biggest one is my little turdlette, and I’m not about to tell her she can’t take dance class because Mommy’s too busy making up for the decade she wasted on being wasted. 

Plus, college kids are really fucking annoying. All that “let’s change the world,” hopeful-for-the-future crap is likes tacks on a toilet seat for a cynical asshole such as myself. I need to get away from those people before I start putting feathers in my hair. Or smiling. Or worst of all… listening to fucking John Mayer. <shudder>


I guess my point is (this is the part where I scramble to pretend that I had one all along) that while I’m not going to be getting all smart ‘n’ shit anymore, I’m going to keep writing out of my ass. It beats talking; that involves other people, and other people are gross.