Lessons in Flushing


Let’s face it. Some bathroom jobs require more than one flush.

In fact, repeat flushing is probably twice as likely when male waste is involved.

Multiple flushes are often a way of life.

As you already know, and just like replacing the empty roll of toilet paper, “Ain’t nobody (but mom) got time for that!”

So, to make things run more efficiently in bathrooms everywhere and to prevent from grossing out everyone in your household with your shitty presents, I’ve come up with fun activities to engage in while waiting for the tank to refill… so you can flush AGAIN.

And again if necessary.

You know… that long drawn out 90 seconds or so that seems like an eternity.


The list-

*Wipe down the faucet. There’s almost always spittle, dribble and/or ick on the faucet… which is most likely yours.

*Sing a verse from… “Another one bites the dust” as you intently watch the turd-subject make it’s final swirly lap.

*If there’s more than one turd, bet on which one will go down first.

*Use dental floss to weed the garden between your teeth.

*Count the brackets on your braces.

*Post a guess-how-long-this-is? photo on Instagram and wait for responses.

*Practice your duck face in the mirror and post it on Facebook to annoy the world.

*Play a game of solitaire. (Everyone brings their phone to the bathroom)

*Change the toilet paper roll. -just kidding.

*Play a game of Frootloop toss where you try to peg the unflushable offender with a fruity ring. This activity will fine tune your aim for when you try to win a goldfish at the fair.

*Take a moment to squeeze the trigger on the air freshener that’s sitting right next to the toilet for your spraying convenience. – this activity is highly recommended.

Just… pleeeeease.

Remember, much like the age-old camping rule… leave no trace.

This concludes today’s lesson in Civilized Bathroom Etiquette.

Have a great day.

Addendum – (a month later) because I have a GIANT mess in my upstairs toilet that’s definitely going to require a plunger and a shit-load of disinfectant. Hopefully, I won’t have to get Mr. Anaconda the snake-unplugger-tool out. Fingers crossed AND nose plugged.

The addendum- never attempt to flush more than six squares of TP at the same time. DUH. I don’t care how GINORMOUS your poop is, the toilet can only swallow so much. New rule- if it’s bigger than a hamster, divide it up.

That is all.

Valentines Day is Chocolate Covered Bullshit

To be crystal clear, we’re talking about second rate imitation chocolate that tastes like wax and resembles nothing remotely similar to the devine cocoa product from Heaven above… or even Hershey, Pennsylvania.

So, why exactly is Valentines Day the equivalent of fake chocolate that tastes more like a diarrhea brown colored crayon?

Let’s start with… you’re only invited to participate if the planets line up in an anatomically correct heart shape where the left ventricle is positioned directly over the North Star or you happen to be someone’s current love interest.

Otherwise, you’re gonna have to sit this one out, because Valentines Day is a couples only celebration.

Unfortunately, this retail industry created 3-ring circus-of-a-holiday is responsible for countless generations of young ladies feeling inferior and isolated – every 365 days… or planet rotations around the sun.

Society has deemed February 14th – Judgement Day, where ones worthiness is rated based on the degree of materialistic affection she draws.

Receiving the following gifts will earn you a WINNING cupids day!

*A dozen long stemmed red roses

*Chocolates in a HEART SHAPED box bigger than your head

The following presents will get you… FIRST RUNNER UP… which is pretty much a fail.

You shall retain the role of career bridesmaid.

*A half dozen long stemmed roses or roses that aren’t blood red scarlet – the very same shade that pumps through the cardiac muscle and supposedly rules emotions.

News flash- The heart muscle keeps your sorry ass alive by circulating nutrients and oxygen to the body and has nothing to do with emotions. The heart is no more responsible for your IQ or SAT scores.

Finishing up in the loser gift category are things like…

*HEART SHAPED boxes imprinted with cartoon graphics or candy bars straight from the vending machine.

*Flowers that aren’t roses.

Recipients of cheesy carnations are about as desirable as a female Bigfoot with a bad case of the mange. Carnations are the epitome of the flower world and their only place is at funerals.

I’m sorry but I don’t make the rules. See page 13 in the Valentine’s Day for Dummies handbook.

The rules were established by greedy retailers who made the societal sheep drink cherry Kool aid out of heart shaped crazy straws until their brains imploded and they succumbed to all that is heart shaped, nonsensical and overpriced.

Exercise caution when gifting jewelry, as it’s risky and can be a double edged sword.

Plainly stated, if you’re in a serious relationship and you’re not gifting her an engagement ring… you’re fucked. When you reach a certain age and point in your relationship, anything that’s not the coveted 14 kt gold circle promising your undying love is an automatic fail. You might as well wrap a box of donkey poop, because that’s all you’re going to get credit for. Plus, this will save you a butt load of money.

Know this gentlemen. I speak the truth.

I’m also very sorry about this. Society can be a real pain in ass when it comes to creating bullshit expectations.

Let’s think logically for a moment.

Pass the talking stick to the brain.

What if… we designate a special day when couples celebrate their sappy love for one another like perhaps the day they intentionally made that commitment.

Their anniversary.

This would eliminate the need to drag everyone else who’s not tethered to a ball and chain through Valentines cow manure – putting an end to the annual bloody massacre of ladies by drunk cupids playing GI Joe with pink and red polka dotted AK 47’s.

I, for one think Valentine’s Day bites.

Conditions are perfect for boys and men everywhere to fuck up.

The very best they can hope for is to maintain their current standing and not clinch a lifelong spot in the Valentines Hall of Shame.

One stupid day should not define a relationship.

Seriously ladies, if you need a man bearing materialistic overpriced gifts like flowers and candy to complete you or make you feel happy and loved… you’re screwed.

Not-so-common sense strongly suggests that we never rely on others for our own happiness and/or fulfillment.

Happiness comes from within. It’s not something another person presents you in a vase or giant heart shaped box.

Valentines Day sucks rotten eggs, and not the Cadbury kind.

It would be different if the overall theme of Valentine’s Day was to simply celebrate LOVE.

Not couples love, but love of family, love of friends, love for humanity, love for all creatures large and small.

Expressing universal and unconditional love has the added benefit of making the giver feel warm and fuzzy, simply because it feels right.

If you absolutely yearn for the warm physical presence of another, I highly recommend bringing a dog or cat into your life.

Dogs happen to be the only creature on Earth who display the ability to unconditionally love someone more than they love themselves.

You can’t beat the love of a dog.

Dogs rock.

Happy Hearts Day to everyone… single, married and those aspiring to die the happy-but-mad cat collecting lady.



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Save Trees… Monkey’s Live in Them

When you get a statement from the insurance company that says… This is NOT a bill.

Me- WTF???

Then don’t freaking send it, you inconsiderate serial tree killing muthersucker.

Store that cumbersome pain-in-my-ass information online where I can retrieve it when and if I need it, which I definitely won’t.

It only dilutes the rest of the important stuff in my mailbox that needs immediate attention… like bills and shit.

Sometimes (or most of the time) those guys don’t get paid until they send me a love note in RED ink.

Red gets my attention, that’s why.

I love red. In fact, my favorite shoes are red clogs from Born. They are one of my most prized possessions and I totally plan on being buried in those rock star shoes.

A word to those loser archaic corporations that don’t offer auto pay… catch me if you can.

Ain’t nobody got time to leaf through a zillion pieces of mail.

Plus, they’re killing perfectly innocent trees for no reason other than to aggravate consumers and tax my last nerve.

Not only do I love trees and all plant matter, I happen to be a serious monkey enthusiast and guess where monkey’s live?

In TREES… that don’t deserve to DIE for the sole purpose of being resurrected as a piece of bullshit mail that clearly belongs in cyber space.

Blue Cross can kiss my ass. They just stole 20 minutes of my life that I’ll never get back, not to mention wasting tax payers hard earned money sending murdered trees through the mail.

They shouldn’t be surprised when a bus load of shit-flinging monkey’s show up at their home office acting like Gremlins on crack who just went pool hopping and ate a large pepperoni pizza after midnight.

That’s called Karma or at least an Extreme Mom tale on why insurance companies SUCK.

The End.