Well, I’m way behind in blog writing, blog reading. Even way behind on watching the stuff I’ve stuffed onto my DVR.
So this clip is nearly two days old, and you might have seen it.
But if you haven’t you should. It’s Comedy Gold.
Stephen Colbert on Sarah Palin’s endorsement of Donald Trump.
Enjoy.
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There are responsibilities that I take seriously. And giving all of you the scoop on poop is one of them.
But this week there is just too much. Too much scoop on poop, even for me.
Still, I can’t hold it all in. I must let it go. Besides, as I explained in Trifecta! all good comedy bits come in threes. So I had to, ummm, unload.
Number One: The first story is one that will, perhaps, ease your mind about all that downtime you spend at work in the bathroom. Because someone has invented a calculator to, well, calculate, how much money you make while on the pot.
Please don’t anyone tell my boss about this calculator. This image from the “Paid To Poo Calculator/Plumbworld”. I did not make that up.
***
Number Two: This one is toilet-focused as well. And really as suggested in this article, it could really save all of our asses, worldwide. I’m not just shitting you!
The article says that a British University (too embarrassed to own up to its research and identify itself) has developed:
A toilet that does not need water, a sewage system or external power but instead uses nanotechnology to treat human waste, produce clean water and keep smells at bay.
You won’t need that Brita Filter for long!
No need for this! Wikimedia Image
Seriously, though, a waterless toilet that could be developed and mass produced cheaply, and that would produce potable water, well, that would be truly wonderful for the world.
Science is pretty damn cool sometimes.
***
Number Three:
As a kid, a “Number Three” meant a fart. Usually an SBD — a “silent but deadly” one. But this number three? Far less benign.
Now as a person with serious bowel disease, I will confess that I worry that some day I will “go” the way of many famous people. That I will die literally on the loo. Those people include Elvis (who did not leave the building), Judy Garland (who did not make this list), and Catherine the Great of Russia (who may or may not have died on the toilet but her descendants have preferred the version to the one that says she died-while-having-sex-with-a-horse).
Still, if I die by poop, I’d always expected it would come from below the belt. Not above. And certainly not far above.
Shit! Now I have something new to worry about. Just what I need. Death via blue ice falling from the sky.
Wanna guess what blue ice is?
Apparently, blue ice is frozen shit falling from the sky. And pee too. Raining down from airplanes. And it is landing on and injuring unsuspecting people.
As the article states:
The Times of India reports that Rajrani Gaud from Madhya Pradesh suffered a severe shoulder injury when she was hit by a football-sized chunk of ice last month.
[…]
The newspaper claims that aviation scientists believe she may well have had the misfortune to become one of an incredibly rare group: people who have been hit by what the airline industry coyly calls “blue ice”.
That’s its euphemism for the frozen human waste that very occasionally forms around the overflow outlets for aeroplane toilets, and then falls to earth. “Blue” because of the chemicals added to the toilets in planes to reduce odour and break down the waste.
Oh shit (from above). Hurting people.
Judy Garland. Who was happy before blue ice hit.
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Who do I think I’m kidding. You already know, without anything to back it up, which side of the title question I come out on.
About a month ago, I came across an editorial in an online medical journal that has been on my mind ever since.
Then, Dr. Lundberg states that, like addictions to gambling and sex, with an addiction to guns, there is no physical/chemical addiction. But the other symptoms? Check, check, check. Check-mate.
I think that Dr. Lundberg is on to something.
I think the issue of gun addiction deserves some attention today, as President Obama unveils the measures he can take towards sane gun control laws because Congress won’t.
President Obama hugged Mark Barden, whose son was killed in the shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary School in 2012, before announcing his executive action on gun control in the East Room of the White House. Photo Credit Doug Mills/The New York Times
Thanks, Mr. President. Because 90% of Americans believe in stronger gun laws. And because 100% of us remember this:
Sandy Hook Elementary School, 2012. Wikimedia Image
The Medscape article, with the video of Dr. Lundberg delivering his editorial, is free, but by subscription.
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Sometimes, as I fulfill my contractual duty to the WordPress community to write about all the news that is, well, news-y, I find myself unable to keep up with the fast pace of the current most blog-worthy items.
For example, today I wanted to write about the Bundy Boys while I sipped my coffee at breakfast. I wanted to rant about bozos with bazookas, but alas, I had to go to work. I could not rant.
You’ve heard about the Bundy Boys, haven’t you? Ammon and Ryan (Ammon???? WTF?) Two sons of Cliven Bundy have taken over federal land (a bird sanctuary, because we all know that those folks pack heat(ed hand and foot warmers) to protest what they claim is unfair guv’ment action.
Here is the low down from the Washington Post:
A group of armed anti-government activists remained encamped at a federal wildlife refuge in Oregon on Sunday evening, vowing to occupy the outpost for years to protest the federal government’s treatment of a pair of local ranchers set to report to prison Monday.
The occupation of a portion of the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge, about 30 miles southeast of Burns, Ore., began a day earlier, after a small group of men broke off from a much larger march and rally held on Saturday evening
The armed occupation is being led by Ammon Bundy, an Idaho rancher whose father, Cliven Bundy, led an armed standoff with federal agents in Nevada in 2014 and who has described his supporters as “militia men.”
If you continue trying to send these convicted arsonists to jail, I will hold my breath until I turn blue. Oh, yeah, I AM blue. My bad. (Google Image)
On the way to work, I formulated perfect sentences expressing my disdain for folks who claim to be patriots but who work against the government. Petulant ammosexuals. Boys with more guns than either brains or balls. And if you’ve been paying attention, you might recall that I’m not big on guns. Or dopes. Or armed-fucking-rebellion.
Well, today, the delay in my blog drafting reaped rewards. Huge rewards.
Because at lunch time, because the interwebs are/is alive with ideas on just what to call the Bundy Boys. As described in a Huffington Post article, folks are rising to the challenge of just exactly to what to call the boys.
Here are the current contenders:
#al-Shabubba, and say the group is waging #YeeHawd
I thought we might help. You see, originally I had planned to insert a poll RIGHT HERE to see which name y’all prefer, but in the newest new Word Press format, there appears no way to insert a poll.*
Oh and the two men who inspired this anti-guv’ment protest? They were convicted of arson on Federal land and they served some time in prison. Recently a federal judge determined that they had been improperly sentenced, and that there was additional time to be served.
But my favorite tweet?
Every successful revolution starts with takeover of closed visitor center with gift shop. #OregonUnderAttack #YallQaeda
These two guys oppose the Bundy Boys, and turned themselves in today. They didn’t condone the Bundy Boys take over of the bird sanctuary-with gift shop.
In fact, it seems that self-proclaimed “patriots” — “militia men” are fallin’ all over themselves to distance themselves from the Bundy Boys.
I can’t imagine why. Can you?
***
* When the Bundy Boys are done with this here protest, I’m gonna call them up. Then they can take over Word Press and we can call it:
#stop-all the damn changes-Word-Press-or-I’ll-shoot
***
This story just keeps on giving. Just after I posted, I read this post, by I Tried Being Tasteful.
You really can’t make this shit up.
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Dr. C wiped a tear from her eye, hugged me and laughed as she walked me out of the examination room after my semi-annual tune up the other day.
“I have never had this much fun during a consultation, Elyse,” she said.
I love this doctor, my gastroenterologist. She is bright, listens, figures out the best treatment for me, and incredibly importantly for me, she has a fabulous sense of humor. That’s incredibly rare for a gastroenterologist as I’ve mentioned before.
“I’ve been keeping up with all the research on poop transplants,” I told her.
“Yes! It’s fascinating, isn’t it?”
Even though they aren’t currently being used for IBDs like mine, well, I do keep up with the research. Obviously, you do too. Why else would you be reading this post about poop?
How could I resist this image? I know it’s Canadian and they have single-payer health care and I don’t, but you will admit, it’s funny. Thanks, Google Images. You’re the bomb. Errr…
Did I lose you there?
Our discussion continued down that same hole …
“I read that you have to be very careful who you get one from,” I said, proud of the depth of my knowledge. “I read that if you get one from a grumpy person, or a depressed one, you can take on these traits. Or fat people (thanks, Carrie!)”
“I actually have a patient who had a poop transplant. She had c difficile, and the transplant came from a heavy person. She’s actually gained a lot of weight!”
“I used to think I’d get one from my husband. But he’s kind of a curmudgeon, and he has risks of a couple of other diseases that I don’t want to get.* But mostly it’s the curmudgeon thing. I don’t want to become a crank. Besides, he refuses to laugh at my jokes. Since I’m often the only one laughing, taking his shit might make my career as a humor blogger short-lived.”
“You’ll have to just tell him to keep his shit to himself!” Dr. C said, roaring with laughter. Suddenly she realized, oh shit! I’m talking to a patient!
“‘My doctor says you have to keep your shit to yourself!’ — That’s what I’ll tell him! –Maybe then, he’ll stop leaving his crap all over the kitchen counter!”
Google Image.
“Maybe you have to get your poop transplant from a model — a smart and beautiful one. You don’t want to get your poop transfer from somebody stupid, because we don’t yet know if it can impact your IQ. So you should choose somebody really smart — a scientist might be good.”
I looked over at her. She’s healthy. She’s slender. She’s smart. She has curly hair like mine.
“I want a poop transfer from you!” I announced.
She quieted her laugh for a moment.
Uh-oh, I though. I’ve gone too far.
“You know, that may be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
We both roared with laughter.
“Great. Lemme know when they figure out that poop transplants really do work on Crohn’s. I’ll bring the sterile cup.”
Where do you think I found this?
* Nobody can say I don’t protect my husband’s privacy. Ammirite?
***
While this blog was awaiting publication, I found this article in my inbox:
By Jef Akst
Commensal bacterial living in the gastrointestinal tracts of cockroaches lace the insects’ feces with chemical cues that mediate social behavior, according to a study.
Lord, why me?
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I got TWO!
I recommend Karen Kingsley and Kingsley Ink
The Highest Honor
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FiftyFourandAHalf 