You tell me. Separated at birth?
I received these pictures in an email with no attribution. I’m assuming they can be found on google, though. 😉
Category Archives: Poop
Separated at Birth or Spawning?
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The Evoluion of a WorryWart
You probably wouldn’t believe it, but I used to worry. A lot.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YBfE8nMxv-U
It’s true.
My husband traveled frequently, and from the time he left the house until he was back again, I was positive that his plane would crash, his train derail, or he would be hit by a mode of transportation I couldn’t even name in a foreign country I might or might not be able to locate on a map.
News junkie that I am, I didn’t listen or read or google while he was away. Nope. I was not going to hear the inevitable on CNN.
And then, seemingly out of the blue, my sister Judy died. I hadn’t been worried about her at all. Not a bit (although I should have — she had a heart condition for goodness sake!)
A lightbulb went off in my head: The person I worried about was fine, the one I wasn’t worrying about, well, wasn’t.
I decided that worrying didn’t help. Not one little bit.
So I stopped. I took Alfred E Newman’s motto for my own.
Strangely, Alfred and I look alike. My hair is longer and curlier, though. Google image. Duh!
Let me tell you, being a non-worry-er is great.
You have room in your life for, ummmm, a life. You get to go about your business and assume that bad news will find you if it needs to. You get to sleep when your husband is traveling. Or when your adolescent-teen-young adult son is out. Or when the weather is bad and any one of the 3,427 people you know might just have gotten into their car. And started moving … and might just …
Sadly, though, I have gone full circle. I am not happy to say that I am once again a Worrywart. I have evolved. Or devolved. Or regressed. Or been bitch-slapped out of M.A.D. Magazine.
You see, my son Jacob had a car accident.
Most importantly, he was unhurt. He should, however, do a Subaru ad, because his Sub saved his life. It was crunched, front and back. Totaled. But Jacob only got a scratch when he reached in through the back window to retrieve stuff.
So now I worry. But I won’t for long, thank God. Or thank J.K. Rowling and Potterheads.
Because I just learned that somebody has finally invented a Weasley clock. You know, that special clock at the Burrow in the Harry Potter books. The clock that Molly Weasley looks at to find out how her family members are doin’.
The clock that lets her know whether a family member is in mortal peril.
Yup. Someone has invented a real-life Weasley clock that can let parents know when family members are at “Home,” at “Work,” “On the Way,” or in “Mortal Peril.”
After the inventor’s family, I’d like to be first in line to get one of these clocks. Because I know that if I get one of these I will be able to sleep again when Jacob is out. And that is worth whatever I have to pay to get one of these. I’ll even pay for shipping.
When Porno Would be a Public Service
When he was a young man, Ted Cruz, aspired to “make ‘tit’ films” and sought “World Domination, you know rule everything.” Today he is a top contender for the GOP Presidential nomination.
Quick! Will somebody please get this guy a job in porno so we can get him out of politics?
(My thanks to Father Kane of The Last of the Millennials where I first saw this gem.)
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Too Much Scoop
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.
Filed under ; Don't Make Me Feel Perky Tonigh, Adult Traumas, Advice from an Expert Patient, All The News You Need, Bat-shit crazy, Chronic Disease, Church, Cool people, Crohn's Disease, Disgustology, Flatulence, Health, Health and Medicine, History, Huh?, Humiliation, Humor, I Can't Get No, keys to success, laughter, Oh shit, Pooders, Poop, Satisfaction, Shit, Shit happens, Taking Care of Each Other
FiftyFourandAHalf 