Saturday, February 25, 2012
Friday, February 17, 2012
Smoking the bowl
Filed under:
annoyances,
poop,
work
Longtime readers will recall the ongoing struggles we've had over the years with inconsiderate poopers dirtying the workplace toilets and environs with assorted human filth. Whether it's somehow managing to make the stall appear as though a fight with ass peanut-filled pillows had taken place or coating the bowl and underside of the seat with high velocity, omnidirectional blowback, walking into the infamous Stall Two can be a literal shit show.
Though our company isn't tiny, it's small enough that through careful observation of coworkers' digestive schedules and dietary habits, ultimately those dirty of ass and devoid of consideration for others are identified. It may take months, perhaps even years, but you will be found, publicly shamed, and permanently barred from using any toilet closer than the truckstop by the freeway.
Today I discovered the identity of the hedgehog who has been littering the toilet seat with a sea of curly ass hair and toasty poop crumbs. Through pure coincidence, I walked into the mens room just as he was exiting the stall. Normally I would never follow someone's opening act and sit on a warm toilet seat, but the other bathrooms in the building were occupied, and I was already crowning. As he washed his hands, I walked into the stall to find the seat looking like the floor of a hamster barber shop. I felt like turning around and yelling, "My God, man! Did you shave a fucking chihuahua in here?" I made a passive aggressive show of spraying the whole mess down with Lysol before I closed the door, wiped the seat down, and caked it with 4 rolls of extra chalky discount warehouse toilet paper before I sat down to unload.
The hedgehog, however, is the least of my worries these days. The particularly vexing mystery shitter has been the anonymous soul who has somehow managed to coat the bowl above the water line, all the way up to and including the inside of the rim, with solid chunks of spattered cake balls that no amount of water alone will wash away (trust me, I've tried urinating these chunks away with all of the pressure I could muster, to no avail). This is not your typical shit-through-a-screen-door cloudy ass water. These are dollups of solid shit ranging in size from pushpin head, all the way up to a smashed Peanut M&M found on the bottom of your shoe.
Though this fecal blunderbussing is disturbing enough, what's more unsettling is the lone quarter-sized wad of poo that intermittently appears on the back of the rim, immediately beneath the seat. How is this even possible? Perhaps he is touching his toes whilst shitting or sitting on the throne backwards, leaning back, and renacting the chair scene from Flashdance. But the most likely theory involves the poor, fiber-starved chap halfway through squeezing out a cheese grater-textured gorilla fist. Suddenly he finally gets three stars on the last level of Angry Birds, drops his phone on the floor admist the excitement, and leans forward to retrieve it. The lever action of his body raises the femur-straight log, rippling with musculature and self-awareness, to kiss the rim gently, leaving a minature unfrosted cupcake clinging to the porcelain with the power of Fixodent and strong nuclear force.
Until we catch this ill-mannered artist-in-residence Bob Rossing the commode with happy little brown trees, we will take shifts surveilling the mens room, lingering far too long after we pee, and stopping random office mates to make desperately contrived conversation in the hallway within view of the bathroom door. Take care out there, people. Wear your vest and keep your safety off.
Though our company isn't tiny, it's small enough that through careful observation of coworkers' digestive schedules and dietary habits, ultimately those dirty of ass and devoid of consideration for others are identified. It may take months, perhaps even years, but you will be found, publicly shamed, and permanently barred from using any toilet closer than the truckstop by the freeway.
Today I discovered the identity of the hedgehog who has been littering the toilet seat with a sea of curly ass hair and toasty poop crumbs. Through pure coincidence, I walked into the mens room just as he was exiting the stall. Normally I would never follow someone's opening act and sit on a warm toilet seat, but the other bathrooms in the building were occupied, and I was already crowning. As he washed his hands, I walked into the stall to find the seat looking like the floor of a hamster barber shop. I felt like turning around and yelling, "My God, man! Did you shave a fucking chihuahua in here?" I made a passive aggressive show of spraying the whole mess down with Lysol before I closed the door, wiped the seat down, and caked it with 4 rolls of extra chalky discount warehouse toilet paper before I sat down to unload.
The hedgehog, however, is the least of my worries these days. The particularly vexing mystery shitter has been the anonymous soul who has somehow managed to coat the bowl above the water line, all the way up to and including the inside of the rim, with solid chunks of spattered cake balls that no amount of water alone will wash away (trust me, I've tried urinating these chunks away with all of the pressure I could muster, to no avail). This is not your typical shit-through-a-screen-door cloudy ass water. These are dollups of solid shit ranging in size from pushpin head, all the way up to a smashed Peanut M&M found on the bottom of your shoe.
Though this fecal blunderbussing is disturbing enough, what's more unsettling is the lone quarter-sized wad of poo that intermittently appears on the back of the rim, immediately beneath the seat. How is this even possible? Perhaps he is touching his toes whilst shitting or sitting on the throne backwards, leaning back, and renacting the chair scene from Flashdance. But the most likely theory involves the poor, fiber-starved chap halfway through squeezing out a cheese grater-textured gorilla fist. Suddenly he finally gets three stars on the last level of Angry Birds, drops his phone on the floor admist the excitement, and leans forward to retrieve it. The lever action of his body raises the femur-straight log, rippling with musculature and self-awareness, to kiss the rim gently, leaving a minature unfrosted cupcake clinging to the porcelain with the power of Fixodent and strong nuclear force.
Until we catch this ill-mannered artist-in-residence Bob Rossing the commode with happy little brown trees, we will take shifts surveilling the mens room, lingering far too long after we pee, and stopping random office mates to make desperately contrived conversation in the hallway within view of the bathroom door. Take care out there, people. Wear your vest and keep your safety off.
Friday, January 06, 2012
CES 2012 Preview: Life Alert for Heirs
Filed under:
fake products,
health,
technology
While most of the buzz around the annual Consumer Electronics Show in Las Vegas centers around the latest smart phones, touchscreen pads, and 3D televisions, a surprise entrant in this year's fray is Life Alert. Life Alert is most famous for its commercials featuring frail pensioners flailing about on the floor, woodenly wailing "Help! I've fallen, and I can't get up!" For nearly 25 years, the company's bread and butter has been selling products and services geared toward the health and safety of senior citizens. However, jumping into a market apparently spawned by the economic downturn of recent years, Life Alert will soon sell a service aimed toward children and grandchildren of the elderly teetering on the brink of poor health and mobility.
The equipment for the new service, dubbed Life Alert for Heirs, looks identical to the current incarnation, but the system does not contact an ambulance or fire department when the button on the pendant is pressed. Instead, it will play a message previously recorded by one of the ailing elder's heirs. In the promotional video shown to reporters this morning, a thin white-haired senior writhed on her kitchen floor in pain. In response to her button press, the system barked in the tinny, digitized voice of a husky sounding man. "Hello, Grandma. This is David. Sorry to do this, but this system won't contact emergency services until you agree to sign over your power of attorney and assets to me. To approve this, simply press your pendant button three times in a row. Per your contract with Life Alert, this will act as a legally binding electronic signature. Once this signal is received, emergency services will be contacted. Love you, Grandma!" Less expensive versions of the system will simply make passive note of the emergency request and send no help.
The equipment for the new service, dubbed Life Alert for Heirs, looks identical to the current incarnation, but the system does not contact an ambulance or fire department when the button on the pendant is pressed. Instead, it will play a message previously recorded by one of the ailing elder's heirs. In the promotional video shown to reporters this morning, a thin white-haired senior writhed on her kitchen floor in pain. In response to her button press, the system barked in the tinny, digitized voice of a husky sounding man. "Hello, Grandma. This is David. Sorry to do this, but this system won't contact emergency services until you agree to sign over your power of attorney and assets to me. To approve this, simply press your pendant button three times in a row. Per your contract with Life Alert, this will act as a legally binding electronic signature. Once this signal is received, emergency services will be contacted. Love you, Grandma!" Less expensive versions of the system will simply make passive note of the emergency request and send no help.
Tuesday, November 08, 2011
The Heavy Vending Machine: Cram It Up Your Arizona
Filed under:
food,
Heavy Vending Machine,
oddities
Though I've already reviewed and long since shat out a "locally" produced fish sandwich, the colorful packaging and gargantuan size of this offering of compressed whitefish and gluten was too much to resist. The BIG AZ line of vending machine foods comes from our old friends at Pierre Foods. I don't know if the AZ is a reference to a large Arizona or supposed to be pronounced "AZZ," as in, "Damn, that girl got some BIG AZ titties! Ima smack 'em with my cod and squirt tartar sauce on 'em." Either way, your "AZ" will be quite large if you make so much as a semi-regular habit of eating these.
The BIG AZ's mammoth sesame seed-covered bun is dwarfed only by the unwieldy, elongated triangle of breaded Alaskan pollock draped in cheese. The shape and arrangement of the patty and cheese, perhaps by no coincidence, is reminiscient of a somberly folded American flag handed to the grieving family of a soldier, who was killed in action by being forced to eat one of these sandwiches by the enemy. Those sick fucking terrorist bastards!
The sandwich's microwave cooking instructions indicated it should be cooked from a thawed state for 2 minutes. If it's frozen, it should be thawed in a refrigerator overnight. So if you are picking these out of the deep freeze and can patiently await the gentle tug of babbling, non-violent diarrhea (this diarrhea is more about protest songs at Occupy Toilet than turning over cars and lighting them on fire), this is the vending machine fish sandwich for you.
Unlike myriad previous microwaved sandwiches, the bread on the BIG AZ didn't turn completely soggy after 2 minutes of irradiation. In fact, the bread was oddly chewy. It wasn't offputting, but not particularly appetizing either. The fish itself, was surprisingly bland, though it didn't suffer from the dry, gritty texture of the last fish sandwich I reviewed here. This one could have been improved by following the example of its predecessor and including a tartar sauce packet. It still would have been a shitty sandwich out of a vending machine, but it would have been enough of a distraction to stop my crying, even if just for a moment.
Product: BIG AZ fish and cheese sandwich
Price Paid: $2.25
Availability: Inside vending machines and dryer lint traps everywhere
Rating: 1.5 out of 5 stars (.5 given for the patriotic shape of the fish and Lee Greenwood single that played with each bite)
Harassment Factor: 19.7 on the Cain-Berlusconi scale
The BIG AZ's mammoth sesame seed-covered bun is dwarfed only by the unwieldy, elongated triangle of breaded Alaskan pollock draped in cheese. The shape and arrangement of the patty and cheese, perhaps by no coincidence, is reminiscient of a somberly folded American flag handed to the grieving family of a soldier, who was killed in action by being forced to eat one of these sandwiches by the enemy. Those sick fucking terrorist bastards!
The sandwich's microwave cooking instructions indicated it should be cooked from a thawed state for 2 minutes. If it's frozen, it should be thawed in a refrigerator overnight. So if you are picking these out of the deep freeze and can patiently await the gentle tug of babbling, non-violent diarrhea (this diarrhea is more about protest songs at Occupy Toilet than turning over cars and lighting them on fire), this is the vending machine fish sandwich for you.
Unlike myriad previous microwaved sandwiches, the bread on the BIG AZ didn't turn completely soggy after 2 minutes of irradiation. In fact, the bread was oddly chewy. It wasn't offputting, but not particularly appetizing either. The fish itself, was surprisingly bland, though it didn't suffer from the dry, gritty texture of the last fish sandwich I reviewed here. This one could have been improved by following the example of its predecessor and including a tartar sauce packet. It still would have been a shitty sandwich out of a vending machine, but it would have been enough of a distraction to stop my crying, even if just for a moment.
Product: BIG AZ fish and cheese sandwich
Price Paid: $2.25
Availability: Inside vending machines and dryer lint traps everywhere
Rating: 1.5 out of 5 stars (.5 given for the patriotic shape of the fish and Lee Greenwood single that played with each bite)
Harassment Factor: 19.7 on the Cain-Berlusconi scale
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)