Eagan, MN - In a move eagerly anticipated for months by the video gaming community, Afterglide Global Concern (AGC) today unveiled its own entry into the mobile gaming market. In today's press conference, AGC president Yohiro Fitsusnugly announced that the system, previously codenamed Sweet Tits will be sold as the Yuu. Crowds gathered at the press conference were taken aback by the small size of the system, but were clearly in shock at it's suggested retail price--$4.95. This puts AGC in a position to be a hot competitor against the Nintendo Gameboy DS, the Playstation Portable, and Tiger Head to Head Talking Football from the late 80's.

Among the accessories that will be available for the Yuu, there will be a $34.95 wireless card for internet access, a $14.95 neoprene protective case, and an odd wireless balloon-like controller (pictured) that will be sold everywhere, including truck stop bathroom vending machines, for $0.50.

Today I found myself in the unusual position of not making the most disgusting comment of the day. I don't remember the context, but one of my responses to the conversation involved yeast infections. The conversation moved forward, then one of my lunch cohorts made a disgusted face and said that after the yeasty vagina comment, the thought of making beer from a vaginal yeast infection popped into his head. A cry of disgust was raised in unison in the car. We then had a brainstorming session for what one would call such a beer. I wish I could remember the suggestions of the others in the car, as they were funnier, but I do remember calling out 'Tang and Tuna Melt.

After years of kinda sorta maybe possibly considering thinking about it, I made an appointment for an evaluation exam for lasik eye surgery. I'm mucho nearsighted and alternate between wearing glasses and contacts. In recent years, my contacts have started irritating my eyes to the point I can't wear them more than a day or two in a stretch. I received a pamphlet in the mail from Lasik Plus, filled in and mailed a reply card for a free evaluation exam, and they called to schedule the appointment tonight. Maybe I should have done more research before bothering to make this appointment. I went to their website--is it just me, or does it look kind of hokey? Looks like the website a spammer would put together to look semi-professional and trick people into buying fake "V1@gR@" and "C1@L15" at bargain basement prices. Anyone out there had laser vision correction surgery in the Twin Cities area or know of someone who has? Have any recommendations? Places to stay away from? Is this Lasik Plus outfit some fly by night operation that charges you 4 large, shines a laser pointer in your eye, and gives you an expired bottle of Visine, or are they the real deal? My eyes well with anticipation.

A couple people have written and were all "What the fuck? Post some blogs, god dammit!" And I was all "Fuck you! I don't have time!" And they were all "it hurts when I pee!" And I was all "Have you visited a urologist?" And they were all "Yes, but he said it was just a mild inflammation that will go away in a few days, but I was all 'What the fuck? I want some meds for this shit, man!' and he was all 'Fuck you! Just feel the burn for a few days, you pussy!'"

So basically a lot of people were "all."

But seriously, I apologize. I was in North Dakota over the weekend and am having another busy week. I shall post when time allows and cuddle your love muffins with my gansta prose.

Rain, go away. I want to run outside. I want to frolic with unbridled gaiety, basking in the warming glow of the summer sun. I want to remove my pants and run through the old ladies' underwear section at K Mart, rubbing the drapelike cotton fabric and extremely stretchy waistbands and price tags against my manly thighs and buttocks. That will show them all. It will show them what for!

I just had to get that outburst out of my system before I leave to visit my dear mother and other family members in North Dakota tomorrow. Road trip with the brother and the sister-in-law! So tonight I frolic in granny panties and price tags. Tomorrow I primly clasp my hands and pretend that I don't masturbate.

Kitty meow go bang fart. Plop fudge bang coo! Mellow wank fuck stick. Jizz shit canker tank. Stinky fizzy gooey chewy yummy tummy fatty fatty two-by-four. Yellow lick yank spank? Cheese whiz stark dark wet vet fishy yeti spunk. Fatty fatty two-by-four. Kitty meow go bang fart.

This is a strange confession to make, but I love spinach. I love it cooked, fresh, in salads, pastas, on pizzas, and shoved directly into my rectum to absorb the nutrients through my winking browneye. So with the recent E. coli outbreak related to bags of fresh spinach, I have found myself without one of my favorite healthy food ingredients. However, I haven't purchased fresh spinach for quite some time (I heat up a lot of frozen spinach when I cook at home), so until the other day, the recall of spinach hadn't really hit home.

On Tuesday, I went out to lunch with my coworkers to a joint in Lakeville that serves kick ass little personal pizzas overflowing with fresh toppings. I decided to do something different, so I ordered a 5-cheese pizza (cheddar, mozzarella, asiago, parmesan, and fumunda) and asked if I could add spinach as a topping. The guy behind the counter looked at me like I was from the moon and had three testicles growing from my forehead. "Uh...we don't have spinach. Pretty much no one in town has spinach." His tone silently added "ya dumbass!" to his last sentence. It still didn't register until I paid for my order ($5 for a pizza and a drink--tough to beat). Then it hit me--the spinach recall! Of course! I felt like an idiot, particularly once I noticed the sign posted next to the register apologizing for not having spinach. No matter. I'll settle for frozen spinach at home for a few more days. It's better than a terminal case of splatter ass.

Today I brought home a new member to my growing robotic brood. I bought a Scooba, iRobot's robotic floor mopper. Now you might think this is a geeky enough thing to warrant posting over at aftergeek, but things got a little out of hand when I introduced Roomba the robotic vacuum to Scooba. I snapped these photos before turning the garden hose on them. Bad robots! Bad!!!



First impressions--getting things started was not as much of a cake walk as they were with Roomba back in March. I followed the instructions, measuring out the specially formulated Clorox cleaning fluid, pouring it into tank, then filling it the rest of the way with cold tap water. I pushed the power button, then the clean button, and there was a brief whirring and a "WAH WAAAAH" error sound. Damn! I followed the trouble shooting guide, checked that the battery was installed correctly and that the tank was seated correctly, and tried again. WAH WAAAAH! I pissed around with it another 15 or 20 minutes then looked online and found some information that indicated I might try cleaning the fluid nozzle. But what possibly could be blocking it? The damn thing is brand new! Regardless, I gave it a shot. Wouldn't you know, it sprang to life! I don't know that this will be as life changing as Roomba, but it certainly will be nice to have something that will actually scrub the kitchen and bathroom floors with soapy water (I was also pleased to read in the instructions that you can use white vinegar instead of the special Clorox cleaning solution if you so desire).

As far as how well it cleans, time will only tell since I just had my floors cleaned on Saturday. We'll let some pee dry on the bathroom floor for a few weeks and see how well it attacks that. I'll also let the semen, blood, and feces streaks on the kitchen floor set for a few days before letting Scooba loose in there. All I will say about the kitchen situation is that a drunken hobo may only charge $5 for a blowjob, but hoo doggy! You still end up paying for it.

I was as surprised as anyone to come out a winner at last night's poker game with the boys. We usually throw in $10, and I walked away with that plus another $9. It was an evening of guffaws and farts fueled by pizza, Funyuns and beer. One of the guys farted so much I thought he was going to drill a hole through his chair or at least peel the varnish off. It was my turn later in the evening. I don't think farts are supposed to be chunky. I've been putting off checking my underwear. Maybe tomorrow.

I'm back. For now. And briefly. Since Tuesday, I have literally been on the go from the time I've woken up in the morning until I returned home to go to bed. Rise, go to work, come home, work out, go out and be social, come home, sleep (not nearly enough), repeat. Today I woke up, finished putting away some clutter before the cleaning lady arrived (I hired her once in March and have decided to go with a twice-yearly power cleaning thing instead of biweekly or monthly), ran a few errands around Ye Olde Eagantowne, then went to pick up my friend Mary to head down to the outlet mall in Medford, south of the metro. I wanted to look for a new leather jacket at the Wilson outlet. I figured I'd drop $70 to $100 on a jacket. Well they had a buy 2, get 1 free deal there. Lo and behold, I found two great jackets, one black, and one dark brown, one was $40, and the other was $50. Well shit, if I can get two for $90, I might as well get a third. That's when Mary spotted this black number with striped sleeves and silvery shit all over it for $50. Bad ass. So THREE sweet leather jackets for $100. Not cheap-ass, shitty jackets either, but good quality ones that will last. So fuck all ya'll. I'm the baddest muthafuckin' dipshit dork boy around! Later, kittens. I'm out of here to go play poker with the guys. Next week will be somewhat busy, then I'm out of town for a three-day weekend. I'll try to squeeze a couple posts in. Funny ones. With poop and vaginas flying everywhere. It'll be swehhhhht!

I am live from the can again. Seems this may be my only opportunity to post today. It stinks in here.

Really I do, but this is an even more jam packed week than last. Please bear with me. In the meantime, please enjoy this classic episode of My Favorite Martian.

What's that? We don't have clearance on that ep? God dammit, what do I fucking pay you people for? Lazy ass-straw sucking leeches! If you want it done right, do it yourself.

They make facial soap just for faces, so why don't they make buttcial soap just for asses? Or scrotal soap. Or snatchcial soap?

I got fired up about a lot of things on September 11, 2001. I was shocked, saddened, and angered like everyone else. But I'm a bandwagon jumper and a fair weather patriot. I had the clear static cling American flag decal on my piece of shit SUV. I even went through the effort of affixing a metal flag pole holder to the front of my house so I could proudly fly Old Glory and kept her shining until the break of dawn night with my ever burning porch light. I gave financially to the Red Cross and 9/11 charities to the point that I really did have to be quite frugal in my spending for months afterward. I even did something that I hadn't done with any earnestness in many years--I prayed to God. Yet I never lifted a finger aside from writing the checks, never volunteered a single minute of my time.

Then something happened. And by something, I mean nothing. Fear, sadness, and anger turned to boredom and apathy. The immediacy and proximity of the war on terror and "evildoers" faded yet again to unfamiliar lands across wide oceans. I got used to taking my shoes off at the airport, just as I'll probably get used to not carrying my coffee onto the plane. I got rid of the rustbucket SUV, forgetting to take the flag to put into my new car. And the wooden shutter holding the flag pole out front rotted and gave way, letting my flag fall to the ground. I patched and painted the hole, and the flag sits rolled up in my garage years later. Deep sadness over another dead soldier gives way to pressing forward on the Tivo remote to skip past a story about a dozen soldiers dying. The prayers didn't continue past the first one. It isn't right, but there you have it.

For me, it isn't a coldness or callousness. It's about self-preservation. If the alternative is living every day in a gray cloud of fright, hurt, and rage, I'll disconnect myself from it entirely and revisit it only on occasions like today. And only fleetingly. You can do that without forgetting the lessons learned or losing part of your humanity. I hope.

Do you suffer from the ill effects of premature ejaculation? There, there. Of course you don't. But just say that you did. I'm speaking theoretically, of course. *cough* According to the Pioneer Press, researchers at the University of Minnesota showed that a drug called dapoxetine can increase the duration of sexual intercourse for men who suffer from loose jizz sphincters. Researchers said that for some men, dapoxetine increased the duration of sex from less than one minute to about 3.5 minutes. Three and a half minutes? I laugh. I once lasted like 5 minutes with this one chick. She was totally satisfied. Or at least she would have been if I hadn't been fucking her in the ear hole or if she hadn't been killed in a horrible car wreck several days earlier. Later squirts and later, squirts!

Yesterday's story on CNN.com titled "Gay runs third fastest 200m ever" made me spit my latte all over my keyboard. CNN's labeling of an accomplished athlete's sexuality in the very title of the article is an outrage. Why don't you just write what you really wanted to and get it over with, you homophobic internet news website, you. Something like "Flaming fag sashays across the finish line" or "Pole smoker runs fast, burgles turds." For shame, CNN! You've set equality back by dozens of--hold on...I'm being handed a memo from my assistant. Oh...um...wow. This is really embarrassing. Evidently this guy's name is Tyson Gay. I have to admit that I didn't really read the article. I just saw the headline and...well, sorry CNN. About the whole gay bashing accusation thing. Hooboy...I am...just...um...ok, I'm going to just be quiet now.

I received a lovely thank you note today from my cousin Kellae and her husband AJ. I visited them at their home in Sonora, CA back in May where we had a delightful time which included a night spent in an RV park. They were just married about a year ago in a very small ceremony, and my brother, mom and I realized that we really should finally send them a wedding gift. They are working on fixing up a house to sell, so we pooled our resources and sent them a Home Depot card of a goodly sum. I had also enclosed a handwritten note and a drawing of a man eating a baby just for them. They have bested me yet again with their combined class, talent, and charm. I can't wait until his book is published!

Click to enlarge...

I had mentioned yesterday that I'm suffering through some water issues in my basement in the form of slowly leaking pipes, one of which is a leak from the main water cutoff valve for my entire house. Not good. My friend Becky had some work done on the drain for her bathroom sink by a plumber she said charged a reasonable rate and did a good job. I got his number from her and called him today. The guy actually told me what I could try myself to fix it over the phone. I thought the valve would have to be replaced, but it turns out that tightening a nut fixed the damn thing. I felt kind of stupid, but was so relieved that I won't have to drop a couple hundred or more $$ on the issue. I'm also relieved that this guy was an honest enough person to just tell me how to fix it myself instead of charging me $50 or $100 just to show up, then charge another $50 in labor to tighten a nut. Not only that, but I was able to take this newly discovered knowledge and fix another problematic water valve in the basement. I still have a very slowly leaking pipe down there, but it's dripping into my laundry sink, so that is at the bottom of my priority list right now.

So if you're looking for an honest plumber who did good work for a reasonable price for one person and didn't even charge another, drop me an email.

Unfortunately in the 6 years I have lived in this house, every summer brings a new water issue in my laundry room. With this latest one, I realized it makes utterly no sense to keep the ugly, dirty red carpet in that room, so I ripped out about half of it this morning and hauled it out to my trash can.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go back to nursing a sore throat brought on by an end of summer cold. I hope to return to poop and vagina talk in the coming days.

Seems like all of my favorite bloggers are like me right now and are too busy to actually blog. Not that I'd have time to read their blogs anyway at the moment. I'm busy, busy, busy with work, being social, and dealing with a few newly discovered issues in the house. The most pressing issue is that I have not one, but two water leaks in my basement, one of which is a leaking main cutoff valve for my whole house. Ouch--that one's going to probably involve a plumber bending me over the sink.

The good news is I got a double pound dog with crossed streams from the boss at work yesterday. I'll explain another time, but I think it's a good thing.

I get these every once in a while from Match.com. It's always obvious that the profile is fake because the photo is always of some improbably hot girl modeling in suspiciously professional photos. It's probably a spammer wanting to harvest addresses or send out ads for their porno site. The fake profile's match criteria are usually broad, such as looking for men age 18 to 65 within 5000 miles of Anytown, USA. No cares about "her" match's body type, desire for children, religion, or anything else. The wording of the email or profile is also hilariously awkward, such as this one from today:

"I like to travel, to read the good books and to look good films, to photograph, very strongly I like dogs, to go shopping, to sit with the girlfriends in cafe, to collect the visitors, to prepare by him any new interesting dish, to go far by the machine. My main lack - is in love with the trade, probably is incurable..."

I recognize all of the words in that paragraph, but "collect the visitors" and "to go far by the machine..." Huh???

Nice try, dipshit.

One of my friends was telling me recently that she won't frequent Caribou Coffee, the nation's number 2 fancy-ass coffee chain behind Starfucks, because an Islamic bank is the majority owner of Caribou. Sorry, but whenever I hear a claim like this, I always smell bullshit a la Target not supporting veterans. But according to my trusty bullshit confirmer/buster Snopes, this particular nugget about Caribou is fact! Granted, it's nowhere near as nefarious as some would have you believe. So continue scarfing down those lumberjack breakfasts from Caribou with your conscience intact, folks. Though it wouldn't make a bit of difference to me. They could make their mochas from baby penises and curdled sweat from between a fat lady's thighs for all I care. The shit tastes good. Damn good. That's what matters.

Tomorrow I plan to rest as one should on Labor Day, as I spent last night and part of today installing a new toilet in my basement bathroom. Thank you, thank you, thank you to my friend Ange who was a sport and came over to help me haul out the old one last night. A real friend is one who will touch your dirty toilet and laugh about it. And an even better friend will touch the dirty hole in the floor where that toilet once sat and laugh about it. That she did.

The old toilet in my basement was caked in decades of mineral deposits that no cleaning solution will ever hope to break loose. Plus late last year or early this year, the tank started leaking to the point that the toilet ran constantly, so I had to turn the water supply off and not use it. Furthermore, the toilet's flush was laughable. I couldn't even flush a G.I. Joe helmet down the fucking thing without it plugging. And that is the plumbing industry's standard for flush strength. How many G.I. Joe accessories can the toilet flush? Well, I'm pleased to report that this new toilet, as evidenced in the video below, can not only flush a G.I. Joe helmet, but it could probably take down a Care Bear, a Care Bear Friend, and a horse fetus (which sadly could have also grown up to be a Care Bear Friend, but its mother didn't wish to get stretch marks or give another horseless couple a chance to adopt).

As with every single home improvement project I have ever embarked on, this one was not without its snags. I had to make an extra run to Home Depot last night to buy parts I thought I needed (thankfully I don't--there's $30+ worth of stuff I can return!). And today I ran to Hardware Hank to pick up a couple of bolts and washers when I discovered that the dipshit that installed the original toilet had bolted in the flange spacer incorrectly, forcing me to search for a nonstandard set of bolts and washers to clamp the crapper to the floor. It was either that or pry the flange out and install a new one. Far more work. I'll just find new bolts, thank you very much.

I highly recommend this particular toilet, the Kohler Cimarron. I replaced my upstairs toilet with the same model early last year. I flush baby animals and severed limbs down it all the time, and it never plugs! Pros: awesome flushing power despite America's stupid environmental laws requiring low flow toilets, sits a little higher than a normal toilet, modern looks. Cons: high price (I dropped about $230-$240 at Home Depot on the toilet and tank, not including the wax ring, supply line, and other things I needed), the enlongated hole in the tank makes it difficult to form a good seal with a plunger in those very rare cases that it plugs.

Now please enjoy my basement toilet montage and flushing demo. Don't worry--this video is shit and horse fetus-free:


Before and after pics from the basement crapper project:




Before and after upstairs toilet and general bathroom hoop de doop from last year:

In the early 1900's, big burly lumberjacks bedecked in woolen plaid would tell bawdy jokes around the morning fire. They would sing ribald songs of felling trees and bedding buxom ladies while chowing down on low fat berry muffins and washing them down with nonfat decaf mochas (hold the whipped cream). At least that's what I tell myself to feel less emasculated over my usual Friday breakfast.