Home is where my fart is

I am sitting in the back seat on the way to visit dear ma. We just drove through Fargo. I keep ripping ass but I have been constipated for two days. Someone help me poop.

Sass, class, n' ass: Friday double photo yank

On Wednesday, we had the biggest turnout for musical bingo of the last few weeks. It's been rare lately that more than 3 or 4 people have showed up. Perhaps it's the irresistable pull of the waning days of summer. We were joined by Ranty, her husband, and her friend (whose name I didn't catch). And Hedy made her triumphant return to bingo after galavanting all over Asia for a few weeks.

Alie laughs at Hedy as she reacts in disgust to the banana-flavored drink her friend Matt bought for her.


Alie adds insult to injury. Hedy wonders what she did to deserve this treatment.


Ang reacts to how big of a douche I am.


Hedy shows off her pretty drawing, but I can't see it. Let's get a closer look...


I see. It's a topless woman playing shuffleboard in high heels. Apparently it's quite cold out there, and she has testicles on her back.


Ang vamps it.


After recovering from the bingo goodness of Wednesday, Ang and I decided to make a second visit to the Minnesota State Fair for some good old fashioned people watching. We took it easy on the eating, pretty much having a meal and one item for dessert. I had a chicken wrap from the food building, and Ang ate the worst hamburger in the world.



After walking around for a while after we ate, I decided to try one of these Fudge Puppies I kept hearing about. A Fudge Puppy is a belgian waffle on a stick dipped in chocolate, but it sounds like something I'd accidentally leave behind on someone's couch after drinking three pots of coffee and eating a box of Ex-Lax, but what the hell. I was so excited. I'm going in, people.


Is this how you like it, Senator?


Oh, God... yeah... fudgy... delicious... cream...


Daddy likes, little Fudge Puppy. Want me to pack you?


Delicious! I give the Fudge Puppy a thumbs up. But I'll never eat one ever again...


...after seeing these staples of the fair. I call this one "Planet Ass." There was a lot of space junk orbiting her trunk.


Another oft-mentioned staple of the fair, morbidly obese ladies in carts. Note how I used Ang as cover in both shots to avoid suspicion that I was snapping pics of fat ladies' asses and guts. Mmm... I'd love just stick my dick in those folds and hammer away. It's pre-lubed with sweat and Pronto Pup grease.

A tribute to Senator Larry Craig (R-Idaho)

Tap Three Times
(sung to the tune of Tony Orlando's Knock Three Times)

hey boy whatcha doin' over there
poopin' alone every day while I sit right beside you
i can hear your ipod playin'
i wanna feel your body swayin'
the stall beside me you don't even know me
Please blow me

[chorus]
Oh my darlin'
tap three times on the stall floor if you want me
twice on the tank if the answer is no
oh my sweetness
means you'll suck me in the shitter
twice on the tank means you ain't gonna blow

Artist apologizes for sucking

Lzipia Poreschovtz, a 27-year-old artist living near downtown Minneapolis, issued a statement today apologizing for the quality of her art.

"To the people of Minneapolis, I offer you my most humble apologies. I realize now that the internal struggles I have are no different than those of anyone else and that my expressions of those conflicts through my paintings and performance art have been both overwrought and unoriginal. I'm particularly sorry for the following works: my painting of a dove carrying the peace symbol and shitting on George W Bush and former British Prime Minister Tony Blair, my photograph of myself feeling fat, unattractive, and judged by society, and every single instance in which I have performed an interpretive dance. I sincerely hope you can forgive me, even though I may never be able to forgive myself."

Bloody sundae

In the summer of 2004, I was seeing a girl named Katie. On one particularly gorgeous, sunny day, Katie and I decided to go for a run around Lake Calhoun. About halfway around the lake, I had to piss like a motherfucker. The permanent public restrooms were still quite a distance away, so I breathed a sigh of relief when we came upon a portable toilet along the pedestrian path. I hurried inside, and it was immediately clear that this toilet had not been emptied of its contents in a timely manner. The smell was overwhelming. It was everything I could do not to vomit. But the horrendous pressure on my bladder gave me the strength to take a deep breath through my mouth, hold it tight, and unleash my golden stream into the urinal. With the urgency of the situation dissipated, I made the mistake of glancing down again at the most turgid, rancid pile of human waste I have ever seen. The toilet was so full, that the feces was stacked above the rim. This means that at least one poor soul so desperately had to shit that they hovered above the toilet, likely with tears streaming down their face, and unclenched. And if you are that desperate to shit, you're not going to let go of some perfectly formed turd. No, my friend. If your level of defecation urgency is that high, you have a gurgling mass of piping hot mortality punching at your sphincter like a prize fighter hungry for the belt. The result was an oozing, glistening layer of dark fudge topping the fly-covered pile. And my guess is that this unlucky person was a woman because perched at the pinnacle of the pile of shit, not unlike a cherry on a sundae, was a blood-soaked tampon.

President of the United States arrested for lewd conduct

Previously unreleased criminal records state that George W Bush, President of the United States, was arrested last month by an undercover police officer in a men's lavatory at Minneapolis-St Paul International Airport for engaging in lewd behavior. The arresting officer, unnamed in the report to protect his identity for the sake of his ongoing toilet sting, indicated that Bush "peeped" inside the officer's stall before moving to open stall to the officer's left.

"Bush put his Nintendo Gameboy DS on the floor, a clear signal in the gay community that he wanted me to put my erect penile unit in his dry anal cavity," said the officer in his report. Bush then removed his pants and was heard to make a series of "highly distressing, guttural grunting sounds, a clear signal in the gay community that he was rubbing one out using Comet cleaning powder as lube." The grunting continued for approximately 5 minutes, after which a rustling was heard, and a hand appeared under the stall. "When a hand is thrust into the next stall, that is a clear signal in the gay community that he was ready for what we call, 'the gay sex.' I showed Bush my police badge under the stall and motioned for him to exit. He complied, and I placed him under arrest. After the reading of his Miranda warning, he insisted that he was innocent, a clear signal in the gay community that he enjoys the lingering scent of men's testicles on his chin."

When questioned about the arrest in a press conference, President Bush said, "I was taking a fucking dump for chrissakes! I checked the first stall, found it occupied, and moved to the next one. And usually people remove their pants in the bathroom stall to avoid crapping in them. Plus I was grunting because it hurt! I ate a lot of hard cheese the day before, and it had caught up to me. As for the hand under the stall, I was out of toilet paper. My hand signal just said, 'Dude, a little help?' Well, brother didn't help at all, man."

Nearly 50,000 men have been arrested for engaging in lewd conduct in that particular bathroom in the last 6 months.

Dear rape

Dear rape,

Not me.

Sincerely,

Jeremy

Confessing past transgressions

I have little to hide and shame is a foreign concept to me. After mentioning that I saw a former coworker working at Fantasy Gifts recently, I was asked the inevitable, slyly intoned question, "Oh? Well, what were YOU doing there?" Without missing a beat, my truthful response was, "I was buying lube."

There are certain actions and behaviors from my youth which I do have a small amount of guilt over, however. Throughout high school, I spent countless hours drawing a comic strip based on the character Corky from the series Life Goes On. Corky, as you may remember, was a kid with Down Syndrome. The comics' plotlines typically parodied stories from the series and usually ended in Corky eating poop, splashing around in poop, or pooping on or otherwise getting poop all over someone else (try to contain your shock). I would also sneak my Corky character into other drawings, even featuring him prominently on a t-shirt I designed for a children's event sponsored by my employer in college.

Actually, now that I think about it, that's still pretty funny. Though I promise not to make fun of Corky anymore. Or at least try not to.

Shave it

"I love shaving almost as much as I love Jesus!! Squeeeeee!"

The fun you've missed at musical bingo

It's been quite some time since I've posted anything from musical bingo. I hope you enjoy this number starring Amber doing God knows what.

State Fair yank

Wall to wall people. Elbow to elbow. Shoulder to shoulder. Butts to nuts. Four and a half hours of smelling body odor, fried food, garbage, and horse shit. I loved it. Since I will be out of town visiting the maternal unit in North Dakota next weekend, Mary and I had to move up our traditional Sunday before Labor Day trip to the Minnesota State Fair. Instead of breathlessly seeking out and inhaling all the new fried-shit-on-a-stick delicacies this year, we decided to stick with some standby favorites, sharing many of them to mitigate expanse to our waistlines. Ang and I split the deep fried spaghetti-filled meatball on a stick, then Mary and I shared an order of the deep fried pickle slices with sour cream dipping sauce. Ang turned her nose up at it, but reluctantly tried a slice at our insistence. She was meh about it. We continued on our way for Mary's favorite, crepes. Usually I skip the crepe, but a strawberries and whipped cream-filled crepe sounded too good to resist this time around. Ang nibbled on a few bites of it and agreed that it was spectacular. We then downed a root beer float, shared a Pronto Pup, and I went one step too far by eating a gigantic-ass garlic butter pretzel. I was full, burping and sweating garlic, but at least I didn't eat until I was sick.



Per another fair tradition, we went through the craft building to see all of the prizewinning entries. This activity is a combination of gasping at the creativity and stunning craftsmanship that it takes to create items like some of the intricate hand-carved woodworking pieces we saw, and snickering at the truly puzzling entries.

At first, I looked at this stained glass entry and exclaimed, "What the fuck?" But upon closer inspection, it was a little more interesting. The woman in the piece has a tattoo on her neck and lip and nose piercings. I wouldn't hang it in my man crib, but then again I'm not an artist living in a loft in Uptown. But what's with the mannequin head? Is chickie in the stained glass supposed to be modeled after the dummy?


This yarny dragon thing is so baked, man.


This thing with Spock on it got a blue ribbon.


The throngs of the dazed and unwashed search for grease-based biofuel.


The Minnesota State Fair is the place to come to eat food on a stick while standing near piles of horse shit and mucousy newborn farm animals like these piglets. Under that heat lamp, they look so tasty and bun-sized. Pass the mustard!


More sweaty, confused people.


After dropping off Mary at home, Ang and I kicked back with a few Summits in the back yard by the fire. I felt a little gurgle in my gut then, but a preemptive dump attempt proved fruitless. This morning, however, The State Fair's Revenge came calling from deep within. The tiny rumble in my stomach did not foretell the horror that would tumble forth from my unpuckered mudhole. The entire State Fair fell out of my ass. I'm not exaggerating. The actual Minnesota State Fair fell out of my rectum into the toilet. Or at least it smelled like it. I stood up, wiped, flushed, and my stomach rumbled again. Apparently a Pronto Pup stand and a morbidly obese woman in an electric cart didn't make it out during the first run. The viscous results stuck to the toilet bowl like hot tar on the bottom of a tennis shoe. I flushed and flushed and flushed, but nothing would wash away this stain of shame and overindulgence. It took two more similar dumps and a half dozen more flushes later in the morning to polish the porcelain back to its original white sheen. But I still say it was worth it.

Ernie will bring you to the dark side

What Friday means to me, by Jeremy, age 31

It's Friday, and you know what that means. That's right, a rubber eagle on my neck!

Critic shocked over shittiness of movie

As movie critic for the Philadelphia Inquirer, Monica Grasier has seen countless films. You would think she would have developed a sixth sense for awful movies, but she once again found herself surprised at the depressing experience of sitting through a recent shitty release. "The Wacky Man-Nanny Caper Journals" starring Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson, Vin Diesel, Anne Hathaway, Mandy Moore, and Larry the Cable Guy, wasn't screened for critics prior to its release, so Monica had to see it at a local megaplex on opening night.

"I was horrified," stuttered Grasier. "I thought for sure that if a big, fancy Hollywood studio would give these people millions upon millions of dollars to make a movie that it would be primo, top notch entertainment. How could Hollywood disappoint me like this?" Her hands trembled as she took an unsteady swig from a vodka tonic. "The acting was atrocious. It was like watching the mentally challenged fry cook at Burger King trying to do Othello. I know most of these people are wrestlers, singers, and stand up comedians, but I assumed that they would be required to go through extensive training in method acting before being allowed on screen. I mean isn't there some sort of SAG rule about that? It breaks my heart to have to write a bad review for a movie again. When I started this job, I thought all the movies would be good. I just knew in my heart that each day would be spent writing glorious, glowing reviews of Oscar caliber performances in films inspiring nothing but good in the world."

Monica apparently still hasn't learned her lesson. When asked about this coming weekend's release "Traveling Capri Trouser Sisterhood Club" starring Queen Latifah, Ice Cube, the late Jessica Tandy, and Carrot Top, she perked up, jumped to her feet and exclaimed, "Oh, I simply cannot wait! I have no doubt that this story of women sharing an item of clothing and experiencing womanly bonding will be life affirming and utterly charming. I just know that Queen Latifah will have worked countless hours to improve her acting after starring in so many pieces of crap. This is her time to shine!"

Geek courtship

Here is a log of a gchat from tonight between Ang and I as we sat directly next to each other on the couch with our respective laptops.

me: poop!
ang: yes
me: May I touch your buttock?
ang: Absolutely!

(She leans over ever so slightly, and I touch her buttock briefly with one finger)

ang: Ahhhh
me: That was wonderful
ang: I agree.
me: [boner]

Seriously, Matt, just start your own blog already

Another gem from my coworker...

Forensic ass peanut analysis (updated)

Yesterday's post about the mysterious leaving of a single ass peanut on the top of the toilet tank wasn't enough analysis of this situation. Through the following diagrams, I will prove that, save manually plucking and placing an ass peanut with purpose, it is physically impossible for the average human being to get ass peanuts on the back of the toilet tank without great effort.

Diagram 1 - Allowing slight variances in posture, this is the usual seated position for a person of average height who is engaged in defecation into a toilet of standard dimensions. You will note the "ass peanut sprinkle zone" outlined in green in the diagram.


Diagram 2 - When inconsiderate ass peanut sprinkling occurs, the usual scenario is for the pooper to stand, hover his ass over the toilet seat, and furiously rub at his crack with toilet paper as if he were trying to wash tar off of the bumper of a Buick. In this case, the sprinkle zone is confined to the toilet seat and immediate vicinity.

Diagram 3a - In a previous post, I discussed a scenario involving ass peanuts spread several feet to the front of the toilet bowl. For a sprinkle zone of this nature, the pooper would have to stand, walk a few steps forward, and commence wiping.


Diagram 3b - For a frontal sprinkle zone per Diagram 3a, the pooper may also have hovered with his face over the bowl. Perhaps he was hung over and had to vomit, deciding to maximize his efficiency by wiping his ass at the same time. Frontal sprinkle zone is achieved.


Diagram 4 - Now we get to the subject of this study. Again, discounting the pooper using his fingers, tweezers, or perhaps salad tongs to extract the ass peanut from his butt hair or from a scientifically feasible sprinkle zone, the average pooper would actually have to stand on the toilet, hover his ass over the tank, and scrub away.


Diagram 5 - Another mildly plausible explanation is that the pooper is some sort of freakishly gigantic victim of a pituitary gland issue and can simply hover his ass over the tank from the floor. I do not know anyone of this height, so this scenario is highly unlikely.


Diagram 6 - It has been suggested by multiple people that there could be a second shitter conspiracy going on here. Is someone lurking in the shadows spreading ass peanuts and undeserved blame? As we can see here, it is possible that a ceiling dweller, perhaps some sort of inverse CHUD, could have removed a ceiling panel and sprinkled his ass pennies from above. However, the Cirque du Soleil-like physical coordination and possible damage to the lower back make this yet another unlikely scenario. And so I reach the same conclusion...



It is clear that some asshole stood on the toilet and sprinkled butt nuggets on the tank. You fucking sick monkey!

Ass coconuts

Seriously, dude! How the fuck did you manage to get ass peanuts on top of the god damn toilet tank?!?!

Putting the hair back in my trigger

After more than a month of taking Celexa, the most frustrating of the side effects I've experienced are still present, though not as much as when I first started taking the meds. This is disappointing because I don't recall sleeping this well or this consistently since I was a child. Though I do still wake up early in the mornings occasionally, that doesn't happen as often. I think my body is adjusting to actually getting a full night of sleep.

As for the issue of my delayed spoogtasms, I had my scheduled follow up exam with the doctor today and expressed my frustration with the sexual side effects of the medication. "Doc, I'm used to painting the walls about 4 or 5 times a day. I'd think about maybe possibly touching my crank, and it would go off. Or I'd shift slightly in my chair and end up with a lap full of custard. Sure, my girlfriend and my side action girls get the benefit of my longer lasting action since I've been taking these pills, but I miss the days where a chick would unzip my pants and get immediately greeted by a chest coating of extra triple thick mayo."

"Jeremy," he replied, "do you ever think of anyone but yourself?"

I scrunched up my nose in confusion. "Who?"

"Other people! Do you ever think about the feelings of other people!"

I didn't understand. "Fuck sake, Doc, speak English! ENG-LISH! I don't have a degree in body looking and pill giving over here. I work with machines for a living. Now can you return the pressure to my chowder hose or what?"

The doctor sighed, turned to the computer, and entered a prescription for Wellbutrin, which is a pill that dicks up the brain in completely different ways without blocking the cock. He also wrote up instructions for weaning myself off the Celexa and transitioning to the new medication.

"Thanks, Doc!" I turned to the door, and without looking back, casually threw a wadded up Jackson at him over my shoulder. I whistled a happy tune on the walk back to my car, thinking that a certain woman in my life may want to invest in a new pair of safety goggles.

To my appreciated coworkers

Guys, I am really sorry about all of the horrid farting today. I am in the bathroom right now trying to clear out some solids, liquids, and as many of these gases as possible. But this stuff keeps coming back. So I sincerely apologize if it smells like burning shit-filled rubber underwear around my desk today. Tomorrow I will come to work with some geraniums and charcoal in my outbox to make up for it. You guys are the best. I mean that.

Brace yourself and try to suspend disbelief

Now sit down and grab a stiff drink (and if your dick is hard, go ahead and grab that, too -- no one's looking). This is going to be difficult for you to process, perhaps even impossible to believe. For the first time in the entire history of this blog (please, I told you to SIT DOWN for this!), I have a girlfriend. Are you ok? You look faint. Should I call 9-1-1? Do you need some smelling salts or a sandwich or something? No? In any case, she is the lovely Ang from Unapologetic Nonsense and Overheard in Minneapolis. She totally makes my pants dance. Swuht.

Wrinkled Don Johnson suit at the airport

Wrinkled Don Johnson suit at the airport
Originally uploaded by afterglide.

There is always good people watching at baggage claim.

Grind my stump, baby

Every single night this past week, including last night, I collapsed in bed, utterly physically exhausted from head to toe. With the exception of taking a break for musical bingo with Alie, Jen, and Amber on Wednesday, every night was filled with hour after hour of picking up branches, chopping up trees, throwing and stacking logs (real, tree-related logs, though I did stack some logs of the poop variety as always). Last Saturday night, after awaking at 5:30 that morning to find the tree resting on my house, I was fast asleep by 9:30. Sunday, after spending some quality time with my mom (fortunately she was staying with my brother down in Savage), brother, and sister-in-law walking around the area near the Stone Arch Bridge, checking out the new Guthrie for the first time, having a fantastic meal at Spoonriver, and going on the Mill City Museum tour, I returned home to rake and haul more branches to the curb then drove back to Savage for dinner with the family. That night I was fast asleep before 10:30.

I had already taken Monday off from work with Mom in town, but spent the morning waiting for an electrician to fix my electrical mast so I could get Dakota Electric out to hook up my juice. Amazingly, the first place I called, Citywide Electric in Eagan, had an electrician calling me back within 5 minutes. Two hours later, he was on my doorstep, and I soon had an estimate. My mom, brother, and his wife brought lunch over, and we ate and talked as Lee the electrician plugged away. They left after a couple of hours, and that's when S & S showed up in force to remove my tree. Half the neighborhood showed up to watch these guys and their mesmerizing, lightning-paced work. Funny how heavy equipment makes it ok for random strangers to wander into someone else's back yard, but I didn't mind one bit. In fact, I was openly inviting people to come on over and get in on the fun (insert your own joke about inviting strangers into my "back yard" here). Incidentally, S & S is headquartered in South St Paul on Hardman Avenue. I say without shame that each and every time I drive by the Hardman Ave exit on 494, regardless of whether someone else is in the car, I say aloud, "hard MAN!" and giggle maniacally. In fact, I'm chuckling to myself as I type this. Hee hee... hard. That night, we saw Mom off to her flight home, and once again, I was asleep by 10:30.

Tuesday, Grant and his wife came over to help me clean up more branches from the back (S&S hauled away the tree that fell on my house, but there was another smaller tree that had fallen on my shed out back. With his chainsaw, my reciprocating saw, and a lot of manual branch snapping (I think I just found a new euphemism for masturbation!), we got everything cleared from my property and stacked against the shed. As we took turns running the chainsaw, cries of YEEEEEEEEEHAWWWWWW! echoed from my yard throughout the neighborhood. That night, I knew I had to own a chainsaw of my own. BRRRRRRRRRRRRZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!!! YEEEEEEEEEEEHAWWWWWW, muthafuckahs!!!

On Thursday, after having done quite a bit of research after work on Wednesday, I picked up an 18-inch electric chainsaw from Mills Fleet Farm in Lakeville. Thirty minutes later, I was in an elderly neighbor lady's yard buzzing through tree branches bigger than my entire body. All evening, I struggled to resist the urge to hold the running chainsaw high above my head and scream, "There can be only one!" then slice a fence or dog in half or something. But I managed to restrict my newfound saw lust to the tree. That night, I was so tired that I nearly fell asleep mid-sentence in a phone conversation. I knew it was time for bed.

On Friday, I resumed my work in the neighbor lady's yard, removing all but a few branches. Any logs of note from our yards, I stacked against or inside my shed to use as firewood (with her eager blessing). The small branches and brush I started burning in earnest in the fire pit, cranking my way through about a quarter of the massive pile over the course of the night (the fire must have burned hotter than hell because it was still steaming as rain pelted the yard this morning). That night, I dozed off on the couch around 11 pm and later moved to the bedroom. It's a good thing I didn't stay up late because at 7:30, I awoke to the sound of the S & S guys returning to grind the tree stump left in my back yard. I never thought I'd be glad to have guys grinding on my stump, but I made an exception this time.

I'm experiencing dryness today

I just thought you should know in case I don't make it.

This is just getting out of hand

This is just getting out of hand
Originally uploaded by afterglide.

Ernie's revenge

Ernie's revenge
Originally uploaded by afterglide.

Bad touch Ernie

Flip Wilson everywhere

Obviously our grandparents grew up in a completely different era with a different vernacular. Certain words and attitudes were acceptable when they were growing up, words and attitudes that today are outdated and, in some cases, downright offensive to modern sensibilities.

I grew up in North Dakota near a town of about 1,200 people. In rural North Dakota, African American people were far and few between. They were such a rarity that once my grandmother looked out the window and was heard to proclaim with amazement, "There's a NEGRO walking down the street!" I'm sure I rolled my eyes, perhaps even mildly chastised her, but she's Grandma. What can you do? You love her and try to gently correct her, despite knowing that you aren't going to change an attitude built over the long, winding course of seven decades.

Grandma's eyesight wasn't the best in her winter years. She'd had cataract surgery. That and her less than latent racism led her to believe that every person of color on television was one of two people. When a younger person would come on TV, she would squint her eyes and ask, "Is that Urkel?" When an older person would make an appearance, she would do the same squint and ask, "Is that... Flip Wilson?" I would let out an exasperated sigh and either ask who Flip Wilson was or respond, "No, Grandma, that's not Flip Wilson, that's Danny Glover."

If Grandma were still alive today, I would be far more patient with her than I was in my surly teenage years. I would still try to gently correct her when she called people "Negroes" or said things like "If Jesse Jackson ever became president, he'd have us all out in the fields picking cotton." Really, she actually said that. I also probably would have long since given up trying to correct her when she thought she saw Urkel or Flip Wilson. I think part of it is because they were both people who made her laugh. If the thought of Flip Wilson gave her a moment of joy, then my response should have been, "Yes, Grandma, that's Flip Wilson. And see that kid walking down the street in the background? It's totally Urkel!"

Breakfast of chumps

As of yesterday afternoon, I have electricity. After more than three days with out it, having it back is glorious. I giddily flipped light switches on and off and aired out my junk over the air conditioning vent. I even took a dump, stood up, and actually saw it, harsh bathroom lights highlighting every glistening nook and cranny. This is how kings live.

This morning, I awoke and decided I would cook breakfast. Usually I just eat a banana or apple and hit the road, but today I fried up link sausage, bacon, and a couple of eggs sunny side up. I could feel my arteries hardening, but it was fantastic. I am a man. I have electricity. I deserve the meat of pigs and chicken younglings.

Because I know you missed me. . .

I just wanted you to know that I'm taking a dump right this very second.

"When can we get back to poo?"

Shocka Khan asks an excellent question in the comments on this post. When can we get back to poo? This may be a far more philosophical question than King Shocka Khan realizes. The literal elements to that question are clear. When can we get back to poop and vagina talk on my blog? The answer is "right now." But first, let's address SK's question again. When can we get back to poo? Shocka, allow me to expand that question and ask when can all of mankind as a whole get back to the poo? Society has become far too serious, and we all need to get back to poo. We need to relax, talk about poo, and have a few good belly laughs. Moreover, we need to take a poo as a society. A big, karmic, cleansing superdump. We can then send it into space with a diagram of a man's penis and a woman knitting a blanket, along with a recording that says, "Beings of the universe, this ubercrap contains all of the ills that once plagued the people of Earth, the third planet from a G2V star. Please smell deeply of this grogan and learn from our mistakes. Let the noxious odor of this megaduke remind us all to love all creatures and love one another. Peace in the crease. Love, humans."

Tree removal pics

Sorry again for the raw stream of photos, but my time and connection are limited. They got the tree out of here yesterday, and I've never seen a crew of guys so Johnny on the cocksucking spot with their work. They were expensive but knew what they were doing. And since the tree rested directly over my built-in gas grill connected straight to the natural gas supply, all parties involved were glad they had the proper equipment to lift that huge motherfucker up in one piece. We don't need any dead, 'sploded people or houses 'round here. Slide show below and a link right to the pics here.

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Get your own

Stealing wi-fi

Aw yeah, unsecured wi-fi network in the back yard. Underground blogging, ya'll!

The latest on the tree-to-house contact

The tree is gone daddy gone. It's down to the stump. They're coming tomorrow or Tuesday to grind the stump out. The insurance adjuster comes tomorrow, so we'll see how badly the insurance company dicks me over. They said they'd cover removal of the tree, or at least the portion that was resting on my house. The rest of it comes out of my pocket. I could have left the standing portion be, but the tree was old, obviously unstable, and it would have looked like shit back there. I wanted the whole fucking thing gone.

And I still do not have power. A tangled mass of branches had come to rest around the mast on my roof where the overhead power lines connect to the house (our neighborhood is one of the last in Eagan that still has overhead power lines coming to individual homes). Dakota Electric was in my back yard yesterday connecting all of the other homes back up, but couldn't do mine until that tree was gone. I just left a message on their outage hotline, and hopefully they can get out here tomorrow.

Despite the generous offer from my brother and his wife to let me stay at their house until the power is back, I decided to sleep at home last night. Perhaps it was paranoia about having the only dark house on the block or some macho man and his castle bullshit, but it's my house god dammit. That's where I sleep. I opened up all the windows, and slept quite comfortably. Even today it wasn't too bad in there. Thank God that 90-some degree muggy shit is gone for the time being. I will do the same tonight.

One disadvantage of not having electricity is that when you have to make a duke at night, you have to do it with candles lighting the way. So I took a romantic candlelit dump last night. Unfortunately the only way I could tell I was done wiping without lighting it on fire near the open flame was to smell and taste it.

I have a shitload of photos and video of the tree removal and some snippets of the fire down the street, but I'm too exhausted to fuck with that tonight. Regular blogging will resume once I have power and internet back at the house. I love you like autumn chipmunks.

The fight for power

I still do not have power at my house. Literally everyone around me has their juice back. Not me. That damn tree is still in the way.

Oh shit... my house (updated)

A big ass storm whipped through last night and I awoke at 5 am to this mess.

UPDATE:I had a few minutes at my brother's house, and linked to the raw slideshow of pics I've taken so far (click here to go straight to my Picasa album). The car under the tree is across the street behind me. More to come whenever I finally get regular internet access (oh, and electricity) back at my house.

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Get your own

Thank you!

Thank you to everyone who has commented here or contacted me directly to help with the post storm cleanup. I already have the front yard cleared but may need help in back when the tree service takes the whole tree out. Also the electric company is working back there right now to get power back on. It will not be safe to work back there until they are done.

At least this is not my house

At least this is not my house
Originally uploaded by afterglide.

This is going on a few doors down. Yikes!

I loved that lawn chair

I loved that lawn chair
Originally uploaded by afterglide.

[sadness]

This is what one might call a fucking shitty deal

I have been on the phone and talking with neighbors much of the morning. I have a claim number from the insurance agency and called a tree removal service recommende by a friend of Alie's. Dakota Electric and Comcast also know what's up. We will see when I get power restored though. Even if they get it back in my neighborhood the tree snapped the overhead power line to my meter. It also looks like I might need my whole roof replaced on both my house and back porch. Hoo-fuckin-ray.

I have no power and cannot scream

As you can see from the photo in the previous post I had some excitement at the house. The tree took out the power and cable television/internet lines to the house so I will likely be without non-phone blogging abilities for the weekend. The whole neighborhood is a mess.

The world we live in is wee

Ang and I decided to go out to the Stone Arch Bridge to look at the collapsed 35W bridge last night. Despite having only the most distant connection to the bridge in that I have driven over it a few hundred times, I felt like I was seeking some sort of closure or way to make sense of it all. Viewing it from a distance, it was sobering to think that they had just pulled another 3 bodies out of the twisted metal and concrete earlier that day. However, it didn't hit me the way I thought it would. Perhaps it's because from that far away, it was still difficult to get a sense of the physical scale.

As Ang drove us through downtown Minneapolis, from the passenger seat of her car, I spotted a familiar face walking down the sidewalk. "Was that Abysmal Chick?" I asked rhetorically. We continued around the corner. "I'm sure that was her. I'm going to call her." I used my mobile cellular telephonic device in such a manner as to make her mobile cellular telephonic device ring in a manner that would alert her that I was attempting to contact her. She apparently is familiar with this process, as she pressed a button on her phone that accepted my telephone communication. I heard her voice coming from the speaker portion of my telephone device. "Hello?" I found her verbal answer to my communication request to be very polite. I appreciated that.

"Hey, it's Jeremy. Are you walking down [street name] right now?"

"Yeah!"

"No way! We just drove by you."

"Oh yeah? How did I look?"

"You looked kind of pissed."

"Well, I almost got hit by a car."

"Bastards!! Well, we're just on our way to look at the bridge. I thought I'd tell you that I saw you."

"Well, I'm just on my way to get something to eat."

We exchanged goodbyes, signifying that we wished to disconnect our telephone communication. Afterward, I realized. "Wait, did she say she almost got hit by a car?!??" I need to be a better listener sometimes. I'll hear more interesting stories that way. Stories far more interesting than this one.

I must text that word a lot

When attempting to send "Have fun on your trip" last night, the autocomplete on my phone first gave me, "Have fun on your vagina." I was tempted to leave it, but it would have been wholly inappropriate given the sentiment I was trying to convey. Plus it makes a vagina sound like a jet ski or something. "Have fun on your vagina. Wear your life vest and observe the no wake rules. Don't hit any manatees! Cuddles then!"

When Avon comes calling

The other day, one of my coworkers brought us a flyer he found in his apartment building. *I've changed the person's name to hide their shame.

Hello everyone,

My name is Lisa Kensington* and I live in apt. [apartment number removed]. I'm the Avon representative in the area. I see a lot of you have already taken the brochures down by the mail boxes. I will be putting a lot more brochures down there fro the women and the men. Please feel free to drop me a line if you want to order anything from the brochure. All of my information is at the bottom of this note so feel free to use it for questions and to place your order. I will need any and all orders by 8-20-07.

Thank you,

Lisa

P.S. have a great week or two.

Lisa,

Thank you for leaving brochures down there and for offering to give both the men and the women a 'fro. Personally I don't think I'd look very good with a white boy afro though. You'd really have to perm the shit out of my hair, and that is a junior high yearbook photo I don't want to repeat.

I hope you don't mind if I give you a bit of constructive criticism over your flyer. It's too goddamn wordy. I know, I know, me calling someone too wordy is like the pope calling a bishop too Catholic. But I dash shit off for a halfass blog. I'm not trying to sell anything (except shirts -- somebody buy a titfucking shirt already!!!). You need to get to the point. You've got too many definite articles going on there ("the women and the men??"), and you really didn't need to point out that the name, phone number, and email address at the bottom of the page is how to get in touch with you. I think even the mouthbreathers and baby droppers had that figured out before finishing the first sentence. When you're selling something, you need to get straight to the point. People don't want to read, think, or look at things.

Also, are you getting out of the business? "Any and all" orders must be placed by August 20th? Or do you know something we don't? Is that when the world ends? You're making me nervous because you only wished us a great week or two. Or are you just being a bitch? "Y'all can have a great week or two, but after that, I hope your life falls to shit." That's just mean and uncalled for, Lisa. If you're going to be that way, I'm not going to buy any of your shitty makeup or steer testicle-scented cologne that has been tested on homeless people kidnapped from underneath railroad bridges. How do you think their "week or two" went? Blinding and asthma-inducing, that's how.

Dear kitty

the meow.

Love,

Jeremy

Loren's bachelor party: deep up in your north woods (part 2)

The first 6 of us arrived Friday afternoon. In attendance were Loren, Kelly, Ron, Willie, Grant, and me. After purchasing groceries and booze for the weekend, we returned to the cabin and commenced a-drinkin' while Willie grilled up some burgers and brats on the expensive looking mega grill.

Grant (left) and Willie (right) look on as Kelly threatens great bodily harm on my person for taking his photograph.


Grant thinks Kelly farted, but isn't sure. Kelly knows he farted and loves it.


Ron and Loren enjoy beer and blue shirts.


Loren pours some margaritas. He tries to hurry before one of us overpowers him to drink straight from the tequila bottle.


The master bathroom has a nice window over the tub and a plush chair and ottoman so I can read the New York Times and watch you while you bathe.


...more to come...