Dear Jeremy,

I have a hairy asshole. As a woman, is this wrong? Do men prefer a hairless, baby soft asshole on a gal, or do they not care? I'm also curious about what lesbians think about hairy butt holes. Do they mind if their partner looks like a Yeti in the pooper?

Sincerely,

Curious, and Hairy in South Minneapolis

Dear Assquatch, how hairy are we talking here? Peach fuzz? Secret garden? Radiated tarantula? Personally I prefer a hairless ass. A large percentage of Americans have hangups about hair. Here we like smooth lines, lickable armpits, and bald landing strips. In Europe, you're not as likely to encounter hangups about your rectal spider monkey, but as American tastes drift eastward, you might encounter more beret-wearing Nair lovers clucking their tongues nowhere near your hirsute butthole. In other words, you better get over to France to get your pooper pounded by an unshowered Frenchman before he discovers Old Spice shower gel and beav shaving porn on ScrewTube.

As for lesbians, they like and dislike the hairy tickle hole at similar ratios to everyone else. If I were a woman, lesbian or not, I'd keep my shitter waxed like a surfboard.

But you're looking to strip some hair out of your bread pan, ask for Jen at the Beauty Room in Minneapolis. She is an expert waxer. If you pay her extra, she'll use the ass hair she strips off to build you a handlebar mustache for your vag.

I'm proud to announce that Afterglide Media Thingy, LLC has been awarded a patent for a new type of birth control. Sure, you'd think that screaming, vomiting toddlers running dicksmack wild in the middle of an upscale restaurant would be enough to swear folks off of sex completely, but we need to be realistic about family planning (or if you will, family prevention). That is why I have created a home pregnancy test that is an alternative to splashing messy pee pee everywhere to squeeze a couple of drops onto a little strip of fortune cookie paper in a plastic sleeve. With the t.p.t. home pregnancy test, you only need to poop into the spoon, set the spoon near a heat source to bring it to 125 degrees Fahrenheit, and you will soon know if you are pregnant or not. Just look at the easy to read indicator on the handle, and take a deep whiff of the contents of the ladle. The heat will activate a special enzyme embedded in the spoon. If there is one bar showing, and you smell curry, you are not pregnant. If there are two bars present, but you smell maple syrup, you might be pregnant with an unstable brick of walnut fudge. If there are two bars present, and you smell pine trees or hot beef stroganoff, you are most definitely pregnant.



Disclaimers: t.p.t. was not created by anyone with anything resembling scientific knowledge of the human reproductive system or process. In fact, the creator of t.p.t. is known to believe that babies are pooped out of the "nanner hole" and was once kicked out of a public pool for masturbating near a water jet in a manner he thought to be surreptitious but was completely obvious to the big-titted, bikini-clad life guard he was staring at. Also note that if you have consumed curry, beef stroganoff, maple syrup, spinach, Honey Nut Cheerios, bovine milk, water, or tepid purple Kool-Aid prior to pooping on t.p.t., you run the risk of a false positive or false diagnosis of cancer of the taint. Do not use t.p.t. near areas used in the preparation, storage, or consumption of food. Do not wipe or clean the butt crack area after defecating onto t.p.t. for at least 48 hours. You must produce at least 5 quarts of feces for an effective sample. Never wear gloves during or wash your hands after use of t.p.t. Use of t.p.t. contents and your finger to write a cute message to your lover on the bathroom mirror is strongly encouraged. After use, contents of t.p.t. must be taken to a nearby quick lube establishment for proper disposal. t.p.t. must be used in an unlit, humid environment like a middle school boys' locker room after gym class (taking proper care to cut electricity to the room prior to pooping). In order to ensure you are using t.p.t. properly, you must be observed via closed circuit television or webcam by Jeremy Q. Afterglide and a curious mastiff.

Moblog: Last time I took a cafe steamer I was asked to leave the cafe and pay the cleaning bill.

Ya shit's wack, ya face ugly, ya ass is stank, ya moms went ta college, ya bread's unbuttahed, ya junk's crusted, ya daddy ranned off, ya sistah's a linebackah, ya dog won't lick ya, ya chowdah's tepid, ya ride's busted like a nut, ya granny fat n' shit, ya titties' round ya knees, ya wallet's empty, ya hedge untrimmed, ya pants hiked up, ya kicks is scuffed, ya teeths be yella, ya stools is loose, ya hose is kinked, and ya mac ain't cheesy.

Don't half-ass it this time! Dig deep, squat down, and power thrust that shit. Legs, back, I don't really care. Just do it! Don't be afraid to sweat through your fancy Italian silk shirt, either. I told you what we'd be doing today, so it's not my fault you decided to delicately flit over here through craggy dale from Swan Lake without making a locker room stop first, pixie stick. But I'd ditch the suspenders. You might get them caught in the equipment and end up showering the forest floor with bouillon-sized chunks of your innards, outards, and in betweenards. And if you think I'm cleaning that shit up, you and your floppy, caped cod better guess again, Spooge McFuck.

A little heads up that my posting schedule may be on the erratic side this week as I work to finish up a project due next week at work and try to finish up painting my kitchen cabinets. Today, I will simply encourage you fellow men out there to continue to make regular financial investments in your penis. Your penis may be weak today, but pump in that funding, and it will grow over time. I recommend penis cost averaging to hedge against pussy market downturns.

Ang Twittered about this commercial she saw a little while ago. Lock up your griddle and throw away your Batter Blaster, cuz it's the Pancake Puffs pan, people! Pancakes used to be flat and boring, but now they're round and exciting like fluffy, bouncing boobs slathered in maple syrup. Pancake Puffs can be filled with meatballs, cheese, pepperoni, seafood, or even injected with hot, viscous poo! Replace pancake batter with eggs, and you can make omelet balls. Replace balls with testicles, and you are eating eggy nutsacks! Pancake Puffs are the perfect treat for people who enjoy eating pretty much anything, like Legos and pride. Pancake Puffs, Pancake Puffs, PANCAKE PUFFS!!!


Image from www.pancakepuffs.com

It has begun. And yes, gas prices have a small role in this operation, but Ang and I both recently took a hard look at our finances and budgets and realized that in particular, our spending on eating and drinking out is out of control. In the month of May, I alone spent somewhere between $500 and $600 on restaurant meals, delivery, and take out, as well as drinks. Granted, I pay for both Ang and I quite frequently when we go out, but that is fucking insane. And especially since I'm in the middle of putting money into fixing up my kitchen, that shit has got to stop. So, as of a few days ago, we made a pact to be more cautious in our spending. Less driving all over hell and back to every single party and gathering we're invited to (honestly, that would keep us on the road 5 nights a week), less eating and boozing out, and more small gatherings at our homes and the homes of friends. Mixing your own drinks and buying your own beer and snacks are a hell of a lot less expensive. Our goal is to maintain this for at least 2 months, check in how we have progressed, and hopefully keep some, if not all of these habits going forward.

In addition to those measures, I went through my bank and credit card statements and found some other fat to trim. For example, I called Comcast and told them I was canceling my account (I didn't really plan to, but knew they would drop some customer retention on my ass). Sure enough, I hung up with the same cable and internet service I started with for $20 less a month for the next 6 months. Various moves like that have so far added up to somewhere between $45 and $50 a month that will be back in my cash clamp.

The last one Ang isn't too thrilled about. I'm going to stop buying condoms, and she's going to stop buying birth control. I plan on just wacking off into the recycling bin. Ang is probably just going to sit on the washing machine. Whatever. As long as she washes my clothes while she's in there, it's not my concern.

When a Lakeville man awoke to find cops with flashlights in his bedroom, he was all "What the fuck, man?" Then the cops were like, "Your fucking garage door is open, your front door is unlocked and open (just a few feet from where your kid is having a sleepover), your keys are in the ignition of your pickup outside, and WE were like 'What the fuck, man?'"

First, lock up your house with your kids inside, for crying out loud. Garage door open, house door open (or at least unlocked, depending on whether you believe the cops' reason for entering the house), keys in your truck. Dude, you aren't living in friggin' Mayberry! Just a month ago, a guy just a few miles away in Burnsville left his garage door open and his house door unlocked, and got stabbed and left for dead as the assailants set his house on fire and stole his car. Luckily he managed to survive.

Now should the cops have gone up to Dad's bedroom after already speaking with the kids? For as irresponsible as dear Dad was, the cops may indeed have gone a bit too far. Maybe they sincerely had the best interest of everyone in mind, or maybe they were completely exasperated at the carelessness of this dude and wanted to scare the shit out of him to teach him a lesson. More than likely, I'd guess it's a mixture of the two.

Either way, Dad's lucky he didn't wake up to find either one of these cops standing over him:

Dear JoTF,
I just ate refried beans spread upon Triscuits with EZ Cheese on top for lunch. I was wondering what awesome effects this will have on my libido in a few hours? Are there any foods that you know about or have experienced that make for a perfect storm of whoopee?

Love Infested Intestine

Dear Intestine, first I would suggest incorporating more fresh fruit and vegetables into your diet. Not only for your libido, but so you can actually take a dump every once in a while instead of hovering over the bowl straining to push out a paltry teaspoon of blood-caked cracker crumbs and sawdust. But having a system flush with water and healthy vitamins can also help keep that soldier saluting and increase your stamina in the sack. Now you might still pop off after thirty seconds of steady pumping, but you can do that maybe five or six times in an evening instead of just one or two. In her eyes, you'll be two-thirds of a man instead of just half of one.

As for your Triscuits, refried beans, and EZ Cheese, the answer is, "NO! STOP! BAD!" followed by a smack across the back of the hand with a celery stalk. Even if it did help you launch your rocket, you're going to leave a reddish brown skid mark on her sheets, and she'll never invite you back for another roll in the hay. But maybe that's just how you roll, player.

Forward: To the best of my knowledge, this is my first crack at posting a short story here -- at least one of this length. Don't let the admittedly saggy middle part of the story get you down. My favorite part is the end. But don't skip ahead and spoil it, or I'll chuck a tin of nutmeg at your 'roo pouch.

-Jeremy

Ricky felt like he was going to vomit. This was the night. He had to do it, or surely he would never work up the nerve again. He knew Joanna was the one, but he was shaking uncontrollably. What if she said no? What if she laughed at him, told him she never really loved him, and walked out the door and out of his life forever? He knew he was ready, but was she? Was he pushing things too fast? No, of course not. He couldn't believe how silly he was being. It was clear that Joanna was just as in love with him. He steadied himself against the bathroom counter, looked at himself in the foggy mirror, and took a deep breath. His confidence was restored, and not a moment too soon. Joanna would be walking in the front door any minute now.

Joanna impatiently checked the clock on her phone as she filled her car with gas. She hissed under her breath, "Damn it. Come on, come on, COME ON!" Her fuel light came on just as she pulled away from the parking ramp at work. "Just insult added to the injury," she thought. Her boss had stopped by her desk right as she was gathering up her things to head home for the day. Why does he insist on waiting until 5 to give her project changes? Today he was in rare form. Forty minutes of ramblings littered with his kid's soccer team rankings, pontifications on the best brisket in Kansas City, and complaints about how Chinese food gives him gas. Why today of all days? Today was her second anniversary with Ricky, and she couldn't wait to see what kind of evening he had cooked up. He may not be Mister Romance, but he always knew how to make things interesting.

Ricky was now officially sweating buckets. It had to be 85 degrees in the kitchen. He had been cooking literally all day. In order to get everything ready, he had taken the day off from work, completely unbeknownst to Joanna. She probably assumed that he had made reservations at some fancy steak house downtown. Or maybe that he'd take her to the little Italian place where they first met like he did last year. He smiled at the thought of how surprised she'd be. "This is going to knock her socks off," he thought.

Joanna raced down the alley, repeatedly tapping at the button on the garage door opener. As soon as she was within range, the huge door rumbled upward with the screeching sound of metal dragging on metal. She pulled in, hit the button again, and sprinted out the side door, through the back yard, and up the steps. A goofy smile crept across her face when she unlocked the door and turned the knob. She sang through the hallway, "Hellll-oh-ohhhhhhhhh!" No answer. "Ricky? Are you home, sweety?"

A faint but familiar voiced called out from upstairs, "I'm up here, Jo! In the bedroom!"

"Oh, wow," Joanna squealed quietly. She laughed and shouted back, "You're just cutting straight to the chase tonight, aren't you! Aren't we going to eat first? It smells amazing in here!"

Ricky wasn't going to give away the surprise. "Just come up and see for yourself!"

It was then that Joanna noticed something all over the hallway carpet. "What the hell?" Running the entire length of the hall was a trail of yellow powder. "Honey, what is this mess all over the floor down here?"

Ricky was clearly getting impatient. "Don't worry about that right now, just come up here!"

She realized he probably had something very special planned and now wasn't the time to fret over a little mess that could be vacuumed up later. But as she entered the dining room, she spied a pair of what appeared to be crumpled foil packets on the table and a yellow, greasy smudge on the wall. "OK, just ignore it for now," she reassured herself. "I can clean this up later." But halfway through the room, the mysterious trail of yellow powder resumed and wound its way into the living room. She followed it to the front hall, up the first flight of stairs, across the landing, and up the second flight. The smell of food kept getting stronger. It was a familiar smell, but she couldn't quite place it. The trail of powder stopped in a large mound just inside the partially cracked bedroom door. She pushed it open and rushed inside.

"Ok, seriously, Ricky, what is with this powd--" She couldn't finish her sentence. Once her eyes adjusted to the light given off by the hundreds of flickering candles, she saw a glistening, bubbling, steaming yellowish sea coating the floor, the dresser, and the night stand. Little wriggling elbow shapes, spirals, and wagon wheels swam in the glistening mess. And there in the middle of the room, on the bed, surrounded by four walls of Plexiglas, was Ricky up to his neck in Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. And he quite clearly was naked under all of that Mac and Cheese, as Joanna could clearly see his erect manhood peeking out from what appeared to be a small pile of Spongebob Squarepants-shaped noodles.

"Care to join me?" purred Ricky.

Joanna screamed, "Jesus Christ, Ricky! What did you do to our bedroom? My God, that's a $200 duvet cover! No, no, no... and the carpet! And... and... YOU FILLED THE CLOSET, TOO? My shoes! What is all this? What were you thinking, Ricky?"

Ricky was clearly crestfallen. His erection subsided and sank slowly into the now-congealing yellow mass. "I did all of this for you, baby! I just wanted to do something special, something spectacular when I asked y--" He cut himself short, realizing the right moment wasn't coming anytime soon.

Joanna softened slightly. "Asked me what, Ricky?"

Ricky sighed heavily and shifted his weight in a futile attempt to rid himself of a stray cluster of spiral noodles that had migrated into his crack. "Asked you to marry me."

He produced a ring caked in viscous cheese.

"Oh, Ricky! Yes. YES! Of course I'll marry you!!" She dove over the Plexiglas wall and landed on top of Ricky with a squishy splat.

Tears welled in Ricky's eyes. "You've made me so happy Joanna." He pulled a cord hanging above the bed, and a tidal wave of ketchup and cut up hot dog bits spilled out of a gigantic plastic tub and covered the both of them. They made love and fell asleep in each others arms.

--

Three weeks had gone by since Ricky's unforgettable proposal, and Joanna was still walking on clouds. After she had cleared up the yeast infection brought on by wallowing around and falling asleep in gallons of imitation cheese and nitrate-filled hot dog bits, she and Ricky set about to pick a date for the wedding. Amidst the flurry of phone calls to friends and family, fantasizing about the perfect wedding gown, and struggling to keep her mind focused at work, she almost didn't notice when she missed her period.

A visit to the doctor had confirmed what she already knew. "I'm going to be a big, fat cow at my wedding!" She sobbed into the collar on Ricky's lavender polo shirt.

"No, no, baby. You'll be beautiful. More beautiful even."

That was of little comfort to Joanna. "I am NOT getting married when I'm 8 months pregnant!"

"Well... uh... we can move the date up."

Joanna was still hysterical. "NO! There isn't enough time to plan as it is. We have to book a church, pick the invitations, the food--"

Ricky saw this quickly spiraling out of control and interrupted, "Of course, of course. Well how about we move the date back? Like 6 months after the baby comes."

She brightened a bit and sniffled, "Well, I guess we could. Yeah... Yeah, we totally could do that!"

"Then it's settled. See? It's nothing to worry about. We wanted a baby. The timing is just a little off is all. Everything will work out fine."

Weeks passed, and Joanna was concerned that she hadn't gained any weight. No morning sickness, no weird cravings, nothing. Maybe that all came later. She was new to the whole being pregnant thing. She scheduled an ultrasound just to be certain everything was OK.

Doctor Nell Clausier's grim look was telling. "I'm afraid I can't find the baby."

"What do you mean, 'Can't find the baby?'"

"Well, it actually appears that you may not have been pregnant in the first place. I'm so sorry. I just wish you would have come in a little earlier, so we could have..." Doctor Clausier trailed off, not wanting to make it seem like she put the blame on Joanna. She corrected herself. "I wish I had asked you to come in earlier so we could have saved you the time and heartache. Again, I am so sorry."

Joanna felt simultaneously empty and relieved. She had quickly warmed to the idea of being a new mommy, but this also meant she and Ricky could move their wedding date up, maybe even to the coming spring.

She held back tears and said in a near-whisper, "No, it's OK. It's no one's fault. It just didn't happen is all. It seems like-- wait, then why haven't I had my period for a couple of months?"

Doctor Clausier was relieved at how well Joanna had taken the news. "That's a good question, and I was just about to address that very subject. To be honest, I don't know for certain right now. But I assure you we will find out exactly what is going on. We just need to do some blood work and other tests. We can do that right now if you like, or we can reschedule."

"No, let's do this today. Right now."

"Ok, then I hope you'll excuse me while I see another patient. Will you be ok waiting here for the nurse to come take a blood sample?"

"Oh, yes. Of course. I'm fine."

"Then I will be on my way. I will be back to check in on you when I am done with my next appointment." She softly patted the back of Joanna's hand and rose to leave the room.

--

Nearly nine months after his elaborate marriage proposal, Ricky was still concerned over Joanna's mental state. Since learning she wasn't actually pregnant, she had become withdrawn, almost sullen. She moped around the house in her robe, frequently called in sick to work, and had all but completely passed off all of the wedding planning duties to him. He was utterly clueless about how to proceed. He felt like he didn't want to mess up her perfect day, even though she clearly had given up on caring about much of anything. The happy, perky girl he once know hadn't been around for a long time.

The ongoing tests to find out why she wasn't menstruating were taking their toll on Joanna, as well. The doctors couldn't find anything in her blood and even went as far as to take tissue samples and a spinal tap. She appeared jaundiced, but they couldn't find anything wrong with her liver, either. Running out of options, the doctors sent her blood and tissue samples to a lab for genetic testing. At long last, a test had returned an abnormal result.

"Your DNA appears to have been significantly damaged." Doctor Clausier saw little sense in softening the bad news. "I think this is likely related to the problems with your menstrual cycle, but we can't be sure how exactly that ties in."

Joanna was confused. "What? That doesn't make any sense! How could that have happened?"

"Well, DNA damage in and of itself isn't unusual. Every day we're exposed to environmental circumstances, as well as natural and man made substances that can alter our DNA in almost imperceptible ways. But damage to the extent that you have is almost certainly caused by long term exposure to radiation or hazardous chemicals."

"I don't know what I could have possibly-- unless... No, it couldn't be. The macaroni and cheese?"

Now Doctor Clausier was perplexed. "I'm sorry, macaroni and cheese?"

Extremely embarrassed, Joanna told the full story of Ricky's macaroni and cheese surprise. How they made passionate love for hours in cooling Kraft Dinner and slept in it afterward.

Trying not to show her disgust, the doctor maintained her professional composure as much as she could. "Sweet Jesus, that has to be it. Massive and prolonged exposure to high quantities of rich, creamy sodium tripolyphosphate, succulent nitrates, restorative lycopene, and deliciously zesty enzymes mixed with your fiancee's semen. I'm certain of it."

Joanna was almost elated to understand something, anything about her condition. "Yes, that HAS to be it! It seemed like the enzymes did taste particularly zesty that night, but I thought that was probably just Ricky. Is there anything we can do to reverse this?"

"There is only one way. We get you into a bath of liquefied Turkey Spam immediately. Come, there is little time to waste!" Doctor Clausier jerked Joanna to her feet by the hand, and lead her down the clinic corridor in a full sprint. "Nurse, we have a Code K here. Fill the chamber in Room 5. Quickly now!"

They burst through what seemed like an endless series of double doors, pushing aside surprised patients and orderlies, and finally arrived at Room 5. The 10-foot tall door was made of 2-foot thick steel lined with row after row of thick, steel locking bolts. It closed behind them with a bone-jarring clang, followed by the rumble of the bolts locking into place one by one.

Doctor Clausier, motioned toward a smaller door at the back of the room. A nozzle spraying a shower of what appeared to be pinkish gelatin was visible through the large observation window next to the door. "You have to go in alone, but I will be right here the entire time. Disrobe entirely behind the curtain over there, then put on these goggles and insert these plugs in your ears. Once inside, you'll see an oxygen mask attached to a hose leading to the wall. Put the mask on, and make sure it covers your mouth and nose with a tight seal around the edges. And don't forget to tighten the strap as tight as you possibly can around your head. We don't want you aspirating Turkey Spam."

Without a word, Joanna quickly followed the doctor's orders and entered the chamber. Once the oxygen mask was secured to her face, she gave the doctor the thumbs up and a muffled, "Ok." The mottled pink gelatin was now up to her knees. She was getting nervous. Up to the waist. Her heart pounded in her chest. Up to her chin. "Oh, God. Here we go." She was now completely submerged in a greasy whirlpool of slippery, gelatinous poultry. The goggles did little to keep it out of her eyes, as the motion of the Spam kept pulling them away from her face. Thankfully the breathing mask seemed to be holding tightly.

An eternity passed. Joanna wanted to ask how much longer she had to remain in this quivering entity, but she had no way of speaking to the doctor.

Just then, a muffled speaker crackled and cut out intermittently, "Jo...na. Hang in... Some... not working... trying to figure...out."

That didn't sound good at all. Was it simply not working? Did something go wrong? If it wasn't working, why was she still in here?

Doctor Clausier spoke quietly with a nurse. "I can't believe I forgot to add the key ingredient. This is a nightmare. We need to get her fiancee here immediately. If we don't hurry, she will die of lip and asshole poisoning. Here, he is listed as her emergency contact. Go now!"

Joanna struggled to stay conscious. She felt week, nauseous, and struggled to breathe. Obviously something had gone horribly wrong, and they were afraid to tell her what was going on. She moved to the window and pressed her eyelids against the pane. She opened one eye ever so slightly and could make out the faint form of Dr Clausier speaking with a tall, lean man. It was Ricky! "Ricky, I'm in here!" It was of no use. Her eyes stung horribly, and she was only able to hold them open long enough to see Ricky remove his pants and walk toward the chamber. What was going on out there? Was he coming to rescue her?

Within a couple of minutes, the eddies of pink gelatin seemed to go cloudy. It also felt vastly different. Instead of feeling cool and slimy, it was now giving Joanna an oddly warm tingling sensation. Her breathing was far less labored now. Her nausea then subsided. She felt renewed, full of energy, full of the essence of life itself. A gurgling sound filled the room. She could feel cool air on the crown of her head. The gelatin was draining! Save a greasy, pink slick on the floor, the gelatin was completely gone less than a minute later. The door flew open, and in flew a pantsless Ricky.

Ricky embraced her tightly. "Joanna! I thought I'd lost you, baby. How do you feel?"

She quickly assessed herself. "I feel... better. But something still doesn't feel quite right. I feel like-- not to be gross, but I feel like, well, like I haven't..." Her face reddened, and she lowered her voice. "Like I haven't gone to the bathroom for a week. And--"

Before she could continue, she felt a rumbling in her core. "Ohhh... ooooohhph," she moaned. Without further warning, she felt something thick and warm gushing out of her vagina.

"Oh shit god damn!" Ricky yelped and jumped up onto an exam table to escape the splattering river of bloody, greenish macaroni noodles issuing forth from his beloved's nether regions.

"Ohhhh, I don't feel so good." Joanna went ashen, fell to her knees, and vomited thick, yellowish clumps the size of a muffin.

"It's alright, Joanna," said Doctor Clausier. "It's just the Turkey Spam working to expunge the fromagatoxins and foreign pastas from your system. Don't fight it, just let it happen."

Joanna wasn't about to fight it. In fact, she was going to help it. She pushed. Hard. Like she was giving birth to a small block engine. More rotten macaroni exploded from between her legs.

Ricky surveyed the room from his perch, trying to make sense of it all and trying not to vomit from the overpowering stench. He could see every shape of pasta imaginable covering the floor. A small pile in the corner caught his eye. "I don't remember there being any rigatoni that night." The pile moved, unnaturally so. He was about to point it out to everyone in the room when Joanna cried out in pain.

"Rickeeeeeeeeeeee... oohhhh no!" As she hunched down on all fours, a high pressure spray of partially congealed menstrual blood hosed down the observation window behind her. "Unghhhhhhhhhh! Oh, GOD!" Joanna howled like a dying wolf, vomited once more, rolled over on her side, and passed out cold.

As Ricky and the doctor bent down to check Joanna, a small figure rose from the rigatoni, levitated in midair, and moved toward them. It had a vaguely human form. Yellow droplets fell from its mouth to the cold tile several feet below its neatly crossed legs. Ricky was repulsed by this hideous creature but felt strangely calmed by its presence. Every fiber of his being told him this was a creature of benevolence, of love, a vessel of the risen Christ. The tiny being turned its entire body toward an EKG meter, which flicked to life with a bright green flash. A message appeared on screen, as though it were being typed out letter by letter.

"ALL THESE WORLDS
ARE YOURS EXCEPT
EUROPA
ATTEMPT NO
LANDING THERE
USE THEM TOGETHER
USE THEM IN PEACE"

Doctor Clausier furrowed her brow and cautiously addressed the small, floating fetus creature. "I'm sorry. But I do not understand. What worlds? Which worlds are ours?"

The screen went black and displayed a new message.

"ALL EXCEPT
EUROPA
ATTEMPT NO
LANDING THERE"

Ricky shook his head. "OK, you really have the both of us confused here. Why would we try to land on Europa? We couldn't land there even if we wanted to. We can't even get to Mars yet, much less Jupiter."

The screen went black again.

"WHAT YEAR IS IT?
WHERE ARE WE?"

"It's 2008. We're in a medical clinic about an hour south of Denver," explained Ricky.

The screen went black and stayed that way for several moments before flashing again.

"OH SHIT DAWG
I WAS SUPPOSED
TO WAIT A
COUPLE MORE
YEARS
IS THAT LINDSAY
LOHAN ON THE
FLOOR?"

Ricky stammered for a moment. "No... no... wait, what? No, that's my fiancee Joanna. She was here getting medical treatment."

"DOUBLE SHIT
HEY MY BAD
TELL YOU WHAT
USE EUROPA
ALL YOU WANT
WE PRETTY MUCH
JUST WINTER THERE"

Ricky shrugged. "OK. Thanks, I guess."

"NO BIG
PEACE OUT
FOXY
FLESH
BITCHES
KEEP YOUR
SHIT TIGHT
AND SHIT"

With that, the tiny cheese baby jetted out of the room and out of view, leaving behind a dusty cloud of yellow powder issued from its rectum.

Joanna stirred on the floor and moaned. Ricky rushed to her aid. "Joanna! Are you alright?"

"What happened? Where am I?"

"You're still in the clinic, baby. Everything's gonna be alright. You just had some vaginal backup and a small mac and cheese alien baby thing up your cooch, too."

Joanna groggily shook her head. "OK, Ricky. Whatever. I just want to go home and go to bed."

Doctor Clausier snapped, "Oh no, you don't. We need to get you cleaned off, run a few more tests, and keep you overnight for observation before you go anywhere."

"No, please," said Joanna. "I really want to go home to my own bed."

The doctor sighed. "I suppose, but I want you here for an examination first thing in the morning."

--

The wedding was more beautiful and romantic than Joanna ever could have dreamed possible. The reception had been filled with champagne, dancing, and laughter, but now it was time to head upstairs to the honeymoon suite. She and Ricky, both a little tipsy, stumbled out of the elevator and plodded down to the door at the end of the hallway.

Ricky grinned widely. "Shall we do this the old fashioned way?"

"You mean missionary?"

"No! I mean I'm going to carry you into the room. I know it's not the threshold of our house, but--"

He didn't have to explain. With a shriek of laughter, Joanna jumped into Ricky's arms. After he fumbled with the key card for awhile, he threw the door open and tossed her onto the bed. Memories of the fateful macaroni and cheese wedding proposal and the ensuing nightmare came flooding back for Joanna.

"Ricky?"

"Yeah, hun?"

She scrunched her nose slightly. "I keep forgetting to ask you something about that day at the clinic."

"When you were cured?"

"Yeah. I never asked you why you had your pants off when I came out of the Spam chamber."

Ricky seemed genuinely surprised at this question. "You mean the doctor never told you?"

"No. No, she never said much of anything about what happened in that room."

"Well, it turns out that the doctor initially neglected a key factor in your treatment. It was the combination of imitation cheese, ketchup, and hot dog bits mixed with my semen that altered your DNA. When the Spam wasn't reversing the effect, she realized my man juices were the missing ingredient. Once I wacked off into the Spam intake chute, it was like a magical cure. Apparently my semen has very special healing properties. But it has to be fresh. Straight from the source."

This made complete sense to Joanna. "Of course! Well, thank you for saving my life, my love. Now let's get down to business here! And we better make it quick because I'm starting to get a headache from all of that champagne."

Ricky smirked. "Well, baby," he said smugly, "I think I've got just the cure for that headache. Now lean back, open your mouth, stick out your tongue, and close your eyes."

Moblog: Dear place where we went, thank you for letting us come to the place where we went. Sincerely, one of the kids who went to the place that you let us come to.

I was inspired by seeing The Incredible Hulk yesterday. Click for biggie.

In honor of this comment on this post, I give you more animation via technology from 1998.

Thanks to Ed who sent me this link to a very informative video about how astronauts poo in space. Hint: it's windy.

A few weeks ago, Alexis alerted me to a product called Just a Drop that claimed to strip the nasty monkey stank off the most eye-watering of your pucker-searing log jams. Now I'm highly dubious of a product that purports to attach itself to my ass mist and turn it into a fog of floral champagne water, but as a scientist*, I need to test things directly using the scientific method before making any conclusions. All tests follow the products directions, which instruct the user to put a few drops in the toilet prior to unloading the delivery.

But before we get to the testing, let's look at the marketing strategy for Just a Drop. Their logo is a calming, light blue color accented with a green drop and a green, sweeping underline. I would surmise this simple, borderline pastel palette is meant to evoke images of nature, blue water and green plants, as part its claim to be a completely natural product, a highly concentrated plant extract. Or maybe the blue is to remind you of a toilet that has one of those hockey pucks leaking a slow, steady cloud of blue thunder into the flush water, and at any minute, the Lady in the Water could swim up through the toilet hole and splash faerie-enchanted commode slop onto your swinging ruck sack.



Just a Drop's website gets one huge strike against it right off the bat. Unless you're YouTube, setting a page on your site, especially the front page, to automatically play a video with sound is just bad nettiquette. The video starts with several people proclaiming that "there is nothing better than leaving a bathroom odor-free." Even finding true love, blinding headboard-splattering orgasms, winning 250 million dollars, and doubling the size of your penis combined are not better than leaving a bathroom odor-free. Near the end of the video the slogan "The New Way To Use The Bathroom" appears. So what, you stand on the tank and shit behind the bowl?

The testimonial page on the website offers up the expected exuberant reviews of people who have used the product. These include:

“My 4 year old daughter religiously uses it. For her it works so well that I find myself checking to make sure she’s made a bowel movement. I never smell anything when she comes out of the bathroom!”

Alexis Dawes, Editor “No More Smelly House”

Be sure to click on the link Ms Dawes website. She doesn't devote as much vertical space to poop as I do, but she gives it a college try. I do have some concern for her daughter, however. How is her mommy checking that she's made a bowel movement? Does she force her child to leave her dukes unflushed so that they may be inspected, bagged, and submitted into evidence? Some sort of CAT scan, digital probe, or MRI? But it's ok to check. At that age, my mom was lucky if I hadn't left it behind the easy chair or on a lamp cord at Grandma's house.

“OH MY GOD!!! We have had such a problem at work with people doing #2’s in the shared bathroom. The smell would linger out, and you can smell it in your office. YOUR product is AWESOME!!!

Arpita G., Flushing, NY

Ok, this one has to be fake. FLUSHING, NEW YORK??? C'mon! And she makes it sound like they have an epidemic of people pooping in her workplace. "We've had such a problem at work with people doing #2's in the shared bathroom." Did you want them to hold it until they got home? Leave it in the photocopier? Shit in the wastebasket by their desk?

“I had bariatric surgery a few years back and bathroom odor continues to be a problem for me. Your product has significantly decreased my distress and discomfort using the restroom at work. Just a Drop is the only thing strong enough to bottle and reduce the offensiveness. Thank you for making a tool to address these gastrointestinal challenges faced by me and my counterparts!!”

Sondra N., Baton Rouge, LA

"Just a Drop is the only thing strong enough to bottle and reduce the offensiveness." Why is this chick trying to bottle her offensiveness? Maybe she plans on selling her bottles of offensiveness at Wal-Mart. They sell a lot of things that offend me, like racism and unfair labor practices.

Controlled Testing

NOTE: All analysis of dumps will be based on the Afterglide Fecal Threat Level scale.



Test #1:
Subject: Jeremy Q. Afterglide.
Environment: A freshly cleaned, single stall office bathroom.
Time: Early morning.
Fuel: Previous evening -- Chicken breast with mixed vegetables and black beans, Old Dutch tortilla chips and black bean salsa. That morning -- Large Caribou skim mocha, no whip with a blackberry white chocolate scone.

Dump analysis: Level Cobalt Picture Window. Firm, minimally impacted. Grease factor skirted the upper edge of the allowable levels for CPW classification. Expected stink factor was moderate.

Result: Environment continued to smell solely of mild florals with no poop smell detected. Extremely successful test.



Test #2:
Subject: Ronny Gunz.
Environment: The infamous Stall Two, which had already sustained multiple hot grease attacks from the sales department.
Time: Mid-morning.
Fuel: That morning -- McDonald's breakfast burrito value meal and a bacon egg and cheese biscuit, corn chips.

Dump analysis: Based on subject's description of the grease factor, I rated the dump a Level Mercenary Swamp Cooler. Well-defined edges, moderate grease factor. Expected stink factor was rank.

Result: Subject felt the floral Just a Drop smell was too strong. Very brief and very mild poop smells were detected intermittently. Highly successful test, though subject did not care for the odor of the product itself.



Test #3:
Subject: Jameson.
Environment: Single-stall, locked, clean bathroom.
Time: Mid-afternoon.
Fuel: 3 to 4-star pad thai at Spice Thai Cuisine in Savage.

Dump analysis: Based on subject's description, I rated the dump a Level Mercenary Swamp Cooler, an ideally textured poop. Expected stink factor was moderate.

Result: Subject did not smell poop at any time throughout or after the evacuation process. As with test subject #2, this subject did not care for the smell of the product itself. He found it "overbearing."



Test #4:
Subject: Jeremy Q. Afterglide.
Environment: Stall Two.
Time: Mid-afternoon.
Fuel: 5-star, aka "challenging" gaeng dang (curry) at Spice Thai Cuisine in Savage. Additional heaping spoonful of spice oil added from the spice tray, essentially making it 6-star curry.

Dump analysis: As mentioned above, the subject purposely added extra spice to his curry in order to test the outer limits of his colon and the product. In keeping with the test subject's usual experience with hot curry, the dump inflamed his sphincter with prejudice. Radiant heat seared the hairs from the subject's crack. Dump started out at a Level Paladin Manna Broken Windshield, with a high grease factor, but quickly progressed to a nightmarish Level Duex Duex Beach Towel and continued to quiver in the water after impact. Expected stink factor was akin to a punch to the face with a jagged, broken brick.

Result: At no time throughout this hot, painful dump was the smell of feces detected. Nothing. Not so much as a fleeting whiff. Stratospherically successful test.

Overall Impressions
Based on personal experiences and subject accounts, I deem Just a Drop to live up to its promises by actually covering up the smell of the nastiest of shits. I would highly recommend it to those who are often embarrassed by leaving fly-attracting piles of malodorous cookie dough in shared toilet facilities.

Just a Drop
Available in stores in Canada, but in the US, it's only available through www.justadrop.net.

• $14.99 for enough drops for 800 dumps (2 bottles at 400 uses each).
• $12.99 for 36 single-use travel packets (2 jars of 18 packets).
• $21.99 for both of the above ordered in the "Daily Use & Travel Kit."

*I'm not a scientist, but I'm telling you that I'm a scientist so you'll think I'm a scientist.

This week's City Pages "adult" ad section has two competing ads that could have the makings for a very splashy showdown. I suggest putting down a tarp and bringing a slicker.

Seen in the men's restroom at Hearthside Pizza at Rice St and Larpenteur Ave in St Paul.

(drawing of stinky turds added by yours truly)

Join the Pull Over revolution. Record a video of yourself looking directly into the camera and saying "Pull over. I've gotta take a SHIT!" with violent, angry emphasis on the word "SHIT" just like in this example, starring Max "Bunny" Sparber. Send your video to my email address (see the "Contact Us" section on the right side of this page). When I get enough of them, I'll do a special, super annoying post that includes them all.

Oh, and ideally you should have this video playing in the background so you can match the rhythm precisely (if not, no big deal but c'mon).

.

I'm writing shit. This is not the shit I'm writing. I'll post the shit when I'm done with the shit. SHIT!!!

Dear Jeremy,

Sometimes when I'm at the bar and drunkenly pick up a fugly chick, I don't have a bag to put over her head. Makes it hard to get hard, you know.

-JK

JK, there is a really simple solution to this problem. Don't put a bag on her head. Flip her over and draw a new face on her back.

--

Hey! My boyfriend is Mr Spooge-a-Lot. He cums on my tits, my face, my stomach, my back, my mattress, my headboard, my curtains, my carpet, my lamp shade, and my vanity.

geen

Geen, first off, that isn't a question. Second, tell him he best wipe off his mess tonight or chisel it off in the morning.

--

Got a question for Jeremy On the Fucking? Send it to fucking@afterglide.com

Hey, god dammit! (where god dammit = my brother Troy) Next time you're going to be on television, give a motherfucker some warning will you? Out of sheer coincidence, I went through my Tivo Wish List menu, which keeps an eye out for shows with "Minneapolis" as a keyword, and saw a show called "My First Home" on TLC where a couple was arguing about whether to live in the city or in the 'burbs. That sounded somewhat interesting, so I added it to my record list. I watched it tonight, and first recognized the real estate dude as my sister-in-law Danielle's former boss. "Well isn't that something," I thought. Then halfway through the episode, there are Troy and Danielle front and center, convincing the couple to move to Savage. Well for the fuck sake! I thought I had recognized the couple, but couldn't place them. Troy and Danielle returned at the end of the episode sharing champagne with the couple as they celebrated getting the home.

I'm thinking this had to be shot last summer, as T & D moved to Philadelphia back in January. I didn't hear about it then either.

You guys are fuckers.

UPDATE: So apparently this episode first aired IN FEBRUARY!!!!!

Fuck you guys. Seriously.

Love,

Jeremy

Ang and I are up in northern Minnesota visiting her family. Even though I regularly plow her like summer fallow, Ang, our unmarried genitalia, and I are forbidden by house rules to share the same bed. So here I am in her younger brother's bedroom all by my lonesome. He was in here for a while, but I had to kick him out because he is a terrible spooner.

Right now two people close to me are in desperate need of a j-o-b in the Twin Cities area. And no, I am not one of those people. [crosses fingers] Do you own a business or otherwise have hiring power and are in need some assistance? Jobs in or *very* close to Minneapolis or St Paul proper are ideal. Give a motherfucker some love. I guarantee both of these people are good shit. In the case of one person, even a temporary gig will do. You know where to reach me.

And yes, I realize I have included absolutely no information about either of their skill sets or professional backgrounds. Stop asking me so many god damn questions.

Like other communities in the Twin Cities area, Eagan hasn't been immune to the spike of foreclosures. Granted, it is not nearly the epidemic that has swept north Minneapolis, but one doesn't have to look very far even in the suburbs. In fact, just a few doors down from me is one such property. The previous owners, who seemed like nice enough people based on the few conversations I had with them, apparently couldn't keep up with their mortgage. After an extended and ultimately unsuccessful attempt to sell their home to get out from under their debt, they ended up getting foreclosed on. That was well over a year ago. So far this spring, the yard on that property hasn't been mowed even once, and the grass and weeds have grown completely out of control, which is strange because the yard was maintained somewhat regularly last year.


I'm sure Ang has become sick of me commenting every time we've driven or walked by that yard the last couple of weeks, "You know, I should complain to the city about that. The bank is as responsible for maintaining their own property as anyone else. Look at this! It looks like total shit." Yesterday after the drive past the waving blades of headed-out grass evoked images of a field of spring wheat, I decided that enough was enough. I used the City of Eagan's website to verify that city code was being violated, and got the email address for their Code Enforcement department. I also searched on the Dakota County website to find that the property was owned by CitiMortgage, Inc, part of Citigroup. I knew the city would have access to the same information, but I wanted to know which bank was thoughtlessly shitting up my neighborhood.

Here is the bulk of the email I wrote to the City of Eagan.

...I'm writing to you out of concern over the property at [address removed] , a rambler at the corner of [intersection removed]. This property has not been occupied for a year or more, and it does not appear that any lawn or other maintenance has been done on the property at all so far this spring. As of this morning, the grass and weeds throughout the yard still had not been cut. Not only is this an eyesore in our neighborhood, but more importantly I fear that the appearance of an unoccupied home will be a target for thieves in search of copper piping, possibly endangering the residents of nearby homes...

I hoped reminding them of the widespread rash of copper theft of late would inject a little more urgency into the matter. I sent that email just before 9 am, and shortly after noon, a city employee responded:

"...Thank you for contacting the City of Eagan to report the condition at [address removed]. We already received a complaint regarding this property, and it is being processed by Code Tech [name removed] under case number [removed]. If no response is received within a couple days, we will contract to have the lawn cut..."

In other words, they will cut the lawn and bill CitiMortgage, Inc. I wonder if this is CitiMortgage's standard operating procedure? Instead of contracting out to have the yard regularly maintained and paying people to organize that mess for all of their properties, it's probably cheaper for them to just let the neighbors get pissed off, complain, then have the city come in to do the work for them and pay the bill (I'm also willing to bet some neighbors just give in a mow it themselves). Wait a month or two, and let the cycle repeat. Pay for about 3 mows, and the summer's over.

I'm curious to see how quickly the City of Eagan will follow through on mowing over there. Particularly since I'm looking to move next spring, I'd also like to know how quickly and thoroughly other cities and suburbs around here handle this type of situation.