A few days ago, Ang shared a few searches that get people to Overheard In Minneapolis. I realized that I'm long overdue for responding to folks searching for answers but ending up at my blog. And we all know there isn't a single thing of any redeeming value here whatsoever. It's high time I gave back again.

Search: wash hair during period
Location: Malaysia

As far as I know, it's ok to wash your hair during your period. For that matter, I think it's ok to wash your hair during pretty much anyone's period. If it wasn't, no one would wash their hair.


Search: balls testicles fall asleep
Location: Burnaby, BC

So your "balls testicles" fall asleep, eh? When my balls testicles fall asleep, I stick a straw down my urethra and pour in some hot Starbucks.

--

As always, the biggest random search term referral to my blog comes from people trying to find out whether the local NBC affiliate's weather guy, Sven Sundgaard, is gay. People ask the same question, but they ask it many different ways, so I want to make sure everyone gets an answer that is satisfactory to them.

Search: sven sundgaard gay
Location: Minneapolis, MN

As far as I know, he is. But this is all third-hand information. A friend-of-a-friend saw him at dinner with his man date. And a friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend saw him with FIVE PENISES inside of him at once! For serious now!

Search: sven sundgaard GAY
Location: ?

Now this search bothers me a little bit. Are you yelling at me? SVEN SUNDGAARD IS GAAAAYYYYYYY!!!!!11111!!!11!! Or are you asking quietly about Sven Sundgaard then getting so excited about the question you're asking that you completely lose control. "Hey, buddy, keep this under your hat, but is Sven Sundgaard...ohmuhgawd GAAAYYYYYYYYYY??///????//???" Or maybe you're just asking if he's really gay?

Search: sven sundgaard sexuality
Location: Minneapolis, MN

Now this is a more respectful way to phrase the question. So many people are very crude with their searches. "That thar Sven Sungerrd like it in the corn chute?" Please! A little dignity and decorum is all I ask. Anyway, sexuality-wise, I hear he's very sexual. Thanks for asking.

Search: is sven the weather guy gay?
Location: Bloomington, MN

See, now this is precisely what I just talked about.

Search: Does Sven Sundgaard have a girlfriend?
Location: Elk River, MN

I seriously doubt it, sweetheart, but keep dreaming.

Search: sven sundgaard is gay
Location: Woodbury, MN

Ok, if you already knew that, then why are you searching for it? Just to impress us with your knowledge of his gayitude? You smug son of a bitch.

Search: sven sundgaard penis
Location: St Paul, MN

Sven sundgaard's penis has its own blog. So quit bugging me!

Search: What is the size of Sven Sundgaard's penis
Location: Minneapolis, MN

Look, this is just obscene. Ask Sven Sundgaard's penis!!

Search: pumpkin fuck
Location: ?

Hmm... this seems like a good idea. I recommend microwaving the pumpkin first. If the pumpkin is too big for your microwave, it's quite inexpensive to buy a small pumpkin at the farmers market or supermarket. If you can't find a pumpkin small enough for your microwave, buy a bigger microwave. If you can't find a microwave big enough for your fuckable pumpkin, then try putting a candle in it. Just put it at the far end of the pumpkin opposite from the hole so you don't burn the tip of your penis.

Search: how do I keep my cat from pooping in my crawl space
Location: Mountain View, CA

Your options are pretty limited on this one.

1. Seal up your crawl space.
2. Seal up your cat's butthole.
3. Seal your cat up in the crawl space. It will poop in there for a while, but it will stop after a week or two.

Search: pepper on penis
Location: Denver, CO

So do you want to put pepper on the penis or in it? I don't have a problem with sprinkling a little pepper on my penis. In fact, I do it every morning before work to keep things fresh down there. But when you sprinkle it IN my penis, I just don't think that's a very good idea. Unless you're searching for an interview with Dr. Pepper about penises. He seems like he'd be a trustworthy source for penis information.

Search: myspace backdoor
Location: Solon, OH

MySpace may have a lot of error messages and system outages, but they do not have a back door way to get into the system. Their software developers did, however, build a butthole into one of the servers. You can't fuck it, but they'll let you put your pinky in it if you make an appointment.

Search: indian pooping
Location: India

I have a search tip for you. If you're living in India and using the Indian version of google, it seems pretty redundant to search for "indian pooping." You can just search for "pooping."

Search: pooping in India
Location: Oakland, CA

Jesus! Does no one know how to use a fucking search engine? Maybe you should talk to that dude from India searching for Indian pooping. Oh, wait. He doesn't know how to poop in India either. You're both fucked.

Search: hamburger vagina
Location: ?

butterscotch armpit

Search: poop on canada
Location: Aurora, CO

For shame! Canada is our friend. Why on earth would you want to poop on Canada. You poop IN Canada. Not on it.

Search: poop in the butthole
Location: Lombard, IL

Who the hell is trying to poop in your butthole? You need to tell your parents right now! Or a trusted adult like a teacher or pastor. Unless they are the one trying to poop in your butthole. Sick fucks.

Search: vagina gina
Location: ?

Vagina Gina, what's your function?
Taking up dick and dildos and hoses
Vagina Gina, how's that function?
I got three favorite cocks.
That get most of my job done.
Vagina Gina, what's their function?
Filling me up with man juice
They do kind of rock.

Search: suck my balls and sacs
Location: Denver, CO

Your sacs? Plural? You have multiple nutsacks? I can't decide if that's a blessing or a curse.

Search: slim shadyemail him
Location: Dulles, VA

I'm sure Slim Shady, aka Eminem, aka Marshall Mathers, would love you to email him. I'll bet you want to send him some of your dopest rhymes, don't you there, home slice? Want to tell him all about how hard it is getting a used Corolla for your birthday instead of the new BMW you wanted? And how you had to eat meatloaf, among other regular meals, that your white suburban mom made for you instead of eating lobster and sippin' Cristal at the club. Yeah. You go for it. You're gonna make it big, sport. I'm hitching my wagon to your star.

Search: why does menstration stink
Location: Dallas, TX

Because it comes out of the vagina you haven't washed since they canceled ALF.

Search: how to mold a vagina using glue
Location: Kalona, IA

Normally I'd say you'd have a tough time finding some chick that would let you fill her snatch up with Elmer's, but I think I found someone for you, buddy. Fair warning, it ain't gonna smell pretty down there.

Search: What does it mean when feces smells like semen
Location: Melrose, MA

*Rubs forehead in serious thought and sighs at the realization that he is actually going to have to explain this*

It means you were fucked in the ass. With a penis. That ejaculated in your ass. With semen.

Search: close up of beef curtains
Location: MI

Oh! You must be redecorating! How fun!! Well, HGTV's website has a lot of good decorating tips, but I think it would help if you sat down, looked at patterns, and decided what will look best with your beef curtains... Oh, shit. THOSE kind of beef curtains! Sorry, dude. Um... I dunno. Pretty much any porno site in existence?

Search: penis singing set me free
Location: ?

Testify! When the sweet song of a penis sets you free, you feel the weight of the world lifted from your shoulders. Now that you've accepted Jesus as your personal savior and heard the penis singing, you are free. You are reborn. Go into the world and spread the love. Spread the song of the penis.

Search: the underside of my ball sack is cool to the touch why?
Location: Canada

Maybe because you live in Canada and sleep with the window and your legs wide open.

Search: treatment for swollen testicle hit by a ball
Location: India

Whoa! Talk about irony. This is the first case I've ever heard where some dude got knee-nutted by some other dude's balls. So did they get all tangled together when it happened? What happened to the other guy? Does he need help, too? Oh, you unfeeling bastard! You just left that guy laying there writhing in pain in the parking lot at JoAnn Fabrics, didn't you!

Search: dry anal
Location: Chula Vista, CA

Try putting some sawdust and a stick of colored chalk up there.

Search: rub my chest pics
Location: Hays, KS

Ok. *rubs pictures of dude's chest* Now what?

Search: "baked beans" OR "canned baked beans" OR "barbeque baked beans" OR "barbeque beans" OR "barbeque baked beans" OR "barbecue beans" OR "barbecue baked beans" OR "barbque beans" OR "barbque baked beans" OR "barbcue baked beans" OR "barbcue beans" OR "bbq baked beans" OR "bbq beans"
Location: ?

WHAT??!? I'M NOT SURE WHAT YOU'RE SEARCHING FOR! ARE YOU SEARCHING FOR BEANS? WHAT?? BEANS? IS IT BEANS? HUH? NO, I SAID "BEANS!" BEANS!!!!!!!! BEAAAANNNNS, MOTHERFUCKER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Search: minnesota asses
Location: London, KY

Hoo boy. Have you ever been up here, buddy? Mom ass all over the place. It's like thousands of pairs of frozen turkeys stuffed into jeans hiked up over the tits up here. Or maybe that's what you're into.

Search: friday asses
Location: France

I'll bet Friday asses in France are a lot hairier than Thursday asses in Maple Grove.

Search: you pooped
Location: UK

Damn straight. Look out, buddy. I'm coming to your house next.

Search: symptoms for a puppy when he screams urinating or pooping
Location: ?

I think you pretty much described the symptoms right there. He's screaming while he's urinating and pooping. Stop feeding him jacks and G.I. Joe helmets.

Search: pooped during sex
Location: Fairhope, AL

Wow. Just... wow. I'm so sorry. Did she know you did it? If not, there's still time. Just sneak into her house and flip over her sheets. Problem solved.

Search: my cousin showed me how girls pee
Location: San Jose, CA

I'm not sure if you're really grasping the purpose of a search engine, kid. You use it to search for information. Google is not to be used for making announcements about every new discover you make about the female body. If I see a "I got to touch a boob" search from you in ten years, I'm coming over there and beating you with a bookend.

Search: butthole dishes
Location: ?

urethra tea cups

Search: casting penis
Location: Saudi Arabia

Actually this is a pretty good question. How do you cast for the growing number of penis roles in Hollywood? And how do you cast them fairly? And as a penis actor, when do you risk being typecast as a certain type of penis? I think this is why Sven Sundgaard's penis chooses to be jobless instead of being an actor.

Search: losing a testicle inside
Location: ?

Inside what? A Cracker Jack box? The playground? The mall? Help us help you find your testicle.

Search: how to relax poo
Location: Australia

Give it a glass of wine, light some candles, play some soft mood music, and give it a back rub. You're going to need to wash your hands afterward though.

Search: penis wearing out
Location: ?

Give it a little Gatorade and a pep talk.

Search: horrid farting
Location: ?

Oh, wait. Google was right to direct you here.

Search: pain beside scrotum
Location: Chicago, IL

Beside your scrotum??? Like where, the coffee table?

Search: best testicle implants in florida
Location: Miami, FL

Look up Terry Rosenbaum in Tampa. He's won the title of Mr Florida Testicle Implant every year for the last decade. If you give him a call, he'll let you cup them.

Lady and gentlecock
Photo by YanniIf you read this blog regularly, you know that I am a refined man of distinction. You also know that I am a true gentleman at heart. I care a great deal about the delicate sensibilities of the fairer sex, particularly my dearest, the lovely Miss Angela. I feel it is imperative to protect proper ladies such as Angela from the more offensive reports and odors produced by the manly bottom. For this reason, fellow gentlemen, I pass along this maneuver so that you may use it with your wife, significant other, or paramour. No, it is not a sexual maneuver (please, this is a family blog!), but it is a maneuver that will be cherished and appreciated by your bed mate once they realize the suffering from which you have protected them. When you feel a particularly noxious emission of gas pressing for release from your anus, hold the sheets tight to your torso with the arm farthest from her, throw your free arm around her chest to form a tight seal with the sheets against her body, and push in such a manner as to fart. This move will protect your fragile lover from your ass vapors and could very well save your relationship.

P.S. Don't make my mistake. A few moments later, I always forget and lift the covers ever so slightly to excitedly sample my wares. This releases a potent, high velocity stream of methane straight up both of our nostrils, causing her to shriek in horror and knee me in the nuts.

Driving back from northern Minnesota in stony, uncomfortable silence forced me to entertain myself with all means at my disposal. This included sinking to reading the owner's manual for Ang's car. But the more I read, the more enthralled I became. I learned so much about cars and how to drive them that I am now invincible on the road and shall drive that way forever more. Look out, Johnny Left Lane, I'm driving up your tail pipe and spritzing you with lavender!

First, we are introduced to a very important symbol that is used throughout the manual. This circle with a slash through it means, "Do Not," "Do Not do this," or "Do Not let this happen." For example, an artist's rendering of your ass being gang raped prison-style might have one of these on it. Note that I said "might."


This diagram warns that if the seatbelt is not properly buckled, passengers with particularly veiny penises could find their members irreversibly entangled in the straps.


Warning: electric ottoman!


I wasn't really sure what this one meant. Science geeks with snow-capped slopes on their heads ahead???


In the event of a rear-impact crash, a metal rod will impale your baby via the rectum.


This either means that boogers picked while driving should be wiped under the seat or illustrates the proper hand signal for requesting sexual favors from a back seat passenger.


Please, please, PLEASE do not jill off while driving.


Driving is the perfect time to contemplate what a douchebag you've become.


The following three photos illustrate the horrible truth -- auto manufacturers use paralympic medal winners for crash testing purposes. I think I'm going to be sick.






Exhibition of gang signs while buckling of seat belts is strongly discouraged.


Seat belts can be useful for the restraint of particularly raging erections.


Dry humping of steering wheel may cause pregnancy.


When driving by attractive women walking down the street, yell "Unggghhhh... I smell that sandwich baby! Check out my pickle!" while making a jerking motion on the seatbelt.


Children under 12 should never ride in the front seat, particularly if they have no soul.


"We see you when you dream. We know you didn't finish your almond pudding. We see. We know. You die."


Seat belts are useful for restraining step-siblings from exploring each others bodies out of burgeoning sexual curiosity during long trips.


If you have to give your buddy's stoner girlfriend a ride, keep the shoulder belt undone so she can give you road head in exchange for sizzling beef brisket.


This is what it said in the manual word for word: "That's what you get for adopting a brown baby, bitch!" Once again, this car manual has brought tears of pain to my eyes. Love, don't hate, you stupid auto manufacturer!! This car was built on racism, and I'm getting out of it RIGHT NOW! *sound of car door slamming and angry footsteps*


Children in car seats must be monitored at all times, but may be looked at with contempt and disgust.


"God, I wish you had never been born."


Warning: children are anchors that will sink your life to the bottom of an ocean of responsibility and despair.


If gigantic ball appears before you while driving, speak to it calmly in soft tones and ask it to please move aside so that you may see the road.


Air bags are not for practice make out sessions by business men.


"Mmmph! Ohhhh... yeah, daddy like... mmmm... smack."


When purchasing old iMacs at pawn shops, it is recommended that you secure them in the trunk or back seat.


When you no longer love your wife, it is best that you make her ride in the back seat.


Vehicle is not recommended for transport of World War II-era naval mines.


When using car exhaust to commit suicide in garage, please ensure someone will find you within 48 hours to avoid damaging the upholstery. This will retain maximum resale value at the estate sale (which will consist entirely of your death car and the shoe box full of Garbage Pail Kids in the linen closet).


Leaving keys out for children to find, start automobile, and accidentally roll into a lake and drown is pretty indicative of your overall parenting skills.


*glug*


Brace head before using back seat for rough sex.


If you must leave your child alone in the car, trips to the casino on a hot day in July are best. This gives the child time to think about your family history of heart disease and incarceration.


"I have so little to look forward to. And can a motherfucker get some water or a moist towelette over here?"


Should your penis become entangled in the controls, step on it repeatedly.


Driving is complicated!


Please do not operate automobile in prevailing westerlies.


Press middle button to launch heat-seeking missile at the asshole on the phone who just cut you off.


This is how many drinks you can drink and still be ok to drive.


In case of unavoidable impact with deer, turn on your windshield wipers to prepare for the initial gush of blood.


If the deer runs away, accelerate. You may still get to run that fucker down.


Breed.


Breeeeeeeeeeeeeed.


Car comes equipped with everything you need to dismember and dispose of a body.


No, that isn't "the shocker." You're missing a pinky. You know, for the stink.

Despite my many and varied disgusting personal habits involving hygiene and sexual pleasure, I pride myself in drawing a line in the sand over the activity in which I will engage in public. You will never find me caught in the beam of a cop's Mag-Lite cranking away on some butterspread ass on a primary school merry-go-round at 2 in the morning. Nor will you ever find me purposely forcing a prolonged, yet snappy fart in front of others in public. That shit is low class. And you know I'm all about the class up in this sopping 'tang rag. That isn't to say I won't fart in public at all. Sometimes you accidentally let one go, or the gas pains are so intense that you just have to shamefully and quietly slide a hissing butt whisper under the radar. And if there is a place to release the quivering shame, it is in the aisles of a Wal-Mart.

In the summer of 2002, I stopped by Wal-Mart in Eagan on the way home late one night to pick up a few things. As I wandered the aisles, I was overcome with the urgent push of a massive gas pocket roiling about my innards. Being the polite, classy motherfucker that I am, I turned my head an quickly scanned the aisle, felt assured the coast was clear, and unleashed a cacophonic trumpet blast that would have made both Dizzy Gillespie and John Cage proud. As I spun around to move to the next aisle, I nearly tripped over a small boy directly behind me. The look of terror in his saucer-like eyes told the tale. You see, this poor young lad was precisely ass high to a 6-foot Jeremy, far too short for me to see in my hasty pre-fart search for human life. I had released every cubic milliliter of my triumphant ass symphony directly in this child's face.

I took advantage of the boy's stunned, horrified silence (he likely did not dare speak, lest he accidentally inhale and taste the dissipating remnants of my vapors), and hurriedly exited the store before he could cry and run screaming to his mother. His look of shock and fear will be forever burned into my memory, but he is the one that must live with the image of my denim-clad man ass and the rush of warm, moist air flowing through his sinuses and down his throat. He will either grow up to never play in the marching band for fear of being placed next to the tuba, or he will overcome his fear by growing up to enter a twisted world of underground fartatoriums, paying strange men to pass gas his face. And as his tearful mother clutches him to her bosom each night as he cries himself toward restless slumber filled with nightmares of hurricane-force flatus burning, my eyes well with tears. Tears of uncontrolled laughter at the thought of the poor little shit who got a faceful of my thunder.

There comes a time in every man's life when he has a staggering moment of regret. Mine came after leaving the Unique thrift store in Burnsville the other night without bringing home this special little guy. He was curiously stationed in the electronics section nestled snugly between a monotone monitor manufactured in 1982 and a Russian modem that measured bandwidth in bushels and boar tongues. I was immediately infatuated with him, but in my tired, crabby, commerce-worn state, I scoffed at spending yet another $6 for a faded ceramic chimp coin bank. I had taken that photo of him though, and I could not get him out of my head. Oh, shelf chimp, how could I have forsaken you, leaving you to rot amidst frayed serial cables and naked, hairless Barbie dolls macabrely entombed in sandwich baggies? I knew I had to make this right or die trying. What better use of my Friday lunch hour than to rescue my ceramic soul mate?

Shelf chimp (aka "shelf monkey") as I originally found him, coyly tickling his own privates.


The road to shelf monkey was long and arduous. I had to pass a car on the way there. My blinker hand is exhausted.


"Shelf monkeeeeeeey! I'm coming, little buddy! I'm so sorry. So sorry... [sobbing]" (see cell video)


Soon I found myself at the store. I dried my tears, took a deep breath, and rushed inside.


Shelf chimp was no longer in the electronics section at his former post. But I kept the faith, as I assumed that the diligent staff at Unique noticed he had been misplaced and returned him to the sea of random shit in the middle of the store. Like this multicultural paint. One could use this Olive shade to paint a portrait of a Greek fellow eating some pie.


I wandered the aisles for what seemed like an eternity. Oh where are you, shelf chimp. WHERE ARE YOU!!?? Oh, hey, astronaut diapers. Fuckin' A! *throws in cart*


In the very center aisle of the store and in the very center of the aisle, with a florescent light showing on him with a glow like the aura of an angel, I saw him. He looked at me, fingered his pee pee, and I smiled. I had found him. I had found my precious shelf chimp.


Gently, I took him into my arms. He whimpered softly, and I wrapped him in a tuxedo shirt like the sweet baby Jesus in swaddling clothes.


Shelf chimp, or shelf monkey, or whatever the fuck you are, you are mine, and I love you like no other, you crazy, fucked up piggy bank thing, you.

Every time I head over to Lake Phalen, I see this ponderously worded sign sitting at the corner of East 7th St and Arcade in St Paul. I'm not sure if I should be baffled by the meandering verbiage or impressed about how they fit it all into the sign. I'm guessing they did run out of letters, though, since the 'A' in "TRAILER" appears to be made from capris Barbie pants. And I need to also point out that their "TACOS" went slightly out of the margins.

"EX OWNERS MADE
ABOUT $5000 EVERY
WEEKEND SELLING TACOS
OUT OF A TR[small pants]ILER HERE"

Five large every fucking weekend? Dude, that's over a quarter of a mill a year! Why would you give that up? Something is fishy here. I call bullshit or at least bullshit by omission. Maybe they made 5k every weekend for about a month in 1994 when some fat taco-craving motherfucker lived across the street. He'd waddle over about once an hour, order a sack of shelled beef, and then slide home on the trail of greasy sweat he left behind. Or maybe they pulled in that amount consistently for years, but the mob's cut was $2500 and a churro. Nobody gives up $5000 a weekend, especially in a cash-based business, unless something went south. Maybe they couldn't make the payments on their taco trailer or the health department caught them putting their beef into used, yellow, crunchy Huggies instead of corn tortillas.

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.

Dear rape,

Not me.

Sincerely,

Jeremy

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!

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."

the meow.

Love,

Jeremy

Salutations and greetings, fine ladies and gentleman! My name is Doctor Phineas L. Shiningbock. I have studied many and varied medicines and their effects on the purification of the body's humors for two score and a dodo's age. Allow me to vociferate the joyous wonders of my new miracle powder, winner of the Most Invigorating New Medical Dusticant award at the 1894 World's Fair in Chicago. This marvel of which I so effervescently orate is, of course, Doctor Phineas L. Shiningbock's Medical Cocaine Powder.

Doctor Phineas L. Shiningbock's Medical Cocaine Powder will infuse the limbs with strength and agility, will roil your blood to your very pith, and will send your spirit soaring through the air as does the noble eagle toward the sun. Ladies and men alike shall also experience an increase in the carnal appetites, leading to a lifetime of sure and stout childstock. Yes, friends, you will find that you have never known a baby so bright, bubbly, and hardy as a cocaine baby!

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deer daddee you shunt tuch momee down there cuz it herts her. i noe cuz she screem loud wen yoo poot yer weener in her liek that. how wood yoo liek it if i poot mie arm in yer but you wunt liek it too mutch no way dood! an yoo shunt poot yer face doun ther eether dadee cuz thats wer momee maeks tinkle and it herts her too agin screemn. an didjoo noe theres a thing in yor drawr that looks liek a weener eksept is a lot bigger then yer weener an it wiggels wen i poosh teh butten liek this an sownds liek VRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR! wie yoo hav a weener in ther. yoo have too weeners now an thats silleee! daddee luv yoo bie!!!!

by Jeremy

My favorite penis is definitely from May, 1976. I discovered this penis before I was able to walk, and it's been number one in my heart ever since! You can just tell that guy's the kind of penis you want to have a beer with. He's also a jokester. I remember him talking about spraying mayonnaise onto a woman's neck in a public restroom in Green Bay. It's my dream to someday meet that penis from May, 1976. I just need to lose another 5 or 10 pounds so I can see it. You can be sure I'll shake his hand vigorously and at great length. I'll never let go!

Each month we ask someone to tell us about their favorite penis. Who's your favorite? Tell us about it. If we publish your submission in next month's issue, you'll get a signed photograph from that penis!

Seriously, what's with this crap, man? Ever since I started taking these pills, instead of being in my normal state of nearly constant low-level horndoggedness with gentle, swaying updrafts of arousal and occasional eddies of sexual indifference, I'm now usually stuck in the eddies with sudden ice storms of carnal thunder (yeah, I think these analogies are pretty awful, too). And when these sudden and drastic upswings happen, it's IMMEDIATE and such that I could drive a lawnmower blade through an oak tree with this thing. And then it takes forever to finish my business. FOREVER! I even have to give up sometimes. I was taught not to be quitter, but honest to God I need to keep some skin down there. And that, my friends, is total bullshit.

Here's a screen capture from an ancient sex ed video I stumbled across on YouTube (ok, so I was looking specifically for ancient sex ed videos, as I enjoy a good angry yank to them). This section of the video outlines what a filly should do during her ruby rain. But what I don't understand is whether these are examples of things you may do while menstruating, or if they are mandatory. I'm not too clear on all that complicated 'gina shit.



DO

• Bathe or shower - Yes, please continue to do this, ladies! Nothing is worse than a crabby, bloated chick who stinks like armpit from 20 rods out.
• Wash hair - I don't understand why you would think you couldn't wash your hair during your period. Even if your gushing vagina turned into some sort of mogwai that will reproduce if you get it wet, you could still just stick your head under a faucet and put a hefty bag on your snatch or something.
  
• Swim - Hey, if you trust that tampon, that's cool, but if you're swimming in my pool, I'm going to ask you to shove a couple sheets of extra absorbent Bounty up there as an added measure of protection.
  
• Dance - Dance like nobody's watching! If you don't mind people staring. You're looking kind of fat today.
  
• Picnic - Absolutely! Nothing says "Let's throw out a plaid blanket on a grassy hillside and snack on cold cut sandwiches and sun-warmed potato salad" like your old pal menses. Hope your picnic blanket is a dark color!
  

DO MODERATELY

• Skate - I'm not sure why you should cut back on the skating. Does all that vibration knock around your lady junk?
  
• Ride horseback - This one isn't so much for you as the horse. Poor Mr Sugarcube can't wash his own back if you spew 'tang blood all over it while galloping down a sandy beach in slow motion.
  
• Play fast games - What, like chicken with a couple Ford Mustangs? Speed sudoku?
  
• Square dance - Now wait one minute! You fuckers just told the ladies they could dance all they wanted! So they can break dance but not square dance? What about flashdancing? Or is that categorized as taking a shower?

I'm astonished they were remiss in their lack of a list of things not to do, so allow me to suggest my own.

DO NOT

• Make bloody "kiss" prints with your vagina on random pages from books you checked out from the public library or borrowed from friends.
• Convince me to give you head by telling me you just washed down there and hid some Rolos up inside your bat cave.
• Do that trick with the ping pong balls shooting all over the place.