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:

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.

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.

Ang and I met up with Coco, Max, and Lesley at Unique at Rice and Larpenteur in St Paul on Friday. Coco, who is currently in search of a job (i.e. she has too much time on her hands, and you really should hire her), made me a fake wrinkly nutsack, replete with a pair of rubber band-covered testes. I have to admit I was a bit taken aback when she plopped this squishy, rubbery man sack into my hands.

But then I got over it.

Is it ironic for a box to lick a pair of balls, or is it just unusual?


Rubbery balls with a candle penis. And a donkey and a little girl for some reason.


While Ang and Lesley looked at dresses, the rest of us got into the wigs.


Oh! Where's your finger?


A purple monkey watches as an effeminate young boy and a gassy girl take a dump in a rose bush. No wonder it blooms so brightly.


Creepy boy-doctor looks down Barbi's strapless dress for a long gander at her breasts, at least what remains of them above the point where the car accident lopped off the rest of her body. "Yeah, Dr. Lovespoon likes to listen to his own cock with the stethoscope while he does his thing. You may have only half a rack, but it's the right half, baby."

Moblog: KARE11 Metromix launch party at The Independent

Those wacky WCCO personalities are at it again. First, meteorologist Mike Fairbourne dared to ask hard questions about the true impact of humans on global warming, now Jason DeRusha insists that humans evolved from apes. Apes, DeRusha? You silly, television word saying guy! I'd splash you with holy water, but I fear it would leave a burn scar on your forehead. You wouldn't be so teevee purty no more, college boy.

In a startling and devastating mid-morning Sunday attack, 5 giddy men armed with bouquets of flowers and smiley face balloons, burst out of the back of an ice cream truck and lit up the lives of 57 people.

"It was just awful," said Martha Rahntz of Inver Grove Heights. "One minute my husband and I are buying tomatoes, and the next minute we have daisies and tiger lilies pushed into our hands and are hugged by these... lunatics."

The men, whose race and national origin we are not reporting because they aren't white, and if we tell you, some jerk off will totally think we're racist, emptied 12 full bouquets and 15 balloons into the crowd. Even children weren't spared from the horror. One of the terrorists was spotted painting sparkly rainbows and unicorns onto the cheeks of several small children.

St Paul police officers were on the scene less than 3 minutes after the first emergency call to 911, but they refused to take the smiling, friendly men into custody. "Uh... I'm not sure I see what the problem is," one unidentified officer was heard to comment. He was then hugged by one of the men and was handed an ice cream sandwich.

St Paul Farmers Market organizers say it will be open this weekend, however all sellers and customers will be required to pass through a series of balloon and mirth detectors.

In the early morning hours, over my lunch break, and after work on Thursday, I drove all over the south metro's craft stores, toy stores, and dollar stores looking for bags of babies. Plastic babies, that is. I wanted to find small, inexpensive plastic babies in bulk. This is related to a (hopefully) fun activity that will be occurring on my 32nd birthday, which is tomorrow. At the excellent suggestion of an employee at Toys R Us in Burnsville, I stopped at a party supply store after work.

Luckily there is a Party America store in Eagan about 10 minutes from my house. I searched nearly every aisle and came up empty. I was about ready to leave, when I spotted the baby shower section. As I entered the aisle, I immediately spotted little bags full of tiny inch-tall plastic babies. Perfect!! Better yet, they were very reasonably priced. On one hook, there were bags of little white babies, and on the hook below it were little black babies. Sweet! I definitely wanted some of both. I grabbed a few bags of white babies, and as I bent down farther to retrieve the black babies, I noticed there was a sticker over the price indicating that the black babies were on clearance. "Hey, folks. So nobody wants these black babies, so we're going to cut the price by 30%" Uhhhmmm... thanks, I guess?

I proceeded to the front to check out, and the blond cashier warned me, "Just so you know, since these [holding up a bag of black babies] are clearance items, you can't return them. You can return these [holds up white babies] though." I indicated that was fine, paid for my purchase, and walked out the door, pondering the social implications of saving $5 because some racist motherfuckers weren't willing to take in helpless little black babies stuffed into a plastic bag.

Moblog: Ace Hardware off Cty Rd 50 in Lakeville.

Our nation's faltering economy isn't only impacting modest, hardworking folk, it's cutting a huge swath across the local blogging community, as well. Many bloggers, struggling to make payments on questionable mortgages with skyrocketing adjustable rates, have logged into their blog admin pages to find their administrative account password has been changed and a foreclosure notice taped onto the login screen.


Map of blog foreclosures in northeast Minneapolis in 2007. Source: Star TribuneIn 2007, there were 532 blogs foreclosures in Minneapolis alone. So far in the first half of 2008, there have been over 550. A large percentage of those foreclosures were a result of homeowners struggling to make huge payments on blog loans, better known as blortgages, with skyrocketing adjustable rates. Experts consider many of these individuals to be victims of predatory lending practices by unscrupulous blortgage firms who went to great lengths to hide the true terms of the loans from borrowers.

Cynthia Odegaard, former operator of the locally-focused food blog Morsels Melting in My Mouth in Minneapolis, lost her website to the bank when she could no longer make her loan payments. "I feel like such a fool, " said Odegaard from her modern condominium overlooking Lake Calhoun. "I wanted to make some improvements [to my blog] -- get my own domain name, put in some hardwood backgrounds and granite headers, that sort of stuff. I had all this equity built up, and the way [blog] values were skyrocketing, I thought it would be an investment in my future."


In late 2007, Cynthia Odegaard arrived at her blog to find this foreclosure notice.Six months after paying nearly $27 in fees for a $150 blog equity loan, Odegaard's full-time job as a senior marketing executive began taking up more of her day, leaving her less time to blog. Her readership dropped by half, and so did her ad revenue. "My Google AdWords panels weren't bringing in enough for my loan payments anymore." Odegaard kept up with the payments for another several months, but when her loan rate increased by 3%, she started missing payments. "I had to make a choice. I could have Starbucks 5 times a week instead of 6, or I could keep my blog." She chose Starbucks.

In February, Morsels melting in My Mouth in Minneapolis was auctioned off by Cynthia Odegaard's bank. The winning bid was submitted by a Little Canada family who later converted it into a Christian-oriented knitting blog called Needle Little Faith. "I surfed by it the other day," sad Odegaard, tears running down her cheeks. "It was like landing on an alien planet. It just didn't seem like anything that was ever mine." Asked if she will ever own her own blog again, she replied, "I don't see that happening anytime in the near future. It's more than financial, it's emotional." She is currently searching for a rental blog.

I'm blogging to you live from the cf.Objective() conference at the Crowne Plaza in beautifully overcast downtown St Paul. There are a lot of nerds here. I keep searching the room for the hugest nerd, but I can't see -- oh, wait. OH. MY. GOD. Look at that dude! Ha ha! Oh, who dressed you, Sparky, your mom? Oh, Lordy I -- oh, that's a mirror. *cough*

UPDATE 9:47 AM: Well, the conference is off to an interesting (and hopefully not unfortunate) start. I didn't quite see what or who went down, but someone a couple of rows directly in front of me had a medical emergency during the keynote in the ballroom. They have cleared the room to give the ambulance crew room to work. Hope the person is OK.

UPDATE #2: Dude that collapsed during keynote evidently was OK. He walked out of the room on his own.

I was quite intrigued earlier this month when our local CBS station, WCCO, announced their plans for a local ad network for bloggers. I applied immediately, thinking to myself that I'd probably be rejected due to the typically vulgar nature of my posts. However, I was still excited about the prospect of bringing in a little extra cash. Soon after the announcement, I learned that Max Sparber had his personal blog summarily rejected by the ad network for its "risque" content and lack of Twin Cities-related posts. This came as a surprise to me, as Max's spotlights on unusual books, vinyl records, strange foods, and photo tours are frequently related to Minnesota-based authors, musicians, stores, and points of interest respectively. As for his bawdier posts, they usually consist of ribald poetry, limericks, and reviews of tawdry, sometimes exploitative films in the public domain. Max's adult humor in such posts tends toward an almost vaudevillian, wink-and-a-nod style that, while subversive, isn't what I'd consider obscene.

The next day, in a rather contentious MNspeak thread about The Rake, it was suggested that The Rake should start up its own blog ad network. Still puzzled over the seemingly unfair exclusion of Max's blog, I expressed in the thread that The Rake, given its edgier content, might be a better facilitator of a more tolerant local blog ad network. I kind of put my foot in my mouth with part of my comment, as I assumed that if they were rejecting him for inappropriate and non-local content, then surely almost every damn blog in the Twin Cities would be rejected. Jason DeRusha contacted me directly to tell me that as far as he knew, that Max's was one of only two blogs rejected by WCCO's ad network. Back in the thread, he informed me that he believed mine had been accepted. That sent Sparber off the deep end, and understandably so.

Assuming they reviewed our blogs between April 11th (the date of the WCCO announcement) and April 15th, 2008 (the date I was informed by DeRusha that my blog had been accepted), and only looked at the front page, here is a sampling of what they would have seen:

Afterglide
A Photoshopped image of the inside of a man's asshole on a Google map.

A review of a hot beef sandwich in Lakeville.

Illustrations from a childrens book with commentary containing jokes involving raspberry-flavored ejaculate, the f-word, sucking semen through a straw out of a man's rectum, a dildo made of fresh ginger, ejaculate sandwiches, and a child performing oral sex.

Obscene and/or adult content: 66%
Obscenity threat level: RED
Local content: 33%

Sparber Fans
A review of natural herb bitters.

A vinyl oddity.

A collection of bawdy verse, including at least one reference to masturbation.

A review of a book about the history of Minneapolis' skid row.

More bawdy verse, including references to necrophilia.

A collection of silly smiles mocking a goofy looking fellow on an album cover.

Bawdy verse again, this time with Ben Franklin spanking the ladies.

A review of some Jamaican cookies and information about a deli in St Anthony.

A vinyl oddity about a former Minnesota state senator and his wacky troupe.

Bawdy verse, including a Scotsman's dick winning first prize.

A photo essay about Porky's Drive-In in St Paul.

A review of a cheesy pulp female spy book.

A review of some awful spaghetti candy.

(Jesus Christ, Max, write much?)

Obscene and/or adult content: 30%
Obscenity threat level: YELLOW
Local content: 23%

Again, focusing strictly on this sampling and ratios, while I do have slightly more local content, I clearly am off the charts with inappropriate material in both volume and severity. So how on earth could my blog get accepted, while Max's did not?

There are myriad problems with the selection process for this blog network. First, as I understand it, this ad network is being run by a third party, with whom WCCO contracts. Is this third party the one evaluating blog content? How is an out-of-state employee of a company with no discernible connection to Minnesota going to properly evaluate whether content is local? Or perhaps someone over at WCCO is doing this? What are their criteria for what is "local enough." What constitutes obscenity? How much of the site are they reviewing? Only the front page? If so, for blogs that post once or even multiple times a day, how good of a content sample is a half-dozen entries?

Now here's the kicker. Yesterday I received an email telling me officially that my blog had been accepted. I told Max, which roiled his humours again, and he fired off another complaint to WCCO citing examples and comparisons, including several aforementioned posts from our blogs. It wasn't much later that I received a new email telling me that my blog had been rejected due to no "relevant matching content." One could surmise that they re-reviewed my blog, slapped their heads in horror, and yanked my approval. Did they even look at it the first time? And what is relevent matching content? Is that their murky cop out phrase used in an attempt to dissuade me from raising hell about their arbitary and unevenly applied standards like Max did?

So what is my actual complaint? It certainly isn't that I was rejected. I had expected that from the starting gate. But don't have some half-asleep intern give my blog the passive "sounds good!" seal of approval, review his work, then wake him up to come back and kick me in the heavy bag without giving me a specific reason. Tell us what you expect, evaluate all of the content thoroughly and fairly, and everyone will be a lot happier.

More oddities from our visit to Unique Thrift in St Paul a couple of weeks ago. This happy little thing came with a mysterious inoperative button labeled "Re-Birth." In the belly was some sort of hatch containing a plastic ball of some sort. Despite our futile, frantic pressing of the Re-Birth button and attempts to pry open the belly hatch, we couldn't get at the secret egg ball baby. So we forced it to do dirty things instead.

I work in Lakeville, where quick lunchtime dining options are fairly limited. Once you've run the gamut of sandwich, pizza, and fast food chains, you need to break the monotony now and then with a sit-down restaurant. Babe's is on our list of such destinations. It's not terribly far from our office, but unfortunately it seems like their service is a little spotty. Sometimes it's spot on, and other times it seemed to take forever to get our food, or they screw up the orders. On one visit, they brought out completely wrong dishes for two of the three people in our party. To their credit, they were more than willing to prepare new orders (though we opted to eat what was served to us so we could get back to work), and took a good portion of those meals off of our tab.

So why do we keep going back? Honestly, the food is good, and their lunch special prices are quite reasonable. Plus, I've slowly been working my way toward trying a curiously named sandwich called the Hot Beef Commercial. Apparently this sandwich, or at least the name for it, is a Minnesota thing, though none of my Minnesota-born coworkers had heard of it. Only one of my friends was familiar with it from her days as a waitress. Basically it's a hot beef sandwich smothered in mashed potatoes and gravy. I still have no idea why it's called a Hot Beef Commercial, however. Sounds like an advertisement for a gay chat line or commercial-grade heated cow meat.

Description of a Hot Beef Commercial on the Babe's menu.


Now I figured as much, but for as unusual as the name is, the sandwich really was quite delicious. Beef, gravy, and potatoes are pretty iffy dishes for a lot of restaurants. Some joints have mashed potatoes that taste like they're made from flakes, overcooked or chewy beef, and gravy that tastes like it was made in a school cafeteria the day before. But Babe's dropped a tasty HBC on my ass. The bread was perfectly light and fluffy, but robust enough not to turn into a flat, soggy mess when soaked in gravy, which itself was thick, smooth, and flavorful. The beef was tender and moist, and the mashed potatoes were whipped to the right consistency and clearly made with real potatoes.





That, my friend, is one hot beef!


I give the $6.99 Hot Beef Commercial at Babe's a whimsical thumbs up.

Yesterday Max and Eda Cherry asked us if we wanted to meet up at Unique Thrift Store on Rice St in St Paul. We're almost always up for a good thrift store run, so we cleaned ourselves up by dabbing our bodies with moist sponges and hopped in the car, windows open, wind in our hair. As you may have seen in yesterday's post, I discovered a Mr Magoo doll whose cane needed rearranging. By quickly tucking the handle of his cane under his shirt, I gave the lucky Magoo a lengthy deer penis. As you can see, he really enjoyed having it sucked by this disembodied head's pouty lips.

"Ohhh! Ahhhuhhhhhh... that's nice!"


If touching means learning, then I am the smartest man in the world. But enough with the animal talking, get to the animal touching.


Max purchased this massage device that you attach to the hand to make it vibrate. It's called a Super Douglas Vibrator. He immediately disappeared into a back room and emerged 2 hours later drenched in sweat.


It was also Max who discovered one of the most disgusting things I have ever laid my eyes on. He summoned me over to the end of a shelf on the far end of the store, telling me about an apparently unwashed breast pump he found. Neither of us knew the full extent of the horror.

Max laughed as he pulled the cup of the pump out of its case. This cell photo doesn't show it very well, but it's covered in white, milky dried splotches.


We got more than we bargained for, however, when I decided to probe the contents of the case further and pulled out one of the bottles. "HUNNGHHHHH!!!! NO!" At the bottom of the filthy bottles was a pool of dark, rotten breast milk. Max quietly walked away to be sick in private, while I gagged aloud. I knew I had to get a photo though, so I braved it long enough to snap a couple of blurry shots, then collapsed in a pile of tears and churning nausea.


There are so many questions raised by this breast pump. Wouldn't the people donating it at least rinse it out with warm water or maybe some Hi-C? Did the thrift store employees even open this fucking thing before they set it out on the shelf to be sold to an unsuspecting member of the public? And if they did open it, did they see this mess and not want to deal with it? If so, wouldn't you just throw the damned thing away? Or perhaps breast milk cheese has a high market value. But this isn't even cheese; it's slimy black mold with a milky core. God help us all.

Moblog: Unique in St Paul

Yesterday Ang announced that she wanted to go to Valu Thrift Store at Sun Ray in St Paul. I had hoped to just sit on my ass all day, but considering I found a lovable little guy called Shelf Chimp at Unique, their sister store in Burnsville, I couldn't possibly say no to tagging along. Alas, there was nothing as spectacular as Shelf Chimp, but there were plenty of smaller curiosities.

One shelf was full of creams, perfumes, ointments, shampoos, perms, and makeup. The labels seemed to indicate that they had either been discontinued by the manufacturer and unloaded onto various thrift stores or that someone found a bunch of products that expired circa Mork & Mindy and decided to endanger one or two people by giving it away rather than endanger the environment at large by throwing it away.

Impact Volume Retention Perm's label says "For looks that demand attention." For hair so high that potential johns can see you from three blocks away. Warning: not for use on public hair. 70s bush is one thing, but no one wants Spanish Inquisition bush.


On the topmost shelf, there were about a half-dozen or so flowery bottles of Breast Friend brand Premenstrual Breast Creme, which apparently was manufactured for a company based in Woodbury, MN. Apparently this product "Encourages regular Breast Care."


The side label:
The Breast Friend line of products is the only one specifically formulated to promote breast self-examinations and breast care.

Breast Friend Premenstrual Creme encourages women of all ages to develop a routine of regular breast care.

How does it do that? By just having this statement on the box? "You've been encouraged!" Or does constantly buying this cream and developing a routine of slathering it on their breasts help women make a mental connection between the cream and the self-exam?

A portion of the profits from the sale of this product will benefit Breast Cancer Research and Breast Cancer Awareness Programs.

I'm not implying this company's intentions weren't good -- and given that my mom is a breast cancer survivor, this is a subject of concern to me -- but these kind of statements on products claiming to give money to a cause are irksome. "A portion" can pretty much mean whatever they want it to mean. Twenty-five percent? Ten percent? One-sixth of a percent? If you're committed to a cause, give us a concrete value.

On the another side of the label comes this:
DIRECTIONS: Apply an ample amount of creme to each breast using a slow circular motion. Repeat as often as desired. Wash hands immediately after use.

Should you notice any changes in the breast before or during your menstrual cycle, complete a thorough breast self-exam after your menstrual cycle is completed using Breast Friend Shower Gel or Moisturizing Lotion. If you detect any abnormalities contact your physician immediately.

Breast Friend is not a substitute for an annual medical examination by a physician. It is recommended that you have annual mammograms. Use of this product will not prevent the development of or guarantee the discovery of any abnormalities.

Then why use it? How it is of more value than regular moisturizing lotion or a cooling cream? I'm willing to bet most women who saw this product on store shelves or wherever it was sold asked themselves those very questions and left it where they found it.

CAUTION: Avoid the vaginal area. Adult use only. For external use only. Keep out of reach of children. Wash hands after application. Avoid eye contact.

First, I will NEVER avoid the vaginal area. And why avoid eye contact? Is it because of the shame brought on by using such a silly-ass product? I also have grave concerns over a topical cream where women are instructed to rub it all over their breasts but repeatedly warned to get the shit off of their hands as soon as possible after they're done.

"My little angel, would you help mommy apply her Breast Friend?"


"Intrstd Chipmunk iz Intrstd"


Barbie looked lonely, so I gave her a friend.

Today's discussion on MNspeak turned to a news story about the man who slipped into the Minnesota Homeland Security and Emergency Management office in St Paul through an unlocked door. Now I know what you're thinking, how very ironic that a man would find an unlocked door to get into the fucking Minnesota Homeland SECURITY office, but tut tut tut my pet. Quiet your mind for a second and prepare for the best part of this story. The man didn't steal office equipment. He didn't steal vital files. He just took a dump. Or rather, several dumps in multiple rooms. On the floor. Yes, he pooped on the floor, friends.


In this dramatized surveillance video screen capture, the Mad Shitter lays down some grease in the lobby.

And I know what you're thinking now. "That's rather curious, Jeremy. Doesn't Ang live in St Paul near downtown?" Now wait just a minute here! I talk the talk, but I do not rock my deuces onto the floor. I've said it a thousand times, but I'll lay it out for you again. I love to talk about poop, but I do not like to:

- Look at it
- Smell it
- Touch it
- Taste it
- Think about it

Poop is funny in theory, not in practice. And in this case, it happened somewhere else, so to me, it's theory. You hear me? I DID NOT SHIT ON THE FLOOR IN THAT BUILDING!!!

*knock on the door*

Police officer: Are you Jeremy Q. Afterglide?

JQA: Yes, can I help you?

PO: Mr Afterglide, a man was caught on security tapes defecating on the floor of a state office building in St Paul. We had several hundred calls indicating that you might know something about that.

JQA: What? Me?

PO: We're well aware of your history of fascination with poop, pooping on things, pooping on people, pooping in their food, creating artwork with poop, pooping underwa--

JQA: Ok, ok. I get the picture. I absolutely didn't do it though.

PO: Ok then where were you on Sunday afternoon at 1:30 pm?

JQA: I was at my girlfriend's place. Let's see... around that time I either would have been working on a project for my job or playing a video game, Mario Party 8 on the Wii to be exact. I don't remember when I started playing the game.

PO: I see. Can your girlfriend vouch for that?

JQA: Well, she left around 12:30 or so to go shopping with some of her friends.

PO: And how long was she gone?

JQA: It was between 7 and 7:30 that night.

PO: That's unfortunate for you, sir. Did you poop during that time?

JQA: I sure did. Boy, did I ever!

PO: At the offices of the Minnesota Homeland Security and Emergency Management?

JQA: Hey! No way, man! I told you, I was at my girlfriend's place.

PO: So you pooped on the floor at your girlfriend's place. Was she upset?

JQA: No, I--where are you getting this. No, I did not and never have pooped in that building, even in the toilet.

PO: So you pooped on the floor where we found it.

JQA: [exasperated sigh] Look, I know what you're trying to do. I watch Law & Order. You're trying to trip me up, get me all mixed up so you can catch me in a lie. Well, I'm not lying. I am an honest, tax paying, legal shitter. I shit where I'm allowed. I always flush, and if plug the toilet, I unplug it myself or ask for help.

PO: Help?

JQA: Sometimes there's not a plunger, and you need someone to bring you one. Or a coat hanger or Liquid Drano or something.

PO: That's fine, Mr Afterglide. Just one more question, sir. Did you pay someone to poop on that floor?

JQA: I'm sorry, but I don't like where this is going. If you want to ask more questions, you'll have to talk to my lawyer.

You be the judge. See Corey Feldman-less Strib article.