Why I probably shouldn't be allowed near children, part 82 in a series.
Boy #1: Can my dog Lulu play with your dog?
Me: Um - I don't know. My dog sometimes fights with other girl dogs.
Boy #1: How can she tell that it's another girl dog?
Me: I'm not sure. I guess it's when they get up close and sniff each other's bums. They get a fair front row view, so....
Boy #1: Heh.
Me: Yeah.
Boy #1: Bum sniffing.
Me: Yeah, I know.
Boy #1: Our other dog Bunny? She sometimes goes up to Lulu's bum and licks it.
Me: Right.
Boy #2: Right after Lulu's done a poo.
Me: That's not very nice, is it?
Boy #1: No.
Me: Then again, you never know. It might be great. It might taste like chocolate.
Boy #1: (looking rightfully dubious) Poo?
Me: Possibly. I doubt I'll ever find out, though.
Boy #2: Why not?
Me: Because it might not taste like chocolate. It might taste like poo. And then I will have licked poo.
*thoughtful silence*
Boy #1: But what if it tastes like chocolate?
Me: I'm not sure I'm game to delve deeper. How about you try first and then tell me?
Boy #1: (riding bike in opposite direction) No thank you.
*longer pause*
Boy #2: Do you want to know what flavour chocolate I ate today?
Me: What?
Boy #2: Coconut.
*longest pause yet*
Me: .....cool.
Comments
Unfortunately, she proudly exclaimed to all who entered that his name was 'BIG PENIS!'.
When pressed, she then told them that 'mummy told her to say it'.
...
Kids these days, am I right?
Does anyone know?
If poo tasted like chocolate, would people still like it so much?
Meh, where are the Mythbusters when you need them.
Ms Fits is far too small for breeding. She'd have to have a cesarean, and I don't think she'd be up for that at all. Anyway, it's clogs-to-clogs in three generations; the kid would end up a junkie or selling 'Big Issue'. And she's getting old. But apart from all that she'd probably do OK as a parent, certainly as well as any other early GY'er. Which is to say badly, but you get the point I'm sure.
I think Fits' age puts her firmly inside the boundaries of Generation X."
I was trying to be NICE, you fool.
wow!
I'll just get my Zimmer frame and be leaving. Slowly.
is it just me or do comments 'the kid would end up a junkie or selling 'Big Issue'.
And she's getting old.'
smack of not nice?
Fits - s'bit late to be suggesting you should be kept away from kids, given that you bash-out your ramblings and musings on poo and other burning topics to the nation's youth every morning. Someone call Child Protection, stat!
Could we leave the Gen-Y insults out of this one please...?
I come here for refuge, not to be used a general term of abuse!
Was walking to uni today and I saw somebody with a parasol, and I think (even though I guess it's quite hot today) 'Who the fuck has a parasol these days?' and at the exact moment that this thought crossed my mind, a bird shat on my head.
squib said...
"You know those TV shows where they make people eat things like fly smoothies for a chance to win some money - have they tried the whole poo thing?"
Divine — the 300-pound transvestite in John Waters's film "Female Trouble" — eats an actual dog shit on camera, scooping it off the pavement with a biscuit (from memory) - in a continuous, unedited shot from the moment of canine defecation to human ingestion.
Anyway.
I just did a minor op on a chippie who shot himself through the forearm with a nail from one of those nail gun thingies.
But get this, while I'm compressing the site around the entry wound so that he won't bleed to death, with the fucking nail coming out of his arm still, and with a nurse banging around the surgery looking for sterile water and gauze and stuff, the chippie starts yelling: "Fuck, you're hurting me. Fuck, you're hurting me.."
And fair enough.
So, he pushed me away (I'm a strapping 90 pounds at 5' 7" in my bowling shoes) - and then grabs the nail between his index and middle finger curled in a fist, and pulls it out.
Like, he goes: “Hu-huuuuhhhhhh!” And pulls it out.
Now he's bleeding big time. In long, carmine spurts across the room.
I start seriously thinking he's gonna be fucking awkward to tranquilize under the circumstances. Instead, he becomes calm as a nun in vespers - and lets us compress, clean and stitch it.
I gave him a tetanus booster - and he'll need some plastic surgery.
So, I get on this blog - and you're all talking eating dog shit.
You see?
we can't help it.
*feeling sick now*
Melbourne's Western Treatment Plant for sewage reports suspended solids 400 megalitres in the plant at any one time.
The Western Treatment Plant takes care of about half Melbourne's poo.
So, there's about 800 megalitres lying around just inside the two main treatment plants right now.
Lotta chocolate.
So you associate knowledge of coprophagia with being a sophisticated internet user? I certainly hope you don’t have access to children.
That's a good point. A 'long pause' implies a state of spatial and temporal inertia.
An 'awkward silence' carries with it the possibility of sideways everted glances, nervous foot shuffling, tight mouths, that sort of thing.
More stage direction in that, I think. So, good point Josh.
Imagine what fun it could have been otherwise!
Sterile water? Surely you mean normal saline, you fucking quack. You'll never get to hack your way into Ms Fits' pregnant belly with that sort of incompetence on your record! Where do you practice, Queensland Health?
It is most likely methane gas in poos that makes them float, produced by various commensal species of bacteria in the gut such as Escherichia coli.
Such gas, trapped within the biophysical matrix of the floater includes N2, O2, CO2, H2 and CH4 otherwise known as methane.
Interestingly, the characteristic odor of feces is due to relatively small quantities of other gases, especially H2S, Hydrogen sulfide, which is why both sinkers and floaters stink.
“Hu-huuuuhhhhhh!”
distilled
'Political Correctness is a doctrine fostered by a delusional minority and supported by the mainstream media, which holds forth the proposition that it is entirely possible to pick up a turd by the clean end.'
Now instead I might have a new thought like I could use this if I got a nail in my arm
On the condition that at least one in five doing so is constipated.
What unbelievably quackery we are being subjected to today! Turds float due to their fat content! They are fatty! It has nothing to do with gas! It's the gas that is responsible for the stench! Farts and turd gas stink like they do because they contain hydrogen sulphide! Which comes from the germs! Idiots.
What happened to Friday q and a?
have you got children
being nosey yes.... but what's behind that bold and kind of sad statement?
That is probably true, too. Except lots of turds sink.
How do you explain that, huh? Huh, c'mon?
Hey? I wonder if the kids could do that school experiment with the heated milk bottle and the hard-boiled egg? You know, you jamb the egg into the neck of the hot milk bottle, and as it cools, the air pressure inside drops and pop!
The egg goes in the bottle!
Maybe a nice, fatty, well formed poo instead?
Scarlett Johansson. Five bucks.
Okay, free.
I'm sure there's some sort of crazy dieting idea floating (!) around in that somewhere.
speaking of brown stuff...there's nothing wrong with decent poo conversation, what's wrong is when people get embarrassed by it as though they've never done one.
Oops, busted…
*tee hee*
"Like, he goes: “Hu-huuuuhhhhhh!” And pulls it out.
Now he's bleeding big time. In long, carmine spurts across the room. "
/All in a day's work?
//Me hat, I tips it.
"Eh, Carmine, git yo ass ovuh heeyah and help us get dis bahdy in da trunk uv da coah"
Awesome story. A lithe, pithy doctor of indeterminate gender? You can remove my nails anytime, baby...I'll be your Mamdouh Habib if you'll be my Guantanamo Bay.
As a measure of my blooming love, I present the glory that is Goatse:
and a warning to you, my possibly fair medic: look no further lest you bring ruin to your most-likely-somewhat-beautiful eyes.
As if!
This question begged, then sat, played dead and rolled over.
Q How can she tell if it’s another girl dog
A The absence of a lip stick dick is a good indicator, and of course let’s not forget, a bitch instinctively knows when she is in the company of another
I offer for your consideration this currently-current cartoon from hyperdeathbabies:
http://www.hyperdeathbabies.com/anomaly/images/219-tastes-like-shit.gif
Then again the real feeding frenzy seems to be within the comments, so to speak.
Please Fits something on earwax to raise the tone and bring us back to K07.
A list of what needs radical change please.
/raises tone while waiting for earwax expose.
a.) primary school
b.) psychosis
c.) westie/bogan
d.) all of the above
Fits fits into the a's based on size and air of innocent(ish) fun in her posts - two mentions of dog-poo eating in one week is probably just an anomaly. Even if it would be a trend in the financial pages.
Never said anything needs 'radical change' but prefer to not have googled the grossout flick.... ew!.... ick!... thanks alot...
*oh look a butterfly!*
Just look at what is going on in almost every state. It would actually be laughable if it wasn't so tragic. This insanity of economic rationalism, which is really just the latest outbreak of the totalitarianism we've spent most of recent history fighting, has to go.
Let's get rid of this madness of 'economic growth' which in reality amounts to giving our resources away to people who sell it back to us in the form of screwdrivers that don't work and smoke alarms that'll burn your house down.
Put simply, lets use what we have for good instead of banal and stupid evil.
We start by getting away from this left/right, Labor/Liberal thing and realizing that it has morphed into the same thing.
If you want to take control of a runaway bus, you get in the drivers seat. If you want to rein in a corrupt and inept political process, you get in there and use the democratic processes we have left to take it back.
We need 1) a system of proportional representation at the national level to break the control of the corporate parties and 2) get rid of state and territory governments, which have long since had their day.
Then we will have control, and can start putting these corporates back in their rightful place, which is as shopkeepers and functionaries, not money-crazed, earth-wrecking facists.
Always remember that there are a hell of a lot more of us than there are of them.
"Undigested fat makes poo float, as does undigested fibre."
Conventional medical wisdom attributes Floaters to the amount of fat in your poop.
While this IS true for certain diseases (cystic fibrosis, celiac disease, biliary atresia, abetalipoprotenimia and a few other weird sounding illnesses), it is NOT true for your run-of-the-mill healthy person.
Vegetarians would have you believe that the "perfect" stool (that is, one uncontaminated by the consumption of animal parts) is the Floater.
Many vegetarians have spent their entire lives in the quest to produce perfection -- when in fact no particular diet can reliably produce Floaters. The vast majority of us bring forth Sinkers.
Sinkers really need a good P.R. person -- they have gotten a bad rap over the ages. Sure, Floaters are cute and all, but a good solid Sinker will never let you down.
Actually, it is gas that does it. Increased levels of air and gas in the poop make it less dense, and cause it to float. Simple as that.
Dietary changes can lead to an increase in the amount of gas produced by the bacteria that live in the gut, which is probably what the vegetarians are basing their whole "perfect stool" theory on.
Anyway, last night this happened at the Green Park pub.
Ex: Oh, hi.
Me: Oh... How are you?
Ex: Great, how's it going for you?
Me: Terrific. Um....?
Ex: Oh, sorry. Charles, this is Eliot.
Charles: Nice to meet you Eliot. I've heard quite a bit about you.
(pumps hand vigorously)
Me: Really?
Ex: Chaaaaar-les... (nervous laughter)
Charles: Sorry? I mean, you being up at St Vincents and everything.
Me: Oh, yeah. I love it there.
Ex: Charles flies a rescue helicopter.
Me: Really? Wow...
Charles: Well, it's nothing fantastic. (smiles bashfully)
Me: Gee. Like, wow...
Ex: Westpac chopper (gazes proudly at Charles).
Me: Gosh. Sounds interesting.
Charles: Well, it's a nice break from my former life.
Me: Really?
Ex: Blackhawks.
Charles: Hmm. In the past that.
Ex: Iraq. Afghanistan. Solomon Islands.
Me: Jeesus.
Ex: Very proud of my Chucky, aren't I? (gazes at Charles, giggles and tugs his sleeve)
Charles: Oh... (chuckles shyly)
Me: Iraq?
Charles: Um, yeah. Forget it. Would you like a drink?
Me: Sure, um...
Charles gets up to get a drink. He's at least 6' 3".
Ex: Lots of adventures in Afghanistan.
Charles: Oh, nothing to talk about there, really.
Me: Now doing the Westpac chopper, out of what? Little Bay?
Ex: Yup.
(awkward silence)
Me: I've started doing tennis training.
(awkward silence)
Me: And yoga.
Charles: Yoga's great.
Ex: Yoga?
Me: Um, yes.
Charles: I started doing yoga after I left the SAS.
*******
There's no chance of me and the ex getting back together, is there?
Ha Ha! same text, both POV's .... *thinks* .... *sighs*
Plenty more fish in the sea. (That don't need the Westpac helicopter rescue service)
FTFY
and speak for yourself, paleface.
/too oblique?
Unfortunately, the prawn had been ineptly processed and the BBQ gave out almost no heat in spite of the raging, charcoal-fed inferno I had created within.
What is it about the manufacture of extremely simple yet functionally useless goods we are not getting? Is it some very subtle eastern art form as yet unknown to the swinish round-eye?
Anyway, in short order I had developed explosive diarrhea and had to be rushed to hospital in an ambulance that took over two hours to arrive despite my several panic stricken 000 calls.
Once there, I was placed on a trolley in the ER corridor and remained there for several days. My corridor-mate was an obese, cyanotic, mucus flecked emphysema victim who used all his reserve energy demanding abusively to be taken outside for a smoke.
The ER itself was heaving with drug-fucked homeless people and drunken lunatics, one of whom tried to stab me, but I emptied my bedpan in his face then smashed the front of his head in with it.
This delighted the ER staff, who used the life-threatening injury as an opportunity to practice their skills in the event of an actual, genuine emergency being wheeled in the door. I asked one of them if she'd ever seen 'Waiting for Godot'.
Eventually I was seen by an Indian doctor who'd lied about his qualifications. He diagnosed me with cancer of the uterus. Not knowing what a uterus was, I pursed my lips and nodded gravely at him. He did likewise, and we stood like this together for some time.
Halfway through the subsequent operation, he realized his mistake, and making the best of a bad situation, gave me a sex change that I'm now paying off at $100 a week because it's not covered by Medicare.
My name is Henrietta now, and one of my ovaries has just fallen out. I think the moral of all this is that the prawn/barbie thing has probably had its day.
Poo does taste like chocolate on the outside but inside it's licorice, like bullets. But you have to bite in to it to find out, not just lick it.
That has less to do with gas type, or constitution of the faeces, and more to do with how long you leave it before setting it free, I would imagine.
The longer you wait, the more compacted it becomes, squeezing out excess gases and condensing the whole mass to a higher density. Interesting.
Or maybe just a pile of shit.
This is fairly 'normal' IME. So... are you suggesting Fits is 'normal'? In Darlinghurst them's fightin' words...
*just sayin'*
"As a professional child wrangler I can say that you really shouldn't encourage children to taste fecal matter. I think that once you are good and knocked up. I think this will take place in 2 years and 8 months from now. I think we should create a Fitz makes a baby pool. Who else has a guess?"
Y'all considered asking whatever school you went to for a refund? You're practically illiterate, somebody should have to pay for that. Have they got a bell tower there? Perhaps y'all could get a rifle and go on a murderous rampage. No court in the land would convict you after seeing what you wrote here.
"What is it about the manufacture of extremely simple yet functionally useless goods we are not getting?"
A lot of small appliances these days are manufactured in China using convict slave labour. So, you can just guess how attentive to quality control they are...
Last Scientician said...
"So, marxsturbatory, it's density and porosity that dictates the floatability of stools?
That has less to do with gas type, or constitution of the faeces, and more to do with how long you leave it before setting it free, I would imagine."
Well, I guess the density to some extent depends on how it's been "aerated". Like, the difference between rich dark chocolate and, I dunno, chocolate mousse.
I'm pretty sure various fart gasses are implicated. Not just fibre.
coupleofwinesanditurnnasty said...
Later, I had to assist with a spontaneous pneumo thorax that had been left a whole day and the poor dope nearly died because his fucking stupid hippie girlfriend decided to treat it with reiki.
Like, she didn't know it was a pneumo thorax, of course.
But when your boyfriend is lying on the floor turning blue and talking like Darth Vader, it's probably not his chakras or whatever...
richwell said...
"Gee, Marxstubatory, sounds like you spend your life fixing people and the ex's current spent his formative years blowing them up."
Probably running evacs and stuff. And the Westpac's okay. He seemed alright. Time to move on. There's a nice social worker at St Vincents looks a bit like a young Sigrid Thornton, but sorta Indian or Pakistani.
No, really? But how do you know it's not a physical manifestation of his spiritual imbalance, marx? I hope your aura never needs adjustment, you just made a lot of healing hands angry.
"Healing hands are all very well but sometimes you do need the machine that goes piiing."
In this case, it's a nasty looking little pipette that goes through between the ribs and past the pleura. They never ever seem to enjoy this much, as it's done under a local and you need them to be talking, responding. Mostly, screaming a fair bit, too, because the local is external of course.
But the little pipe goes inside. Right in.
Then you attach a little water operated air pump to it and slowly, slowly it pulls up the lung again. And you stitch him up, so the pressure doesn't equalise.
And he lies in bed for about three days with this all coming out of his chest.
I mean. It works a treat and must save thousands and thousands of lives every year.
But you can see why they held out hope for the reiki method, though, can't you?
It might be a good idea to set up a blog for these stories. There are others already of course, but you have a narrative gift and there is no harm in them appearing in more than one place.
"dull"
Well, yeah, but there's just so much you can say about feces on a social blog like this.
Anyone got any good jokes?
No? Okay. Well, how about this, then...
Yesterday I was chilling out on the Jeffrey Street wharf at Milsons Point when a group of people on some kind of organised bicycle tour rolled up.
They all had identical red bicycles and little red helmets and high visibility fluoro vests with the name of the bicycle tour company on it. Got it?
Anyway, one of these dudes was the tour guide. He points over to the Opera House and says:
"Yep, well there it is. The Sydney Opera House. Strange to think that in a few years it'll be under metres deep of sea-water because of global warming."
In response, a few of the tour party nodded gravely with that turned-down-at-the-corner-of-the-mouth, "Well what do you fucking well know?" look, took a few pictures, before they all got on their bikes and headed around toward the Harbour Bridge and Luna Park.
None of them did a shit or anything, so nothing to report on that front.
"So if they didn't shit at Milson's point, did it really happen?"
Well, in the absence of fossil evidence...?
Hundreds of thousands of tourists must go home thinking...WTF?
No wonder Bush refers to us as Austrians. Which means untold Americans now believe we lock daughters in cellars AND have kangaroos skipping down George Street.
Family looks on in anticipation. little boy offers a shit covered smile and family all laugh. I think it would float. The idea that is.
(I have just eaten a handful of chocolate bullets and this visual is causing me difficulties. I find those adverts disturbing at the best of times)
It was a sort of Who's Who of animal poos so you could identify animals when you were studing them in the woods.
I had a copy for years and would leave it out at homes as a coffeee table book - until somebody stole it.
People loved it and it got some real laughs while guests were waiting for dinner (pizza).
Comments are closed.