Muchos Grouchy-Ass!!!

The first thing I do after I dismount the toilet is to turn around and have a post-grump stool inspection.

I lead with that sentence so that you all (and by "you all" I mean the 6 people that still read this blog) will know without a shadow of a doubt that we are once again careening headlong into the dark recesses of my ass. I'm aware that this surprises none of you. It does, however, surprise me, because about a month ago I was introduced by a fellow Baltimore blogger as "the writer of the best shit and fart stories on the net."

Now I'll take a compliment wherever I can get it, and having no shame at all, I have no problem with being known as the "shit and fart guy," but I decided that I would show you all that I have a little more range than that. "I resolve here and now," I said to myself (not out loud, because that would be crazy,) "that the next 6 blog posts I write will not in any way involve farts, shits or my ass." Then I killed a virgin and made a shrine to the shrimp-god Slippygoop out of her bones, because that's how we seal a deal where I come from.

I had every intention of sticking to this resolution, if for no other reason than you really don't want to incur the wrath of Slippygoop. Not unless you like being gnawed to death by millions of sea monkeys. It's not a good way to go. It kind of tickles, and it takes days. but I meant to stick to my guns on this, and I would have, if not for the fact that I recently had a post-grump stool inspection that turned up something weird. Something that I absolutely had to share with you all.

Before we get to that, though, I feel I should explain the whole post-grump stool inspection.

I don't indulge in an inspection of my stools because I'm obsessed with feces. I mean, I am obsessed with feces, but really only the talking about feces. Looking at feces really does nothing for me. See also: Smelling feces, eating feces, juggling feces. My post-grump stool inspection is simply a quick look in the bowl to see how things are stacking up in there. Are we wet? Are we dry? In clumps or one long tube? Sinkers or floaters? These things can tell you a lot about the health of your butt. Most doctors (and by "most," I mean "the crazy ones") will tell you that it's a good idea to examine your stools before you flush them down.

So the post-grump stool inspection is really just another part of the Wombat Commitment to Quality I wrote about a while back. I mean, if I'm going to spend all this digital real estate writing about my shits, shouldn't I do what I can to ensure that they are the best shits I have to offer? See the lengths I go through for you people?

Anyway, on this particular day in question, the standard inspection yielded something kind of new. And it worried me. "Okay, we have 6-8 sinkers... That's normal... 1-2 inches... Some clumping... Also normal... The usual green color... wait. Green?"

Green poops.

GREEN.

Now, in my 34 years on planet Earth I've seen some crazy shit come out of my ass, but green stools was a completely new one for me. I'm not talking about greenish-brown either. I know that's what you are picturing. (or rather, what you are trying desperately not to picture.) I'm not talking about this:



I'm talking about this:



That's not a color you should ever see in the toilet. I'm not kidding and I'm not exaggerating. Full-on green. Imagine standing up after a hairy grump and seeing this staring back at you from the toilet:



I tell you, I was in fear for my life. I'm pretty sure that Oscar The Grouch Craps are the first sign of a brain tumor in your ass. I think it goes Grouch-craps, then the palpitations and the vapors, then your ass falls right off onto the floor and you die. So I did what anyone would do. I ran around the bathroom in circles screaming. I may have cried a little. I remember thinking that if I died right there in the bathroom, I would never again see Karla face-to-face, and despite this silver lining, I still didn't want to die.

What causes green poops? I mean, other than the brain tumor in your ass? Parasites? Viruses? Herpes contracted in a 30-man all-pirate gang-bang? It could have been anything. I knew I should have made those pirates wash their Jolly Rogers!

After about 30 minutes of weeping I booted up my computer, because nothing feeds a panic like the internet. Turns out that the #1 cause of green poops in people over 1 year old is food coloring. (the #1 cause in people under 1 year old is that babies asses are strange and mysterious places.) A careful examination of the things I had eaten in the past 24 hours yielded only one likely culprit:



These things used to be red. Now they're multi-colored. They're multi-colored little bombs of tasty poop stainer. I never knew about the fact that they cause green poops because I hadn't had them in 10 years or so. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that Cap'n Crunch treated my ass like his own personal garbage can. I mean, the guy's not even a real captain. "Cap'n" is some sort of honorary title at best. He's no more qualified to steer a pirate ship than Dr. pepper is to perform bariatric surgery. (boy did I learn that lesson the hard way.)

Anyway, that's the story of my green poops. There's no real lesson to be learned here unless it's "never trust a dude who wears his eyebrows on his hat." (Seriously! Look at that box again!) But the second this happened I knew I had to blog about it, because, let's face it - My ass is the star of this blog, and when it learns a new trick, I'd be remiss if I didn't put it on display. Besides, you know you're all heading out to the store tonight for some Cap'n Crunch to see if it happens to you.

PS: Karla made the comment to me that because I hadn't posted in so long, my blog had become boring. Well Karla, I hope this serves as proof that it can be boring even when I do post something.

How I spent my fall vacation

As many of you know, I had the chance this weekend to spend some time with one of my very favorite people on Earth. Instead, I visited Karla and the small group of trained actors she refers to as her "family." I've met Karla before, but that was only for a few hours. This time I actually spent an entire weekend locked up with her, and let me tell you, it was an educational experience. Let me share with you some of the things I learned:

1) Karla does not fit in a toy car.

I don't know why she felt that she needed to get into the toy car in the first place. Karla is very child-like, and by "child-like," I mean "retarded." It's not like she had anywhere to go, as the device strapped to her ankle starts beeping the minute she steps out the front door... (If she makes it as far as the edge of her lawn she is immediately set upon by 3 Dallas SWAT members and a posse of attack dogs. Boy do I wish I'd gotten pictures of that. Go figure that the one time this weekend she decided to violate the terms of her house arrest and make a break for it, I had "accidentally" left my camera phone hidden behind a few carefully placed washcloths in her shower. Damn.)

Anyway, as you can see here, while there are many things that Karla does fit into, (such as a jail cell, the trunk of a '72 Ford LTD and a series of small plastic coolers - Some dissasembly required for that last one...) she does not really fit into a child's toy car. Also, once she was in there she found that she could not get out. She was still wedged in the car when I left. For all I know, she's still in there now, which is bound to make her pilates class interesting.



2) Karla posesses a working uterus.

I haven't actually got any personal knowledge of her uterus, nor do I have any pictures of it, (stop looking so dissapointed!) but I have seen, first-hand, what comes out of it. No, I'm not talking about the bloody discharge, although there certainly was plenty of that smeared all over her house. I'm refering to her son Jake, who I can now confirm is a living breathing person and not an elaborate photoshop-generated ruse.



I have nothing bad to say about Jake. He is sweet, wonderful and adorable. Which makes it all the more bizzare that he should come from Karla, who posesses none of those qualities. I enjoyed Jake so much that several times during my visit I found myself wishing Brian and Karla would just leave so I could enjoy some time with the only articulate and interesting person in the house. Also, Jake poops in his pants, which makes you okay in my book any day.

3) Karla is a master of photoshop.

You've all seen the pictures of her that she spends all day judiciously plastering all over the internet, and you've all had the same thought that I had: "What a pretty girl."

While I can still neither confirm or deny Karla's gender, I can say one thing without a doubt. All of those photos are heavily doctored. Karla (or someone in her employ) must posess an unbelievable degree of mastery in Photoshop, because when I say the pictures are doctored, I don't mean they are touched-up a little bit. I've been working in Photoshop for 10 years and I don't think I could pull off this kind of photo manipulation. Karla looks absolutely nothing like the pictures you have seen on her blog. She must spend hours upon hours working on these photos to make sure that no trace of her real face ever makes it out to the public eye. The effort is, quite frankly, astonishing. Even the picture above, with her in the baby car, turned out doctored. All I can guess is that she stole my camera phone when I wasn't looking and altered the pictures.

What she doesn't know is that I was able to get away with one photo that she didn't know about, and now present to you, the internet public, the only known completely un-doctored picture of Karla in existance. (Kids, look away now!)



Sorry, Internet, but the truth had to be told.