Up In Smoke

     Is anyone else sick and tired of seeing these God awful antismoking commercials?  The ones where the cigarette companies try to shock us into not buying their product.  Maybe I’m a little screwed up but these ads are having the opposite affect on me.  I’m not shocked or appalled; in fact I think they’re hilarious. 

     My favorite one stars the former beauty queen Terri Hall.  You know Terrie… she’s the chick that looks like she’s been pounding shots of chemo since the seventies.  In her commercial she starts disconnecting body parts like she’s breaking down stereo equipment and then wows us with her lovely singing voice.  It’s like her vocal cords are in her colon.  I’ve been told that she passed away shortly after her last commercial and thank God.  At whatever stage of death she was in I think we were suffering more for sharing her company.  So long Terri. 

     Sounds cruel, I know, but let’s think about what led sweet little Terri to end up looking like the Crypt Keeper.  How many packs of cigarettes does one have to smoke in order to reach that level of doomed?  It’s not like cigarettes are like sex where you roll the dice and pray to dodge the old AIDS train.  One bad condom and your life could be ruined.  But not with those blessed cancer sticks.  There’s plenty of time to notice that your physical appearance has crashed harder then an airplane full of terrorists and yet still she smoked on.  You would think after the first amputation the dots would start to connect but apparently not.  By the time you’re wearing a wig and have bathtub plug in your Esophagus that requires a battery powered throat amp I’m thinking it’s too late. 

     Enough with the shock and awe campaign.  The people of this country are desensitized enough and I’m willing to bet Terri would have rather been catching up on her beauty sleep then shooting take after take of her own personal episode of the Walking Dead. 

     I just don’t see what the big deal is.  When my liver liquefies and sneaks out as a wet fart from pounding too much scotch should I expect the liquor companies to make me their spokes model before I sing my swan song?  Actually, maybe that’s not a terrible idea.  I take it all back Terri… you were a good egg.        

He Takes After You

         Why is it cute when a baby farts and offensive when an adult rips one off?  How does that happen? And more importantly, at what point does it stop being ok?  Is there an age limit?  Is it based on physical development?  Do environmental factors play a role?  I’ll tell you what has nothing to do with it- the smell.  It’s not like when a baby farts it smells like rainbow sherbert.  My brother has kids and I’ve smelled what they're capable of.  I’m amazed the paint hasn’t peeled from their walls yet.  But every time one of them squeaks out a little terd whisper everybody with in earshot giggles like it’s the greatest joke ever written.  And the smell is like a consolation prize.  It could be as awful as rotten eggs or as simple as stale potato chips.  Doesn’t’ matter, these people are wafting like it’s a five star T-bone. 

         And there’s always some justification to follow like, “Well, that’s what string peas will do to you.”  Yeah.  String peas will make your butt stink.  So will tacos.  Nobody thinks it’s cute when you rip off a taco fart.  It kind of makes you wonder what else could you get away with if you were a baby.  What other horrible acts would society shrug off because you are still adorable?  Rape?  Oh, he was just trying to breast-feed.  Works for me.  Murder?  Well, he has a bit of temper when he gets hungry or tired.  Fair enough.  Pimping out prostitutes?  He’s not a bad child he’s just a misguided entrepreneur.  Does he accept play dough?

         Kids, enjoy it while you’re young.  Remember all of our parents telling us that when we were little?  We thought they meant youth for the sake of being young.  Nope.  They meant being able to fart without persecution.  The guiltless rumble of a colin cough.  The freedom that only a rectal belch will bring.  The relief of depressurizing the old dietary embalming chamber.  The joy of a pulled finger.  The satisfaction of looking someone in the eye, yelling “release the hounds!” fart, and then walk away. 

         That’s right kids.  Enjoy it while you’re young.  Because when you’re older you can’t fart during a business meeting and then look under the table claiming that someone has stepped on an elephant.  Your boss will not want to hear that there might be a squeaky floorboard or that that is the sound of the foundation settling.  And he certainly won’t believe that every time you fart a prisoner on death row is pardoned.  He just won’t buy it.  And don’t even think about the old “better out then in” philosophy.  I’m pretty sure the gays own that one now anyway.

         So live it up now ye toddlers of freedom.  Enjoy the “open road” of digestion while there’s still time.  Because years from now you will be sitting behind a desk in the midst of a cube farm counting back from 100 in an attempt not to rattle the floor boards with the pent up splatter art of digestion waiting to make your shorts it’s canvas.  You’re welcome.          

Match Maker

     Is it me or have online dating sites gotten a little too specific?  Christian Mingle, Just For Farmers, Black People Meet, JDate, GothScene?  Really?  Don’t these seem a little much?  Was there really a need for a farmers only dating site?  Has the Goth community suffered so many casualties that they now need to commiserate over the Internet?  Christian Mingle?  Sure, divine intervention though Wi-Fi!

     With all of the crazy sites that exist there’s still one culture being drastically over looked; the handicapped!  Aren’t they entitled to a little love?  Surely they need some help in finding that special someone.  In fact, that’s what you could call the site:  SomeoneSpecail.com.  And I’m not just talking about the mentally challenged.  That would be rude.  How about the mangled war vet?  Sure, he’s lost both legs but his libido is still able to salute.  And since that IED the Hokey-Pokey just aint the same.  How does he find love that doesn’t involve a Motel Six?

     Or what about the morbidly obese?  The kind that wheel themselves around in scooters because their joints have the stability of a third world government?  What about them?  They’ve been eating for two for a long time… but they’ve been doing it alone.  Not after SomeoneSpecial.com. 

     And let’s not forget about the vegetables.  The slack jawed Steven Hawkins of the world that can only communicate through smiley-faced emoticons and customized keyboards.  They probably wouldn’t be able to accomplish much in terms of intimacy but at least they’d have some company for a change.

     Can’t we do this?  Can’t we make this happen?  Place a few ads at the Special Olympics, maybe a Chucky Cheese or two?  Sample the market and see what pops up.  I can see it now…  SomeoneSpecial.com- Where your heart can stretch it legs even if your body can’t!            

Crapped Out

     Ever been so broke you start doing toilet paper math?  Like, you’re mid way through your last roll and you start to calculate, “I got four, maybe five dumps left on that thing before it’s crisis time.”  And that’s only if things go well.  God forbid something disagrees with you and a surprise six or seventh deuce springs up.  Then you’re down to tearing little piece of cardboard off the roll and blotting your butthole like and old lady checking her lipstick.  And if that doesn’t work then there’s always the Shame Shower.  Usually that’s only necessary after an “oopsie-poopsie,” but exceptions do happen. 

     What’s a Shame Shower, you may be wondering?  Well, that’s when your shower doubles as a bidet because you just can’t bare to smear that colon fudge across your butt cheeks any longer.  You end up standing in your shower like a convict getting deloused.  Very unpleasant, but sure beats the alternative. 

     You may be wondering, “Hey, Pat… why do you know so much about Shame Showers and oopsie-poopsies?”  Well, faithful reader, the Internet is a strange place.  Clearly.  You’re here reading this.  And let’s be honest… there’s not a person alive who hasn’t accidentally left an early deposit in the old banko de underpants.  Why else would the saying, “shit happens,” exist?  It’s like murder; the key is to do it with as few witnesses as possible.  And much like murder, it’s a terrible way to end up on the Internet.  Nothing ruins a future like YouTube footage of a grown man shitting his pants.  Unless he’s an Asian.  For some reason they seem to be into that sort of thing.       

       But rest assured toilet paper math is never a fun equation but it definitely beats tampon math.  To quote the British, “That’s just bloody awful.” 

Feet Stink

     What’s the deal with people and foot fetishes?  It’s gross.  Feet look like God’s first attempt at hands.  He slapped a few together, didn’t like them, and threw them on your ankles.  Back to the drawing board.  I look at toes and I think of midget fingers.  Then I think of midget toes and I puke a little on my shoes.  These are not attractive body parts, people. 

     Ever hear someone say they have nice feet?  That’s like saying you took an adorable shit.  There’s no such thing as nice feet.  There are only variations of the same mangled monstrosity.  And consider what feet do every day.  People stomp around on these things banging them up like old Chevy pickups but as soon as the sun warms up they want to slap on some paint and show them off.  Yuck!  Put those sweaty dogs back in the kennel where they belong. 

     Feet smell, too.  You know what else smells?  Your armpits.  Ever feel the urge to show those little gems off?  Braid out the hair and go full Vegan?  A sweaty foot is like greased pigs ass.  I don’t even know what that means, but it feels appropriate. 

     I can’t believe there’s weirdo’s out there that want to put these boney, sweat pegs in their mouths.  Their mother’s must have been terrible cooks.  You know what I’d like to see?  A guy with a foot fetish debating cuisine with a chef from Taco Bell.  “Hey, this taco tastes funny.”  “That’s because there’s a hangnail in your tooth.” 

     Cover them up, people.  Feet are gross.  Especially mine- mine look like I got bit by a werewolf and there’s a full moon on the horizon.  Let’s all agree to use feet for what they were intended for, shall we?  … Kicking strangers in the nuts and running away.  Everybody wins… until you get kicked in the nuts, that is.