Posts Tagged ‘constipation’

Whenever I hear some people talk about their grandparents I wonder what I did in a past life to get such lame ones. Fond memories of them are very few. I consider myself to have five grandparents total, one not being a blood relative. These people are:

Mom’s Side:

Pop-Pop (dad)

Mom-Mom (mom)

Nanny (Pop-Pop’s second wife)

Dad’s Side:

Grandpa (dad)

Grandma (mom)

So how exactly did they underachieve according to my expectations?

1) Grandpa and Grandma both died before Neil Armstrong walked on the moon. I never met either. To no fault of their own, they had no direct impact on my life whatsoever, other than maybe torturing my orphaned father’s soul. Take your vitamins old people. I missed out on possibly having good elderly kin in my life.

poison-skull-crossbones-medicine-bottle-20332961(Not these pills you old goofs!)

2) Mom-Mom buys the worst holiday gifts. For my birthday I usually get a card with a forged signature from my uncle. For Christmas I usually get different jams or syrups she bought while on a vacation. Two years ago I received Hawaiian honey. Who needs to travel to a beautiful exotic location when you can get their honey brought directly to you?

3) Pop-Pop was a giant racist. That’s not to say he was nine feet tall and hated Serbians. The giant part was in his racial intolerance, not physical stature. The man came from a different era and saw more atrocities than I ever have, having fought on Japan soil in World War II. The closest I have ever come to war was when I was constipated for a week.

activax(The best part in the Halloween movies was when Jamie Lee Curtis was hiding in the closet and then she farted from all of the Activia she was eating and then Michael Myers stabbed her and she shit herself more)

4) Mom-Mom had an obsession with lighthouses for years. Whenever we needed to buy her something, it would be lighthouse related. Then one day she decided she no longer liked lighthouses. What do you get an old-lady who doesn’t like her favorite thing in the world anymore? Probably a coffin. Losing interest in things you used to love is definitely a sign you are dying soon. Three years later, Mom-Mom is still kicking, with the help of a home health aide of course to move her legs.

5) Nanny seduced Pop-Pop when he was married to Mom-Mom and they ran off together. This is totally lame and set off a history in my family of failed marriages. She is a big reason why I have trouble believing in true love. At least she sends me more money on my birthday and Christmas than Mom-Mom does.

cantbuymelove(Sometimes Nanny and I would do this same pose and wear these outfits)

6) The last time I saw Pop-Pop before he passed away he said two incredibly offensive things to me in a single sentence. The sentence, “Hey Tommy, how much do you weigh?” As a fat child, this offended me a lot that he would want to know my weight. As someone not named Tommy, this offended me even more that he could not get my name right.

7) Mom-Mom once took me and my younger sister to Wendy’s for lunch. The place was so crowded that she made us sit at a table with two random old people none of us knew. The male old person yelled at me for taking the tomato off my hamburger. I felt bad about myself. If only I had eaten that one tomato maybe I would not have been so fat.

solarsystem1(A picture of me as a kid. I’m the chubby one in the Neptune Blue shirt)

8) Pop-Pop was a bit of a yeller too. He never raised his voice to a frightening level, but I do remember getting reprimanded for not understanding how elbows do not belong on the table because they will knock my glass of orange juice onto the floor. Pop-Pop knew how to ruin breakfast.

9) For the past however many Christmases, instead of getting my older sister presents, Mom-Mom takes out a chart and knocks off the money my sister owes her. I’m not exactly sure if this chart is physical or mental. I like to think she has it attached to a clipboard hidden away with the Christmas decorations. I would like to think if I ever become a grandfather that I would not hold my grandchildren to their debts.

So do you have cool grandparents or lame ones?

If you like reading about pooping then you are in the correct place. If bowel movements frighten you then you’re a wimp and should go away for a little while. I hate taking a poo in public. By public I don’t mean next to a playground slide while everyone is staring at me. I think I could handle that more. At least everybody knows my stance on life, I’m insane. When I say public I mean somewhere a vampire would be allowed to take a poo like a normal person. Did you know vampires are allowed to enter libraries, hospitals, and other public buildings? They don’t need to be invited in like they do a home. I remember this from an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Another thing I learned from Buffy, the existence of lesbians!

(Stop hugging and scissor each other already!)

Even further than taking a poo in public, I always had a fear about taking one anywhere outside my home. Each year my dad would take my sister and me to the Poconos in upstate Pennsylvania because he used to murder honeymooners in heart-shaped bath tubs in the mid-90s. This saved him an extra trip. I went an entire week without going poop once. This might seem insane, but the one time I did go the year earlier I clogged the toilet. The place we stayed was owned by my dad’s only friend. He was a very large man with a Brooklyn accent. I would have surely had my face shoved into the toilet once it was discovered my DNA was attached to the terd doing the clogging.

Poop is a word I say way too frequently. My most common daily phrases I have come to realize are “Come on!” and “Jesus Christ!” Between driving and having to walk a dog who tries to eat every pine cone he smells, I have good reason to say these as frequently as I do. I’m not a poop fan. In the last year I have calculated I have picked up approximately 678 clumps of poop. That’s twice a day, every day, minus once a week where I make my sisters do it. If I lived in a country like Germany where the stuff is like gold, I would have a castle by now.

(My German castle bought entirely from dog poo)

The entire time I was in school I only took a poop once while on the clock. I was in first period study hall when my tummy began to grumble. I began to sweat. Somehow I survived the entire period without going. Then second period came. This was my keyboarding class. Luckily the fast typing managed to distract any noises my stomach was making, but still it helped none of the pain. I asked the teacher for a hall pass and made my way toward a bathroom. My high school was so lame they only kept one bathroom open at a time and it changed every hour. This was so kids could not go in there and smoke. This was a major problem. I practically cursed out a fat history teacher asking me where the nearest bathroom was. He pointed. A gay kid was in the bathroom cleaning chocolate off his shirt. I pretended to pee because I didn’t want him going around to the Glee Club saying I’m someone who shits. I walked out then walked back in. Just so he didn’t think I was insane I declared out loud “Wow now I have to shit.” He nodded and I scared him away from men’s assholes for life. You’re welcome Republicans.

(That classmate grew up to become Jonathan Taylor Thomas, the straightest, least questioned to be a homosexual child actor from the 1990s)

I managed to go a long time at my day job without going. I say day job like I have a night job. Like posing as a police officer and asking to search people’s wallets qualifies as a real job. When I got older I cared less about where I let the chips fall. I was mostly ready to let it happen at work. Only once when it was the middle of the day and I knew the bathroom would be crowded and someone was bound to recognize my shoes then report to the highest ranking supervisor they could that I was someone who shits which most assuredly would get me fired did I venture someplace else to cleanse my body of breakfast. I went to the fancy hotel across the street I worked at for a month and was never paid anything I did and left the Mona Lisa of poops in a toilet sitting there for whoever came in next. I call it the Mona Lisa because it was very androgynous.

(I never realized what a giant forehead she had. If you squint and change the hair a bit this could be Ted Danson)

As I grow older my bowels are something I need to be more concerned about. I went to the last baseball game at Veterans Stadium in Philadelphia. My dad made a short scrapbook from the day yet the only thing I can remember is going home and painfully squeezing one out. From that day I swore I would never go more than a day without at least trying to go. Some men swear to take care of their families. Others promise to serve their countries. Me, I do my best to shit once a day.


Posted: June 17, 2012 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Remember when I asked you to help me out with a Mad Libs post? No? You’ve never read my blog before? You have some sort of forgetful disease? Don’t blame MTV for being so scatterbrained. Blame your own laziness. Below are the results. Thank you to all participants. I was going to actually place each of your answers into the proper place, but this would require work and I’m scheduling this ahead of time and would hate if someone felt left out. If you would still like to participate you can on your own. Here are the answers given by the participants. Some of them may need to be changed slightly to make sense. But that’s Mad Libs! All you have to do is plug them in accordingly to make up what I’m sure will be a whacky adventure!

To those wanting to participate fully on this journey, please go back to Mad Libs and start from there. Enough blabbing. Hopefully this doesn’t turn out as big a mess as it is seeming to be.

Evolution of Insanity:

Noun: Lily

Adjective: angry

Plural Noun: cats

Plural Noun: Witches

Adjective: alive

Adjective: quaint

Relative: sister

Verb: imagine

Noun: mouse

Adjective: relieved

Celebrity: John Cusack

City Name: Vatican City

Noun: bus

Verb: name

Noun: echo

Noun: box

Verb: drop

Adjective: black

Noun: teacher

Noun: neighbourhood

Verb: bites

Diatribes and Ovations:

Noun: Worm
Adjective: moist
Plural Noun: ninjas
Plural Noun: seedless grapes
Adjective: enormous
Adjective: spongy
Relative: Aunt
Verb: chew
Noun: albatross
Adjective: persnickety
Celebrity: Sir Elton John
City Name: Omaha
Noun: lollipop
Verb: sauté
Noun: squid
Noun: ankle
Verb: boil
Adjective: fat
Noun: blister
Noun: monkey
Verb: stab

Michael Cargill:

Poo for each


Noun: BreezyK

Adjective: Awesome

Plural Noun: Hipsters

Plural Noun: Investment Bankers

Adjective: Douchy

Adjective: indier-than-thou

Relative: second cousin, once removed

Verb: jumping

Noun: Nova Scotia

Adjective: serendipitous

Celebrity: Kim Kardashian

City Name: Toronto

Noun: peanut butter

Verb: complaining

Noun: sloth

Noun: cats

Verb: lazy

Adjective: creamy

Noun: computer

Noun: water bottle

Verb: drinking

A Gripping Life:

Noun: Flower

Adjective: unseemly

Plural Noun: houses

Plural Noun: cars

Adjective: gorgeous

Adjective: long

Relative: uncle

Verb: assault

Noun: blog

Adjective: crazy

Celebrity: Seth Rogen

City Name: Topeka

Noun: heaven

Verb: play

Noun: lips

Noun: wall

Verb: kiss

Adjective: hideous

Noun: muscle

Noun: floor

Verb: kill

Lily in Canada:

Noun: Pete

Adjective: pretty

Plural Noun:horses

Plural Noun: telephones

Adjective: yellow

Adjective: dirty

Relative: brother

Verb: toss

Noun: paper


Celebrity: Hugh Grant

City Name: Tallahassee

Noun: sidewalk









No Blog Intended:

Miley Cyrus.
High heels.
Toe nails.

Welcome to my 300th blog post! It took hard work. A lot of motivation. And a little help from my (noun). Much has been achieved since starting this blog. For starters, I have become a more (adjective) person. I thank you, my (plural noun) for that.

There are still a few things you may not know about me. For instance, I love to stare at (plural noun). (adjective) ones. My fascination started when I was a (adjective) boy and my (relative) would (verb) me on my cheek. My (noun) says this traumatic event is why I am so (adjective).

Since my blog started I have become somewhat famous. I even managed to have a brief relationship with (celebrity). It ended when we were caught engaging in a public sexual act known as the (City name) (noun). That’s when you (verb) the other person’s (noun). But things are back to normal now. I am in a healthy relationship with my current (noun).

What I really wanted to say today was I appreciate everyone who (verb) my blog. Whether you visit often, frequently, or only when you’re feeling (adjective), your presence is felt with warmth. Thank you again. Here’s to much more success with my and your (noun). Unless you’re one of those people missing a (noun). Then I guess you can just go (verb) yourself.

I’m not sure if America is aware of what is going on around them. The scary truth that we have all turned a blind eye to. I’m referring to the increase in the price of milk and oatmeal. Only a few months ago I could get milk for $3.29 a gallon and a giant tub of oatmeal for $2.24. Today, it costs me $3.79 for my Kosher milk and $3.54 for my plain boring oatmeal. I haven’t eaten oatmeal in a while now and that was before the price hike. I’m not sure if there is a war going on wherever oats are grown, but I want more blood for my oats!

Everyone is always worried about gas prices, justifiably so. They suck. It’s only been in the last 10-15 years that they’ve been so ridiculous. It costs too much money to go anywhere and once we do get there we can’t afford to do anything. No wonder the economy stinks. Nobody has the means to get to any place to spend their paychecks. Even worse, with the increase of the price of milk and oatmeal, we will all now have weak bones and be constipated on a daily basis. We’ll slouch and be full of shit. Maybe the government isn’t trying to fuck us, they’re just trying to turn us into them.

Before the “One of us! One of us!” chants come out of Washington, we need to act. Let our voices be heard that these increases in prices do not sit well in our osteoporosis tummies. Most of my solutions involve burning things. People have a stigma about fire. They say it hurts when it touches their skin. This time only, I do not want fire to be involved. Oats are highly flammable and I can see the government using that against our flames of victory.

Little known fact: In the 1970s, oats were often tied to the fireproof clothing of stuntmen in order to ensue excessive burning.

I am fully convinced that the government wants us to be fat and addicted to sugar. Eating healthy is nearly impossible without spending a buttload, pardon the language, of money on foods with vitamins. Then there’s Whole Foods, a place where they pretend as long as you shop there you’ll be healthy. Whole Foods is really just a Piggly Wiggly with weird-looking bananas. I can’t shop there. I saw a man shopping there and he had a double leveled shopping cart. Really? You’re organic brown eggs can’t be on the same level as your hand-made sugar less ice cream? Double-Decker shopping carts are the most pretentious form of transporting food. A golden bag made out of extinct animal faces would bother me less.

I will still continue to buy milk and on a special occasion oatmeal. That’s where we’re at. Oatmeal is a treat. It’s disgusting and tastes like testicle sawdust, at least the cheap kind I get does. The lids are always dusty too. But oatmeal helps us shit and some of us really need help with that. I’m hoping for the prices to go down, perhaps cows can over breed and a mine full of oats can be discovered by mountaineers. Other than those two solutions, we are screwed.

“One nation, under the control of the government, that wants me to eat bacon for breakfast.” – The Flag Salute