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Shit – The New Gateway Drug?

3 Jul

Hilarious video from Spike TV’s “1,000 Ways to Die” titled Fecal Attraction.

And proof that you can learn something new everyday: there is way to get high off of fermented shit called Jenkum. Just love the “Jenkologist” they interview in this clip. Sorry for the low quality of the video. The video from Spike TV wouldn’t embed properly, so to view the video from Spike, click on the link below the video. Enjoy!


The MRE Dinner Date

14 Apr

(A story seen all over the internet. Enjoy! – Jane and Heidi) 

I had a date the other night at my place. On the phone the day before, the girl asked me to “Cook her something she’s never had before” for dinner. After many minutes of scratching my head over what to make, I finally settled on something she has DEFINITELY never eaten. I got out my trusty case of MRE’s. Meal, Ready-to-Eat.

Field rations that when eaten in their entirety contain 3000+ calories Here’s what I made:

I took three of the Ham Slices out of their plastic packets, took out three of the Pork Chops, three packets of Chicken-a-la-King and eight packets of dehydrated butter noodles and some dehydrated/rehydrated rice. I cooked the Ham Slices and Pork Chops in one pan, saut?ed in shaved garlic and olive oil.

In another pot, I blended the Chicken a-la-king, noodles and rice together to make a sort of mush that looked suspiciously like succotash. I added some spices and blended everything together in a glass pan that I then cooked in the oven for about 35 minutes at 450 degrees.

When I took it out, it looked like, well, ham slices, pork chops and a bed of yellow poop. I covered the tops of the meat in the MRE cheese (kinda like Velveeta) and added some green sprinkly thingys from one of my spice cans (hey, if it’s got green sprinkly thingys on it, it looks fancy right?)

For dessert, I took four MRE Pound Cakes, mashed ’em up, added five packets of cocoa powder, powdered coffee cream and some water. I heated it up and stirred it until it looked like a sort of chunky gelatinous organism and I sprinkled powdered sugar on top of it.

For alcoholic drinks, I took the rest of my bottle of Military Special Vodka (yes, they DO make a type of liquor named “Military Special” — it sells for $4.35 per fifth) and mixed in four packets of “Electrolytes – 1 each – Cherry flavored” (I swear, the packet says that). It looked like an eerie kool-aid with sparkles in it (that was the electrolytes I guess… could’ve been leftover sand fromEgypt).

I lit two candles, put a vase of wildflowers in the middle and set the table with my best set of Ralph Lauren Academy-seriesChina(that stuff is damned EXPENSIVE… my set of 8 place settings cost me over $600) and put the alcoholic drink in a crystal wine decanter.

She came over and I had some appetizers already made, of MRE spaghetti-with-meatballs, set in small cups. She saw the dinner, saw the food and said “This looks INCREDIBLE!!!”

We dug in and she was loving the food. Throughout the meal, she kept asking me how long it took me to make it and kept remarking that I obviously knew a thing or two about cooking fine meals. She kind of balked at the makeshift “wine” I had set out, but after she tried it I guess she liked it because she drank four glasses during dinner.

At the end of the main course, when I served the dessert, she squealed with delight at the “Chocolate mousse” I had made. Huh? Chocolate what? Okay… yeah… its Chocolate Moose. Took me HOURS to make… yup.

Later on, as we were watching a movie, she excused herself to use my restroom. While she was in there, I heard her say softly to herself “uh oh” and a resounding but petite poot punctuated her utterance of dismay.

Let the games begin.

She sprayed about half a can of air freshener (Air Freshener, 1 each,Orangescent. Yup. The Army even makes smellgood) and returned to the couch, this time with an obvious pained look.


After 10 more minutes she excused herself again and retreated to the bathroom for the second time. I could hear her say “What the hell is WRONG with me???,” as she again send flatulent shockwaves into the porcelain bowl. This time, they sounded kinda wet and I heard the toilet paper roll being employed and again, LOTS more air freshener.

Back to the couch. She smiles meekly as she decides to sit on the chair instead of next to me. She sits on my chair, knees pulled up to her chest, kind of rocking back and forth slightly. Suddenly, without a word, she ROCKETED up and FLEW to the bathroom, slammed the door, and didn’t come out for 30 minutes. I turned the movie up because I didn’t want her to hear me laughing so hard that tears were streaming down my cheeks.

She came out with a slightly gray pallor to her face and said “I am SOOOOOO sorry. I have NO idea what is wrong with me. I am so embarrassed, I can’t believe I keep running to your bathroom!!” I gave her an Imodium AD and she finally settled down and relaxed.

Later on, she asked me again what I had made for dinner, because she had enjoyed it so much. I calmly took her into the kitchen and showed her all the used MRE bags and packets in the trash can.

After explaining to her that she had eaten roughly 9,000 calories of “Army food” she turned stark white, looked at me incredulously and said “I ate 9,000 calories or dehydrated food that was made 3 years ago?” After I concurred, she grabbed her coat and key, and took off without a word.

She called me yesterday. Seems she couldn’t go for 3 days and when she finally did, the smell was so bad, her roommate could smell it from down the hall. She also told me she had been working out nonstop to combat the high caloric intake and that she never wanted me to cook dinner for her again, unless she was PERSONALLY there to inspect the food beforehand.

It was a fun date. She laughed about it eventually and said that that was the first time she’d ever crapped in a guy’s house on a date. She’d been so upset by it she was in tears in the bathroom while I had been in tears on the couch.

I know, I’m a jerk, but it was still a funny night.

Keep canning public toilets and there’ll be a mass movement

15 Nov

By Geoff Strong from The Age

Which genius thought to get rid of WCs while the population ages?

I decided one night a couple of weeks ago to fill my car at a service station in Ringwood East. While the car’s tank was near empty, mine was full and as part of the transaction I was intending to use the toilet. Given that I was also able to refill myself from any of the drinks they had on offer, expecting somewhere to empty out seemed a fair deal.

After paying, I discovered the toilet was locked. I asked the young attendant, who confirmed this was intentional. When I asked where I could go to pee, he just shrugged. I suggested I might go in the drinks aisle or out front near one of the bowsers, but he was unfazed.

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The exchange reminded me of an altercation in a French hotel years ago when my wife was refused the opportunity to use les toilettes des dames. When she threatened to seek relief in the hotel lobby and began disrobing, the refusal was reversed. I had no such luck in Ringwood East.

I initially put this down to Generation Y’s inability to understand the sensitivities of ageing organs, but then I realised it was part of a wider tendency. Public toilets – or private toilets open to the public – are becoming more scarce.

There was a golden age of public toilet building in Australia. In the years immediately following World War II, the urge to purge was well understood and brick public dunnies were everywhere. Their placement was often impressive. I have noticed that wherever the ancient Greeks or Romans spread their culture, they built marble temples on prominent hills, headlands and other beauty spots.

In postwar Australia, our priorities ensured such sites would usually be occupied by a structure that was often occupied. But we appear now to be doing away with them.

There was a stunning piece of toilet architecture that disappeared from Flagstaff Gardens a few years ago. It was long, sleek, 1950s modernist design with sandstone walls and a touch of Frank Lloyd Wright. It occupied the highest point of the gardens, so if you had an urgent need you knew where to sprint. Now, whenever there is an ”event” in the gardens, a couple of portable loos are trucked in to stop people relieving themselves amid the agapanthus.

The same demolition has happened to a round toilet block in the Fitzroy Gardens, which I suspect might have been the work of the same unrecognised architectural genius.

We have long been reminded of the challenges we face with an ageing population. Some of these challenges entail cystitis, prostatitis and irritable bowel syndrome. Before long, half the continent could be incontinent.

What are we doing in preparation? Either shutting down public loos or replacing them with those stupid single-throne bunkers with automatic doors taking up the space that could be occupied by a pee trough and several cubicles.

My wife refuses to use them, fearing she might be locked inside, forever forced to listen to an endless stream of piped music. It is an irrational fear because no matter where you use one of these things – from Brisbane to Ballarat and, presumably, Baltimore – they only play the one tune.

After a little fanfare, to cover the time needed to remove clothing, the public address system launches into an up-tempo version of the 1965 hit What the World Needs Now is Love (Sweet Love). Should love be the purpose of visiting this place, it would have to be quick, because an American-accented voice warns, ”you have 10 minutes”.

What the world needs now is more public toilets. In Italy they hardly exist, forcing those in need to visit a cafe. In parts of India it is still OK to excrete on the street. But why is this happening in Australia, once able to boast clean rest rooms to shame the world?

As usual, it is probably to do with costs, but have the bureaucrats who make these decisions based them on projected need?

I suggest they take the time for a time and motion study.

Meanwhile, what options are there for those being caught short? Most of those now faced with this prospect are part of the pesky demographic known as baby boomers. In the heyday of boomer youth, any protest inevitably entailed what was called a ”sit in”. These days, we need to get the message to authorities to uphold the right to normal bodily functions. Perhaps we need to organise what might be termed a ”shit in”. One way or the other, I feel it will grow into a mass movement.

Geoff Strong is an Age senior writer.

(We have to agree with Geoff – might be time for a “shit in”!!)

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