TMI Thursday: the poop that comes between us

June 28, 2012

Today we resurrect TMI Thursday.

Anyone who reads this blog with any consistently knows the wifebot and I play some strange games. This goes double for anyone who has spent any amount of time with us in real life. One of them is the divorce game. We play many variations of the divorce game.

(Sorry divorcees.)

One is the “we’re over: start to take our ring off” game. This game begins with a simple, meaningless disagreement.

Her: This show is dumb.

Me: How dare you! We are over!

Her: Fine! Take your dumb ring back.

Me: Fine!

(Both start to pull wedding rings off.)

A great number of things have resulted in “divorce.”
Her thinking the Doritos locos taco sounded gross.
Brussels sprouts.
Her not liking Children’s Hospital.

I didn’t expect a story about poop would be one that leads to actual divorce. A few weeks ago our marriage appeared to be on the brink because of a story I told about poo. She was really mad. Let’s jump back in the way back machine.

It was the end of the day. She worked all day and picked me up outside the museum. We said our hello’s and gave our kisses. It’s some very sweet and touching stuff folks.

Lots of touching. (Bow chikka bow wow)

AnyPointlessSexJoke we drove home and talked about our day. Eventually, I turned to what happened at work. What happened you ask? Sometime after lunch my stomach started to feel upset. It wasn’t anything too serious just a little just a warning. It was a notice that soon I would be a filming a movie.

Wondering about the filming a movie thing?

The problem was it escalated far quicker than I thought it would. First you have to find someone to cover your gallery (or get a manager to find someone.) I got a neighbor to agree and called it in.

No response.
Wait.
Little more urgency.

I called again.
Nothing.
Wait.
Nothing.

This time I call again and plan to leave either way. Luckily I got the okay and went off to the rest room.  The producers were REALLY ready by the time I got in there. I’ll spare you the details.

It was a major production though. When all was said and done I was sweating. Then we got called back in for some re-shoots.

It was bad.

I related the near miss but being the story crafter I am described it a <s>little</s> lot more graphically. I may have described color and fell.

But the shit really hit the fan (see what I did there?) when I used sounds to describe it. The wife was not happy. She called me disgusting (and even disturbed) which I didn’t enjoy very much. I tried to understand where I went too far.

You know to know where the line was.

She wanted nothing of it. She said not to even bring it up and made these hilarious gagging sounds. Her anger was sort of cute. This of course made her madder. I found it all to be ridiculous and told her so. Wrong move of course. This was about when she said if I brought it up again we’d be getting a divorce.

Clearly we weren’t anywhere near divorce. I think it’s pretty awesome that the only thing we’d get in a fight over is a poop story.

It was pretty gross and graphic.
But she’s still ridiculous.

Advertisements

TMI Thursday: Brownaconda Attacks

November 18, 2010

I’m weird. This is something the wife tells me all the time. People’s eyes tell me this all the time too, but my doctor said I should stop saying stuff about talking eyes.

(I’ll be here all week.)

Oh look the parenthesis are back. I don’t know why that started. I don’t know when either so don’t expect an answer or a link.

(Mostly too lazy)
(Shut up)

Whatever. You stopped reading after the title I’m sure. Now I’ve developed a fun (depending on who you ask) habit of naming my pooping ventures. Sometimes I announce the names to my wife as I head into the bathroom. Sometimes it doesn’t get a name until after the fact. This is usually based on amount, size, difficulty and or color. Oh and generally (read always) these excursions are named for some movie. For example:

Off to film The Hunt for the Brown October.
I just got done shooting Pooptanic.
Just got off the set of Brownaconda.
Indiana Jones and the temple of Poo.

The best instance had to have happened in Florida. After filming I come into the bedroom where kat and Pelvic Joann are and say:

Me (very seriously): “Have you seen Alec Baldwin?”
(Now after some initial ignoring I finally get a response)
Me: Yeah just finished shooting the sequel to Hunt for the Red October…Hunt for the Brown October.

I don’t do this every single time and I try to mix it up and not use the same one. Carissa—which if you aren’t reading here you should be—has convinced me to create a list. I am and so thank her for that disgusting list when it happens.

Anypooping back to the tmi. This happened late at night (like 2am) so there was no announcing of a shooting schedule. The wife was sweetly tucked away dreaming of sugar plum or murders. More likely she was dreaming of murders and kidnappers but that’s another story. Check one out here. So I went to the bathroom without being able to say some witty movie name.

(Poor jimi)

I’ll spare you the details of the actual event. I will say that there was quite a lot of it in the bowl afterwards. Now above the toilet on a rack sit her collection of duckies. You know the little rubber duckies? They have different versions. You know like punk rock duck, bad girl duck, Hitler duck,devil duck, irish duck, Jean Bonet Ramsey duck.

(Horrible jokes jimi)

So they’re up there. I finish my business and wipe and all that. As I finish I happen to put my hand up there. I knock poor Chicago duckie off balance and he falls. I like Spider-Man grab out for it. I catch it but the Green Goblin comes along and distracts me and Chicago duckie falls out of my hand. I almost catch it again but instead as it falls out into the air leaps the fabled Brownaconda and snags it into his jaws.
Sorta like this:

Photobucket

Yes we apparently pee and poop into a misshapen bucket. We classy like that. It was horrible how angry it sounded as it grabbed poor poor Chicago duck. It fell pretty much directly into the poop and sunk in too.

Photobucket

So I don’t know if it was because it was late, I was sleepy or the trauma of the brownaconda attack but I without hesitation reached right into the misshapen bucket the toilet. You know brownaconda and all. I grabbed Chicago duckie (sunk in a bit more as I did) and it I swear made a sort of plop-pop sounds as it pulled free. I managed to not get anything on my hand. I’m still not sure how because there was a ton in the bowl and poor Chicago duckie was covered in it. I tossed it into the shower and turned it on. After it was all gone I dried the poor fellow off and replaced him. I thought about not telling her about it but I did first thing the next morning. For 2 reasons I knew I’d use it on here and I wanted to gross her out. So I told her about the spin off to Anaconda.

Brownaconda: Dead Duck

I of course embellished some of the details of the story for her. I may or may not have said something about
pieces of food sticking to her duckie.
You’re welcome.


The one with the Mount Everest of poo

September 16, 2010

Today is Thursday and you know what that means. Well yes it does mean Its Always Sunny in Philadelphia returns. That was a mean thing of you to point out. I mean I can’t compete with Sunny. Why even bother?

It also means it’s time for another TMI Thursday. I know I know you can hardly contain your excitement. It’s been a while (not really) and technically I should begin some of the chronicling the Key West roadie.

But it is our first Thursday back and well when I told Pelvic Joann and the wifey the story they were thoroughly grossed out.

So I’m back. I’m baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack in the saddle again.

So as I was thinking about what joke to make about Steven Tyler (drugs and alcohol being too easy) something hit me. This freaked me out because there’s nobody else here.

Heyoooooooooo!

I was going to go with how he resembles a (wide mouth) vase when he sings and doll up some vase with hair and scarves but that seemed like too much work.

Lazy ftw!

As I looked at pictures of Mr. Tyler there was a joke that wanted to come out but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

Because of the restraining order it has out on me. Heyoooooooooooo!
(What?)

He looked awful familiar to me—but who? And then I figured it out:

Photobucket

Am I right? He is so creepy.

Anybeautyandthebeastjokes I should probably move on. This TMI Thursday took places on the Three Shillelagh’s Hunt for the Key Master Tour (2010)

(Uhm what other year would it be?)

Sorry I digressed yet again. (I do that a lot.)

I’m writing this as we make our way into the rainy Florida night (10:33pm) on the final leg of the trip (to Key West). As we do we are listening to Katy Perry so yeah there might be some more digressing.

(Roar)

(See.)

We decided it was best to stop at a gas station and fill up the tank right before truly hitting the way to Key West. The rain was slowly coming down as we headed into the store to stock up on some drinks and what not. We bought a couple big pineapple (there were no big peach like in GA) to mix with the pinnacle whip vodka.

As Pelvy and I paid for our stuff the wife grabbed the key to the bathroom (it was outside) and took care of the diet Pepsi max she drank on the drive. I figured after I paid I’d head on over to the crapper and drain the lizard (make a sissy—take that wife!) My turn finally came and as I waited for it to be approved I felt the annoying (and often terrible) rumblings.

This did not bode well.

I mean the stomach rumblings and grumblings at a crappy looking Florida gas station late at night. Unfortunately it wasn’t going to be up for discussion. It wasn’t urgent or anything but I didn’t want to start a 3 or so hour drive with the need to film The Hunt for the Brown October.

I paid grabbed the grubby looking keys and handed off my purchases to the wifey. I made my way to the bathroom and switched the lights on. There was trash (empty candy wrappers and soda cans) on the floor. The rain from outside (or at least what I hope was mostly rain) had tracked in and made the floor very slippery.

One step in and I almost fell.

Woah.

2nd step inside as the door closes and yet another slip. This time I almost fell. I mean one foot came way up and I had to grab onto the sink to stop from falling. This is the time that my head went down near (not too near thankfully) to the toilet. Of course I was not too happy with what I saw. In the watery grave was a hill of poop and brown tinted toilet paper. It was high.

Some dick head didn’t flush this I thought to myself. Well just flush it first.

Oh.

There wasn’t even a handle. Or any other discernable way to flush either. Whatever. I can probably hold it. Maybe just take care of the pee part.

I peed.
I thought maybe I’d save someone else by destroying the fortress of poo and tp. The water in the bowl muddied a bit but otherwise the hill did not change. Washed my hands grabbed the key and made my way out.

Slip.

And as I caught myself for the 3rd time there was another slip. This one of the insides variety and it became apparent that it’d be best to take care of the filming of the sequel to the Hunt for the Red October right then and there.

Someone call Alec Baldwin!

I looked back in to the toilet. I sighed and decided that sitting down (the seat amazingly looked pretty clean) was not really an option. The hill of poop looked dangerously close to where the butt would rest. So I hovered and let go.

And let go some more.

And a little bit more.

Then I wiped and looked down.

Photobucket

If it was a math equation it would look like this: pre poo + jimi poo = poo hill over the brim.

Yes kiddies that picture isn’t exaggerating all that much. The poop reached a bit over the top of the bowl. I washed my hands, returned the keys and jumped in the car.

Of course I told them right away. The Katy Perry was momentarily replaced by a chorus of disgust by the ladies. I knew I had a tmi post for when I returned.

Add to FacebookAdd to DiggAdd to Del.icio.usAdd to StumbleuponAdd to RedditAdd to BlinklistAdd to TwitterAdd to TechnoratiAdd to Yahoo BuzzAdd to Newsvine


Poop fears or TMI Thursday

November 12, 2009

Alright, folks, you know the rules. Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!
TMI Thursday

This TMI Thursday is a bit different. For one thing it doesn’t involve sex or throw up which appeared to be the theme around here. It has nothing to do with ass to mouth (but I still want to write that because damn is it a top search that brings people here!) though ass is still involved. I was unsure what to write about when my wife suggested I tell the tidbit that will follow. I’m still convinced she’s just afraid I’ll use something involving her and so she tries to steer me clear of those things. A little bit of background before we begin.

1. I’ve had a cough for about 2 weeks now.
2. These were just admissions (amusing statements made by me) and not actual occurrences.
3. I got a bit drunk last night playing the Austin Carr drinking game.
4. Austin Carr is a former Cavs player/current Cavs tv announcer. He is quite hilarious.

As we walked from the car to our apartment (we parked basically in Canada) I mentioned I’d soon have to drop the kids off at the pool. I actually described number two like this because it really irks the lovely wife. So we continue to walk and I had to cough (like I do every 30 seconds or so these days.) I stop in my tracks to let the string of coughs come and go. The wife keeps going but semi turns because I’m not walking anymore. I decide to inform her why. I say: “When a cough comes and I’ve got to take a crap I need to stop so I can make sure I squeeze my butt cheeks closed tightly. You know make sure the cargo bay doors are closed? We don’t want to release the trash into space prematurely.” That was the first bit of what was TMI in her mind. On we move to me playing the Austin Carr drinking game whilst watching the Cavaliers beating on the Orlando Magic. I got a pretty good drunk on, before she stopped me from taking shots and etc. So as we’re going to bed I realize I left my boxers in the bathroom (when I took a shower a few minutes earlier) and went to get them. Now normally I like to sleep totally naked (yeah some more TMI for ya!) but I needed my boxers. She was in the bathroom doing the gazillion things she does to get ready for bed, so I asked her to hand me my boxers. In my drunken state I decided I should lean up against the wall and justify why I wanted my boxers. So I sorta stammered and blurted “I uh need to. I well…” then decided I didn’t want to share the reasoning. She of course would not and could not let the intrigue of the half spoken admissions go and asked what I was trying to say. I then admitted/blurted out this:

“I need to wear boxers because I’m afraid that you know as I sleep I’ll cough and some how poo all over the bed. So I’ll wear these to have a buffer zone.” I then just looked at her with loving husbandy eyes. She only replied with: “your right you shouldn’t have told me.”

There ya go! I have fears of pooing (and I apparently use the term pooing too!) the bed because of this constant fucking cough. I also like to use Star Wars references in describing bodily functions. So in conclusion uhm may the force be with you?


%d bloggers like this: