Stimie’s Insightful Observations

Masturbation in public.

Jerking off around people is fun, but it can have an overall negative influence on your personality. For example, there’s twenty minutes left on the bus ride home and you’re all alone in the back. You begin spanking and all of a sudden a terrifying wave of paranoia rushes over you. Frantically looking around, you pay attention to every little thing people say because you’re worried they might catch on to your horrible agenda. A girl in the front of the bus says, “Look at that flower,” to her friend. You hear that and think, “Flower? Plant? Tree? Log? Wood? Does she know? Holy shit!” Panicking, you quickly cover up and look around the bus for hidden cameras and mirrors.

See what I mean? You have to be confident. Even if people do catch on that you’re stroking, you must maintain control and stay calm. One time I was bored so I took off my pants and furiously beat off. Everything was going great until I lost control and huffed loudly. At that point, everybody in the church turned around and stared at me. I shouted, “It’s okay, I’m just showing the lord my respect. It just so happens that my respect is in my pants.” I went into the confession booth to finish the job but the priest was in there. I said to him, “Father, yes, I have sinned. In fact, I am sinning right now… and my sin is getting all over the damn booth. Do you have a Kleenex by any chance?”

Have you ever jerked off during class? You’re sitting in fifth period English right after lunch and you have that young blonde substitute teacher with the cute little glasses and her hair done up in a bun. She’s up talking about adverbs and pronouns, but all you can think is “Man I’d like to get her in the Janitor’s closet.”

You start thinking, “Maybe if I just touched it a little, other students won’t notice.” As your hand gets close to your goods, you think, “What if I really do it? What if I actually flog my penis during school?” That triggers another thought, “Even if I don’t get caught, will god punish me? Are angels watching? Will I go to hell?” Just when your pants are unzipped, the teacher calls on you to give your presentation. When you stand up, a cool breeze whips your nuts. You hesitate for a moment because something doesn’t seem right. You look down and your balls are hanging out of your pants and flopping around on your notebook.

Have you ever self-scrogged in a movie theater? You’re in the back row all by yourself because you have no friends so you begin thinking, “This movie is really boring, but Milla Jovovitch is looking pretty damn sexy right now.” No big story.

You’re sitting on a plane with your parents while that hot stewardess stands in front of the isle instructing you on how to buckle your seatbelt. Her ignorance and fake smile turn you on, so you run to the little bathroom and whip out your tool. Meanwhile, you got that asshole outside knocking on the door saying, “Hey, my kid is in trouble here, could you please hurry?”

A half an hour later, the stewardess comes and knocks on the bathroom door. She says, “Excuse me sir, but we’re landing shortly, I’m going to have to ask you to return to your seat.” It’s hard to stop once you’ve started, and here you are being asked to sit down when you still got another ten minutes to go. You return to your seat and continue without even pulling up your pants. Everyone on the plane is listening to you squeal like a pig and meanwhile, your parents don’t know what the hell is going on. The captain comes out screaming. You look at him and say, “I’m sitting with my seatbelt on. I’m not smoking. I have no electronic appliances turned on. I don’t see any ‘no masturbation’ signs. What’s the problem, Captain?”

Have you ever beat off in a public restroom? That’s scary stuff. You walk in, lock the door, and at first it feels like you’re home free until you take off your trousers. At the point you start suspecting all kinds of crazy things. First you think people are watching from the vent and laughing at you, then you see small holes in the wall that could contain hidden cameras. Suddenly you feel extremely guilty and embarrassed. You even start suspecting that the mirror is the one-way kind in interrogation rooms. I gotta tell you, it’s all true.

From now on, when you masturbate in public, just keep in mind that people are probably watching and it’s a good chance that your parents will find out. Hell, do it anyway. It’s not like there’s anything anyone is going to do about it. Everybody masturbates. Even your parents do it occasionally. Just go look in your dad’s “secret” drawer. Every dad has a secret drawer where he keeps his bible, will, and porno. You know what I’m talking about. Even girls do it, a lot of them will claim, “No, only 80% of females masturbate.” Bullshit.

Every blowup doll I’ve ever seen is ugly. They have disproportionate faces and bodies. I’ve never seen one that turned me on more than a block of wood.

Sex is a trillion dollar industry. You’d think someone out there would throw a decent looking fuck doll onto the market.

Here’s a typical inflatable fuck doll.

She looks like a frog with downs syndrome.

She has rashes painted around her ears, she has no eyelids, and her hair makes her look like a Worf.

If a living human looked anything like this, the only sex she’d get would be with other exhibits in the museum.

This one has has no holes. It’s a blow-up doll that you can’t have sex with. What are you supposed to do? Watch a movie together? Talk to her? Rub her on your head and stick her to the ceiling?

This girl’s bitching at me and she has a webbed crotch and I hate her.

This looks like one of those punching bags you hit when you were a kid, and they bob back up again. You know like Fred Flintstone, like from that prize egg machine in Pizza Inn. “Yabba-Dabba-Doo! Dino loves you…”

Except this one has a giant lubricated mouth. So you accidentally punch her in the throat right when your dad walks in and he thinks you’re fisting a fuck doll that looks like Stewie Griffin.

I call this one Dicky Long Cocking. They went all out with the makeup on her.

This doll looks like such a slut, even if she were brand new, I’d still wear a condom.

And despite the hard work on her makeup, she still doesn’t have eyelids. Is there something unattractive about eyelids? Her eyes look like eukaryotes. I don’t want to jizz onto a eukaryote. That is bad news. A eukaryote, once jizzed on, will absorb your genetic code and evolve into a giant horny beast and now you’re the fuck doll.

This isn’t a blow-up girl as much as it is a girl I want to blow up.

I hate her. Her name is Contessa, but people call her Tessa. Which is fortunate for someone as unclever as I am, because it was not a very far reach to come up with “Hey, cunt-Tessa”

She’s retarded. This picture is probably as philosophical as she gets.

The reason she pisses me off is because she’s slutty, alcoholic, and extremely gullible, and I’m slutty, alcoholic, extremely manipulative. Yet, despite the odds working heavily in my favor, I can’t get her in the sack. So I’m getting revenge by defaming her character in front of the internet.

Your move, cunt.

No eyelids, as usual. This time with bruises on her cheeks, a terrified expression, and two black eyes. Yet, for some reason, they didn’t call this doll the Rape-me-Susan.

This isn’t funny. This is creepy as fuck. Stay away from me and my website and my life.

I don’t know if I should fuck her shoulder blades or embalm her into a sarcophagus. These blowup dolls aren’t hot. I don’t see what’s so difficult about it.

This girl looks extremely lifeless. She could be a doll. Or real. I’d fuck her either way.

She’s hot, by the way. In case you didn’t notice. If that’s a fuck doll, that’s a pretty damn hot fuck doll. Hats off to whoever crafted that one.

The problem with this one is that her puss looks like a belt buckle. Maybe if my dick were 32 inches, flat, and made of rawhide, she’d be the sex toy for me.

For all the guys who have fetishes for fucking girls in the belly button.

She has a fat lumpy ass with fucked up boobs. Her boobs look like those little paper cone cups at water coolers.

And instead of shaping the material to make a chin, they painted a black line. Now she’s chinless bearded frumpy-ass Giza tit plastic slut doll. Not my style. Not anyone’s style.

You know it’s bad news when a blowup doll is so ugly that you have to put a bag over her head.

Maybe I’ll forget about dolls and get a girlfriend and come back in five years to see if they’ve made any improvements.

A lot of guys pretend blow-up dolls are jokes. As if they’re ugly because nobody takes them seriously. Until it’s their bachelor party and someone gifts them a blowup doll. And then the bachelor is like, “Oh! You got me a blowup doll! That’s funny shit, Nate. Nate, you old dog you. Buying me a blowup doll. That Nate. Thanks Nate.” Then the guy goes home and fills it with water and fucks it. Of course he does.

A few years ago my friends got me a Lovin’ Lamb for my birthday party. I reacted like it was funny and I pretended to take it as a complete joke. But the whole remainder of the party, all I could think was, “I can’t wait to go home and fuck that Lovin’ Lamb.” Then I went home and filled it with water and fucked that Lovin’ Lamb.

That’s right. I went to town on that faggoty gay little lamb. And I know you’re jealous and you’re going to go out and buy one right away.

But here’s the thing. When you purchase a brand new Lovin’ Lamb or maybe Lovin’ Kangaroo if you’re Australian, it will be stiff and obnoxiously loud. Your family or whatever will hear it in the other room, they’ll think you’re making balloon animals. What you do to make it soft is exactly like a new baseball mitt. You put it in the dishwasher with a bunch of rubber bands around it and your dick stuck in it so it conforms right. After three or four loads, it’ll be pliable and soft so you can pitch it to that doll until it somehow, against physics, has an orgasm. And if you want, you can try the black sheep. The black ones are much more warm and sensual, but usually more noisy and only work if you drape gold chains on them.

Girls always complain about guys stalking them. It’s usually to make them appear more sought after. It’s a total jock for status. It doesn’t work. When a girl talks about her many stalkers, a guy doesn’t think, “Wow, this girl sure is a prize to be won.” All girls think is, “Shouldn’t have slept with him, slut.” And all guys think is, “Wow, this cock tease is nothing but fat and trouble. I’m outta here.”

Most of the time it’s made-up bullshit when a girl complains about a guy stalking her. And even if she does actually think she’s being stalked, it’s usually her fault anyway so she has no reason to complain.

Usually when girls think they’re being stalked, the guy who’s “stalking” has no idea what’s going on. This is because girls do not make it clear to guys how they feel. A girl will talk to a guy on the phone, act nice, laugh, flirt, and then when she hangs up, she’ll bitch to the people around her - “Oh my god that guy is so creepy. He is such a stalker. That guy is such a creep. I mean, I waited until halfway through my custom ringtone to answer his call. Can’t he take a hint?”

“That guy is so creepy. I told him what color bra I’m wearing and he got all weird and creepy. Oh my god creepy.”

“Oh my god, he’s such a stalker. I told him to call me Saturday and maybe we’ll do something. I said ‘maybe,’ Charlotte, MAYBE. Jesus. CAN’T HE TAKE A HINT? WHY DOES HE KEEP CALLING ME?”

“Oh my god, ya know that Jensen guy? Like.. what a stalker. Like.. I don’t like.. like him.. but he keeps calling me. Ugh. Right? And I keep answering it. And I keep going to his house and having sex with him. Oh my god, and he asked me to marry him and I said yes. Like.. seriously.. Ugh. So creepy. And we like.. got married and moved in together and now like.. he’s always coming over to my house and like.. sleeping in my bed.. ew it’s so gross. And we had kids and he’s always trying to be around them and like.. take them places.. I think the only reason he pretends to like our kids is to be around me.. uh.”

Because girl’s fucking suck at hints. A guy’s hint is easy. Guys go like this: “Hey Aleisha, I don’t want a relationship with you.” End of transaction. A girl’s idea of a hint is going out to dinner with a guy and using her chewing to say ‘leave me alone’ in morse code. We don’t pick up your crazy symbolic metaphorical subtle suggestions. It’s not that we’re stupid. We just don’t have time to sit and interpret and analyze your behavior into madness.

Last year I had sex with this girl one night. And in the morning, she said, “Call me later, okay?” So I did. I called her, and she didn’t answer. I called her again the next day. She didn’t answer. Am I a god damn stalker now? She told me to call her. That’s not even a hint, no matter how subtle. She told me to call her. I called her. She was sitting at a luncheon date with all her dunt luncheon gals talking about stupid dunt luncheon shit and her phone rang and it was me and she looked at it and said, “Oh my god, this creepy stalker guy keeps calling me. Ick to the extreme.”

And her friend is like, “Oh my god, I have one of those two. Aren’t they creepy? Like just leave me alone!” “I know, right!”

Which is bullshit. I didn’t even like her. I just called her because she asked me to. I didn’t want to. I was being fucking polite. She was nothing special. Or, to put it in more clear terms, I wouldn’t be proud of putting our video online. To say the least. She had giant dimples on her ass cheeks and she had pimples on her ass dimples. And she had wicked dimple cellulite with pimply dimples and nothing about it was simple. It was like fucking a deep dish bowl of lasagna.

Who knows if they do this subtlety garbage because they secretly want to be stalked, or if it makes them feel more wanted, or if they like bragging about it. I don’t know. All I know is that it’s some seriously weak-ass annoying shit.

And sometimes it can get really bad. Like when the guy actually likes the girl. The relationship progresses as it should, he grows fond of her, she gives no indication that anything is wrong, and all of a sudden, she cuts off all communication. Then the guy goes fucking insane mode. It drives us nuts when girls do this. Why do girls this? Is it fun for you? You invest that much of your time and emotional energy on a practical joke?

I’ve been in that position. When a girl builds the bondage of trust and then downright cuts off communication. Sidenote, bondage of trust is my favorite. Try it sometime. But the girl has to be skinny.

So the girl leads the guy to believe she’s crazy about him, then goes from crazy-about to ignore instantly without warning. The guy starts “stalking” her. And it’s not so much “stalking” as it is wondering what the fuck happened. Usually the guy just wants to know what he did wrong. He wants to know her reason for doing it. And she never answers, so he starts calling her more often, just to spite her for not answering. So he goes to her house and knocks on the door. Meanwhile, she’s freaking out. She thinks he’s going to rapekill her or something. He just wants to know the story. And she doesn’t answer the door. So he starts going to her house more and more, just to spite her for not answering. Then he steals her underwear and draws pictures of his dick on it and sends it to her in the mail. She could have avoided it all by being straight forward. It’s really easy to do, watch:

Girl: “Hey, Dave, I have something to say to you.”
David Smith: “What’s that?”
Girl: “Well. It’s just that. You and I aren’t working out.”
David Smith: “I know. That’s why you’re so fat.”
Girl: “No, I mean.. us.. we aren’t working out.”
David Smith: “I know. That’s why you’re so fat.”
Girls: “No, Dave, our relationship.. it’s not working out.”
David Smith: “Jill, honey.. listen.. a relationship is an abstract concept and not only does it not contain bones or muscle fibers, but it doesn’t contain any form of tangible matter at all. It is physically impossible for it to do both free weights and machines. Alright, Jilly-babe?”

I guess it’s not that easy. But still, they could at least try.

Phone rings….

Hello

Is Ted there?

Ted Theodore Logan?

No, Ted Martin.

Sorry you have the wrong number.

Click!

Then I moved on to my next adventure.

Welp, I’ve been meaning to do this for a long time but have been too lazy really. I’ve got less to do after work these days so why not you know.

I used to spend my time watching whatever Windows Media Center recorded for me while browsing /b/. I figured I’d get a little more creative and start the ole blog back up again.

Today I got Geoshitter.com. I’ll be working on it over the next few days so soon you may see something pop up.

Had to put together a new linux box for the house. The old one had a problem with it’s motherboard. The hard drive controller failed. Amazing enough slackware stayed running in memory for 2 days while I found a discarded machine at work to donate to the cause. Drives are ok, I moved the 1tb drive with my rom’s collection on it. The roms will soon be on romhive.com.

Got everything working fine on this new box. It’s a lot faster than the old one. It seems to have no problem serving up wordpress and anything else I can toss at it.

Now it’s time to turn my attention to getting back on the road so ebay here I come!

Sure, consoles age and get dirty. Heck, I remember a suspicious incident involving my Super Nintendo (SNES) console and a can of Coca-Cola in the early ’90s that left my SNES looking more like a moldy loaf of bread than a video game system. But around five years ago, I noticed that my SNES console was aging particularly badly. I cleaned off all the remnants of fossilized Coke residue from the chassis with a wet washcloth, but the “moldy bread” look still remained. The top half of the console’s plastic body retained a uniformly nasty yellow-brown hue, while the bottom half flaunted its showroom shine — that native SNES gray that we all know and love. I soon realized that a much deeper mechanism was responsible for the aesthetic disfigurement of my beloved SNES than mere dirt and sugar.

To further complicate matters, I have another SNES unit that was obviously produced more recently than my original one, and that console shows no sign of aging whatsoever. Comparing the units and the way different parts of them had discolored led me to believe that there is something different about the two batches of plastics — the one for the top half of the SNES chassis and the one for the bottom, or the plastic for the old unit and plastic for the new — that made them age differently over time.

The internet turned up very little but to let us know other than no one wants a brown SNES. Only the lighter more pure SNES is what everyone wants. Is this reflect-ant of our society? Are things that are brown not wanted. Even if it’s a person of the darker persuasion? Think about that the next time you have a brown tail sliding out your backside.

I swear that if I wasn’t sexually attracted to girls that I’d be gay. At least guys make sense most the time.

First off, girls just talk way too much. When you’re with your other
girlfriends, go ahead and talk about whatever the fuck you want. I
don’t care. But why exactly do you think that I care about the kind of
day that your sisters co-workers dog had? Your sister is nice enough,
but I don’t know her co-worker and I certainly don’t know her dog. So
why the fuck are you telling me this story? I don’t care! If you have
something worth talking about, then I can enjoy engaging you in a
meaningful conversation. But before you start talking to me about some
of the inane frivolous shit that you talk to your girlfriends about,
first ask yourself “Does this have a point?”. Because if it doesn’t I’m
just going to smile, and nod, and zone out and you’ll get mad because
I’m not listening to your retarded shit!

Stop over complicating everything. There isn’t an ulterior motive
or hidden meaning in every other sentance. Unless, I suppose, it’s
coming out of the mouth of another woman. Because you ladies never can
seem to say what you actually mean. You have this weird secret code
that you love to try and crack and expect us guys to be able to get in
on your stupid game. Guys aren’t like that. Rarely rarely RARELY will
you ever have to figure out what a guy is actually saying. We say what
we mean. Girls have such a skewed sense of logic that this simple
concept is often lost on them. When you go searching for some deeper
meaning that isn’t there, you’re just committing to an act of futility.
In the end you wind up making up some bullshit and believing that it
must be true and acting on that false reality and making a mess of
something for no apparent reason other than the fact that you’re
in-fucking-sane.

Stop getting upset at guys for trying to help solve your problems.
That’s what guys do. You present us with a problem, we’re going to try
and fix it. It’s in our fucking nature. I know it’s in your nature to
want to talk about everything, but if you’re going to bring up your
problems to a guy, expect that he’s going to try and do something about
it or give you advice. Women always bitch that guys don’t listen. It’s
not that we don’t listen, we just don’t understand why you’re bringing
up your problems if you don’t want us to do something about it. We’re
not as empathetic as your girlfriends, so if you want empathy, go to
them. Likewise, if guys have a problem, they’ll probably only bring it
up if they need help or advice. Many women will bitch that guys don’t
talk enough. It’s not that guys don’t talk, it’s just that your empathy
doesn’t help solve our problems when we do talk.

One of the most insanely frustrating things about women is the constant
reassurance. No, you’re not fat. If you were fat you wouldn’t be able
to fit into that size 2 dress. And yes, you look good. Guys wouldn’t be
giving you free shit if you were ugly. (There’s an ulterior fucking
motive for you. Hint: They’re not giving you free stuff just to be
sweet.) It’s so frustrating having to constantly answer those
questions, only to not be believed. It’s like trying to convince
someone that the sky is blue. You’re not blind, you’re not even color
blind. You can see that the sky is blue. Yet you continue to ask what
color the sky is. I tell you it’s blue. I know that you know what color
blue is. And even though I’ve told you that the sky is blue about
fifty-million times, you still have to ask because…I don’t
know…maybe it’s not blue today. The sky is fucking blue goddammit!
You’re not fucking fat! You’re not fucking ugly! You know it, I know
it, everyone fucking knows it!

And fuck all you ultra-hot girls that bitch about the most retarded
things. Yeah, all men are fucking pigs because they stare at your
boobs. I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that you’re wearing
a skin tight low cut shirt that has ‘Bebe’ printed across your boobs…
one ‘Be’ per boob. It’s totally unfair that you have to put up with
guys staring at you all the time just because you like to look sexy.
And boo hoo, it’s so hard for you to meet a nice guy. Well actually it
isn’t, because the shoulder your crying on belongs to a nice guy. He’s
the one that puts up with all your stupid shit. And yet you some how
end up with all the assholes. I’m sure that it has nothing to do with
the fact that you’re holding out for a six foot tall alpha-male fire
fighter with a trust fund.

And finally, yay for you. You sold a freezer to some eskimos.
Congratulations on being the hot sales rep. We’re all very proud of you
for being able to have a nice ass while the rest of us actually have to
work for a living. And we’re all so excited to see your new diamond
jewelry. Your ability to date another rich fucktard that will shower
you with expensive bobbles is commendable. And I’ll be so surprised and
sorry for you when he dumps you for the next hot girl. Because I really
thought that materialistic trophy bagger was in love with you. But I’m
happy to hear that you wrecked your fifth car while multi-tasking
between your cell phone and doing your make up in the mirror. Your
dedication to enforcing the stereotype of women drivers is nothing
short of awe inspiring. And you’re right, I was being a shallow douche bag when I commented on the hotness of Eva Longoria. So lets go
see that movie where Johnny Depp makes out with Orlando Bloom on Brad
Pitts abs. I know you’ve been dying to see that one.

Girls…you piss me the fuck off. You do stupid shit and manage to get
away with it. You can be the most annoying idiots in the world. Your
sense of logic and common sense seems to be a rare gift rather than a
common trait. And yet I’m uncontrollably attracted to you. And that’s
quite possibly the most frustrating thing of all.

Do you love to play Super Mario Brothers on the Classic Nintendo System? Do you like to get tagged from behind while you do it? This is the post for you then.You must know your way around the game before we meet, must be open to anal sex, also able to fake an orgasm is a plus.I will send you the address to a hotel and a room number. When you arrive the door will be open. Please come in close and lock the door and close the shades if they are still open. I will be in the bathroom and the door will be closed. Turn on the TV and the Nintendo. Remove all of your clothing. Turn off all lights in the room and kneel down on the bed so you are directly in the light of the TV. You need to be facing the TV with your butt in the air pointed toward the pillows on the bed.Press the start button on the controller when you are ready. I will hear the sound and turn the light off in the bathroom and come out. You will not look directly at mc, only look at the TV. When the first level starts I will begin to finger you and lick you. I will be using lots of lube as well.When you reach the end of level one, make sure to trigger the fireworks. This is vital to the entire experience. I must hear the fireworks. When level 2 begins and Mario walks into the pipe, I will penetrate you. You may say things like, “MORE”, “HARDER” “FUCK ME”, but nothing else. I will continue having sex until the level ends. DO NOT take the secret level skip. If you die I will pull out and spank you until the level restarts.When you reach the flag you must again trigger the fireworks, and also orgasm. I will pull out. When the 1-3 starts I will penetrate your ass. You are allowed to say something like “OH GOD”, “YES”, OR “IT HURTS” no other conversation is allowed.When level 1-4 starts I will alternate between holes as I see fit. You may beg me to cum inside or outside of you, depending on what you want. When boss falls and you reach the princess I will pull out and blow my load where you have convinced me I want too. You may then say something like “Thanks”, “It was great”, “I loved it”, “Don’t stop”If I am impressed you may continue playing and I will continue to pleasure you. If am not, I will turn the Nintendo Off and return to the bathroom. At this time you may clean yourself with the towel that is beside the bed. Turn the lights on, redress yourself and leave. I may come back out and talk to you as you dress but the conversation will most likely be short and revolve around scheduling another time to get together.• Location: Spartanburg

Memorize these definitions, and pooping at work will become a pure pleasure.

ASTAIRE
A subtle toe-tap that is used to alert potential TURD BURGLARS that you are occupying a stall. This will remove all doubt that the stall is occupied. If you hear an ASTAIRE, leave the bathroom immediately so the pooper can poop in peace.

CAMO-COUGH
A phony cough which alerts all new entrants into the bathroom that you are in a stall. This can be used to cover-up a WATERMELON or to alert potential TURD BURGLARS. Very effective when used in conjunction with an ASTAIRE.

COURTESY FLUSH
The act of flushing the toilet the instant the nose cone of the poop log hits the water and the poop is whisked away to an undisclosed location. This reduces the amount of air time the poop has to stink up the bathroom. This can help you avoid being caught doing the WALK OF SHAME.

CRACK WHORE
A crapper that has seen more ass than a Greyhound Bus. Telltale signs of a CRACK WHORE include pubes, piss stains and shit streaks. Avoid a CRACK WHORE at all cost. Try finding out when the janitor cleans each particular bathroom. Don’t forget with a good cleaning, a CRACK WHORE can become a SAFE HAVEN.

ESCAPEE
A fart that slips out while taking a leak at the urinal or forcing poop in a stall. This is usually accompanied by a sudden wave of panic and embarrassment, similar to the hot flash you receive when passing an unseen police car and speeding. If you release an escapee, do not acknowledge it. Pretend it did not happen. If you are standing next to the farter at the urinal, pretend that you did not hear it. No one likes an escapee; it is uncomfortable for all involved. Making a joke or laughing makes both parties feel uneasy.

FLY BY
The act of scouting out a bathroom before pooping. Walk in, check for other poopers. If there are others in the bathroom, leave and come back again. Be careful not to become a FREQUENT FLYER. People may become suspicious if they catch you constantly going into the bathroom.

HAVANA OMELET
A load of diarrhea that creates a series of loud splashes in the toilet water. Often accompanied by an ESCAPEE. Try using a CAMO-COUGH with an ASTAIRE.

JAILBREAK (Used in conjunction with ESCAPEE)
When forcing poop, several farts slip out at a machine-gun pace. This is usually a side effect of diarrhea or a hangover. If this should happen, do not panic; remain in the stall until everyone has left the bathroom so to spare everyone the awkwardness of what just occurred.

OUT-OF-THE-CLOSET POOPER
A colleague who poops at work and is damn proud of it. You will often see an OUT OF THE CLOSET POOPER enter the bathroom with a newspaper or magazine under their arm. Always look around the office for the OUT OF THE CLOSET POOPER before entering the bathroom.

POOPING FRIENDS NETWORK (PFN)
A group of coworkers who band together to ensure emergency pooping goes off without incident. This group can help you to monitor the whereabouts of OUT OF THE CLOSET POOPERS and identify SAFE HAVENS.

SAFE HAVEN
A seldom used bathroom somewhere in the building where you can least expect visitors. Try floors that are predominantly of the opposite sex. This will reduce the odds of a pooper of your sex entering the bathroom.

TURD BURGLAR
A pooper who does not realize that you are in the stall and tries to force the door open. This is one of the most shocking and vulnerable moments that occur when taking a dump at work. If this occurs, remain in the stall until the TURD BURGLAR leaves. This way you will avoid all uncomfortable eye contact.

UNCLE TED
A bathroom user who seems to linger around forever. Could spend extended lengths of time in front of the mirror or sitting on the pot. An UNCLE TED makes it difficult to relax while on the crapper, as you should always wait to drop your load when the bathroom is empty. This benefits you as well as the other bathroom attendees.

WALK OF SHAME
Walking from the stall, to the sink, to the door after you have just stunk-up the bathroom. This can be a very uncomfortable moment if someone walks in and busts you. As with all farts, it is best to pretend that the smell does not exist. Can be avoided with the use of a COURTESY FLUSH.

WATERMELON
A turd that creates a loud splash when hitting the toilet water. This is also an embarrassing incident. If you feel a WAERMELON coming on, create a diversion. See CAMO-COUGH.

Yes, that’s Mini-Me, Verne Troyer in a sex tape shot with his former live-in girlfriend at the couple’s apartment. A third party has snatched up the tape and although no deal has been made, I hear dealer Kevin Blatt, who brokered the deal for Paris’ video, is entertaining a $100k offer from SugarDVD to distribute the nastiness.