Posts Tagged ‘bathroom’

Liquid ass fire

Saturday, December 27th, 2008

For someone who's a control freak with a few other proclivities, there are a few things that make trips stressful.

First, just staying in someone else's home isn't really that fun. Even if they have a comfortable house, it's still not your home. At least with a hotel, you have your own place that you're paying for. And when your room contains a full-size bed which needs to house one normal person, one large gorilla, and a medium-sized dog, it's hard to get a good night's sleep. But that's okay, because your snoring, which sounds like fourteen thousand rusty industrial saws cutting down fourteen thousand chain link fences, manages to keep everyone else up. Even if everyone has earplugs in. Until, of course, you get banished to the loft on the other side of the house where you get to sleep on an air mattress in a huge empty room with lots of little crawlspace doors and you keep dreaming that there are evil trolls behind those doors who are going to quietly open them up and stab you to death while you sleep.

Secondly, you're at the mercy of the owner's technological failings. For example, a large house that only has DSL in one room without any wireless possibilities presents serious obstacles to someone like myself who likes to stay online all day long. This issue is easily resolved by purchasing a Wireless Router for $80 and setting it up for free for the owners. Even if you don't really tell them that you're doing it. And even if their Mac stops working as a result and you have to work on it for a while just to get them back to the caveman-way of life to which they are accustomed.

Finally, as someone who refuses to use public bathrooms at all, I dread using one in someone else's home. It's almost as bad, but I'm able to handle it. I know, I'm quite the adventurous soul.

But you know what makes it all that much worse?

Liquid fire pouring from your ass every hour.

Am I home yet?

Tags: , , , , , , , ,
Posted in General | 31 Comments »

I hurt my back

Tuesday, November 11th, 2008

First of all, let me make sure that I clarify yesterday's post. Yes, I spoke with Redneck Mommy on the phone. No, she did not have sex on the phone with me. No, I don't know what she sounds like when she's having sex. Yes, that entire conversation was completely fabricated. We actually had a great conversation for an hour or two and talked about everything under the sun except sex! We discussed blogging and her kids and living in Canadia and my constant need to expose my nuts.

Speaking of which, head on over to Sheila's blog to read about her missing shoes and how I helped her find them.

Finally, I hurt my back tonight. I was sitting in my throne room, on my throne, reading the newest Spenser book, when I sneezed at the exact same time I pooped. I don't think a person's body is meant to do that, and now it hurts to walk, to sit, to stand, to do anything. And here I always thought I'd hurt my back trying to suck my own dick.

Tags: , , , , , , , ,
Posted in General | 43 Comments »

I'm home! And now it's time for a story about a toilet.

Thursday, October 23rd, 2008

Yes, fuckers and gentlefuckers, I'm back. Well, technically, I got back Sunday at midnight, but I had all of these gullible guest posters in the wings and decided to let them post away. Thanks to everyone who contributed!

I have some video to post soon, and I will give a recap shortly. Today, though, I just wanted to focus on one fantastic (sarcasm) element of a completely amazing (sarcasm again) trip to hell Saint Croix.

And, as is typical with my blog, this story revolves around the bathroom.

"Adam," my wife said exasperatedly, "there's another dead roach in the bathroom and it's huge."

"I'll take care of it, but I have to go the bathroom first. I'll be a little while."

"Okay, I'll go down and order our dinner and see you in 45 minutes."

I entered my substitute throne room and sat down. The only reading material I had was a crappy OK! magazine that I purloined from my wife's bag.

About five feet away, dead as dead can be, laying on its back close to the wall of the bathroom, was the largest cockroach I have ever seen. I'm not squeamish around bugs at all – I like most spiders and other bugs just annoy me – but this one creeped me the fuck out.

I continued with my important toilet-related business and became engrossed in a story about how Angelina got her body back so quickly after giving birth. That's when it happened. Out of the corner of my eye, over the edge of the magazine, I saw a twitch.

"What the fuck?" I closed the magazine and stared at Roachzilla. Nothing happened. I slowly picked up my magazine and began to read about Lauren and Heidi's fight when it happened again! "I saw you this time, shitbrick," I said. Almost in response, both antennae twitched violently. They reached around like little hands trying to feel their way in a darkened room.

The antennae was just the start. Shortly thereafter, the front legs began to slowly bend and extend. I was suddenly very interested in trying to finish pooping as quickly as humanly possible. "Oh why didn't I eat more fiber today?" I sobbed as I tried to mentally push the blockage through my colon. A vein popped in my forehead. The giant freakazoid roach's back legs began to slowly do the breaststroke in the air.

"I am NOT going to be stuck here when you flip back over!" I shouted at the violently thrashing roach. Tears streaming down my face, I sighed with relief as the last vestiges of waste was purged from my system. As I stood and reached for the toilet paper, Frankenroach's kicks found purchase and he righted himself. Antennae twitching, the fucking thing charged right for me!

"AAAEIIIIEIIIIEIEEIEIEEEEEEEEEE!" I'll admit I may have shrieked. A little. I went to smash the little bastard and he flew ONTO MY FUCKING HAND.

"AAAEIIIIEIIIIEIEEIEIEEEEEEEEEE!" That time I really shrieked. And I flicked my hand away and the roach flew directly into the toilet, where it landed upside down and struggled violently to free itself from its fecal prison.

"Eat shit and die, Mr. Roach," I said in a gravelly voice and flushed him to his inglorious death.*

*Okay, maybe I actually said "ohgodohgodohgod" in a high-pitched squeal and flushed him. But I thought of that line later.

In other Avitanews:

Tags: , , , , , , ,
Posted in General | 60 Comments »

Maximum protection

Tuesday, October 2nd, 2007

So, I was sitting on the toilet, pooping, and I ran out of reading material.

I usually keep a stack of books, magazines, and comic books on the counter and stack them until they reach ridiculous heights and my wife tells me I have to put them away. I know that eventually, they will fall over and kill someone in the resulting avalanche, but I'll cross that lawsuit hurdle when I come to it.

This time in the throne room, though, there was nothing new to read. I'd consumed it all!

There was, however, a small black bag, sitting next to the pile of read material. I didn't remember ever seeing it before. I assumed it belonged to one of my employees. So, of course, I opened it.

And found tampons!

Now, I don't get weirded out by tampons. The idea that someone invented a way to cleanly and quickly stick a cotton ball into a woman's vagina to stem the flow of blood is a little strange, of course, but they clearly have a use. And not just for Aunt Flo.

They pop out nicely into your nostril for a nosebleed when you learn the hard way that you cannot break a board with your face.

They're excellent for dipping in a cup of tea that has red food coloring in it when you're pretending to be a cultured vampire.

And they're awesome as a substitute "binky" when you find a package of them under the medicine cabinet at age three.

I know that there are men out in the world who are relatively simpleminded and get skeeved out at the thought of walking into a grocery store and buying tampons. I don't understand why this should be an issue at all. Is the clerk going to think that you're a hairy woman in drag? Or that you're packing a vajayjay to go with that Adam's apple? Or maybe that you have a tampon fetish? Nope. The clerk is going to think that you have a girlfriend or wife and that you are a doting partner. Buying tampons for your spouse has no negative implications, unlike when you make a quick stop at the grocery store to pick up a cucumber, condoms, vaseline, batteries, and a turkey baster. Try explaining that one.

So, me and Tampon? We're old friends. I know all of Tampon's secrets, we finish each other's sentences, and we can share a silence at dinner without it getting all uncomfortable. And yes, that one time in middle school when I saw the used applicator in the trash, I might have done some very creepy and disturbing things, but that was then and this is now. I'm a lot older and wiser now.

What I guess I'm saying here is that I'm sorry I opened all of the tampons, assembled them on the counter, and drew little smiley faces on them, with word balloons that said things like "Hell no I won't flow!", "Wait a cotton pickin' minute!", " I ain't got time to bleed!" and "Twat did you say? I cunt hear you."

I just couldn't help myself.

Tags: , , , , , ,
Posted in Dirty talk | 51 Comments »

The horror

Tuesday, June 5th, 2007

I poke my head into the bathroom. The counter is bare. My wife, being fastidious, must have cleaned out all of the comic books, novels, magazines, and other detritus that is usually stacked in the corner. I can't help it – the bathroom is my library, my happy place, my throne room. And I always need plenty of reading material, since I'm in there for 20-30 minutes at a time.

With a rising urgency, I scan the surrounding area for something to read. There's nothing there. How, in a house that I own, can there be NOTHING to read? I start searching around the house – living room, zilch. Game room, zippo. Dining room, nada. Finally, I hit paydirt. Sitting on the kitchen counter, with a light shining on it and angelic voices singing from above, a new Entertainment Weekly represented my salvation. Immensely relieved, I grab it and enter my porcelain palace.

I sit down and sigh contentedly as I open the first page of the magazine. Unfortunately, it's filled with American Idol nonsense. I've never seen an episode and the whole concept is physically repulsive to me, as is almost any reality television. I skip the intro and look for the articles and celebrity gossip, but only find more American Idol tripe. I continue skipping ahead, looking for something fruitful, but I am turned away at every page. Page after page is filled with nothing but fucking American Idol!

With mounting dread, I turn to the front cover and look carefully. This isn't an Entertainment Weekly – this is the Entertainment Weekly American Idol supplement! Those weasely fuckers tricked me, and now I'm stuck in the bathroom for at least 20 minutes with nothing to read.

On the plus side, I now have all of the ingredients of the body washes, soaps, and shampoos that we have in that bathroom memorized, since I had nothing else to do but read them over and over and over again.

It was the third worst day of my entire life.

We have a new post over at These Walls Have Ears – go check it out and leave a comment!

Tags: , , , ,
Posted in Serious stuff | 76 Comments »