made-up story
I once knew a guy who wouldn’t let himself piss while he was taking a shit because he didn’t want to pee like a girl.
Dear Clusterflock
I always wanted a gold tooth.
So, when I got a temporary crown put in today by my new dentist, (to replace the awful “permanent” one my old dentist put in, you see) I ask about getting a gold crown. With the old one, I didn’t know how things worked so when they put the awful one in, I didn’t know when to ask about whether I could get a gold one until it was too late.
So, this time I ask. And I’d have to pay $800 extra because my insurance considers it cosmetic. She tells me that it would last longer and that ordinarily they don’t ask if people want gold for their teeth near the front. So, I fume while she matches the shade of porcelain I’m going to end up getting. Am I detecting an ethnic bias in the policies of my dental insurance provider or is this just standard serving up lemon jello and telling me it’s dessert Ticketmaster doublespeak?
Synchronicipee
Amy’s word for when two people need to pee at the same time.
SuperSonic Car
The Bloodhound has a grand total of 135,000 horsepower, which is equal to 180 times the power of a formula one car.
Today at work
Today at work I met a post-op male-to-female transsexual. This makes the first post-op that I’ve ever met. She’s a good boy.
AT-AT day afternoon
This has been making the rounds (thanks, Kurt).
Missed Opportunity
It was a classic case of missed opportunity. ‘Cause, I mean, how often do you get a full bladder and a full rainbow at the same instant?
R. Kelly and the “Little Man” Defense: There’s no crying in sex tapes.
With due propers to Dominick Dunne for his high-profile trial coverage over the years (including my favorite — the piece on the Phil Specter debacle), this too is some seriously and deliciously good shit. I am willing to go out on a limb here and postulate that reading about the trial was perhaps far more entertaining than actually attending it would have been.
Read every last entry. There are two sections; one here and the other here.
Frustrated with her declining musical career (and perhaps resentful of Kelly’s astoundingly successful one), Sparkle hatched a scheme to extort her rich ex-mentor and to turn the words of her hit song “Be Careful” into reality. (“You better be careful what you do to me,” she sang, ” ’cause somebody might do it to you.”) While Kelly was out making beats one night, she enlisted a pair of underemployed porn actors to bust into the singer’s log cabin and film themselves having sex, peeing, etc. Meanwhile, Sparkle and Hankerson harvested outtakes from Kelly’s copious back catalog of music videos, then took advantage of the thriving black market in Little Man-quality digital-effects wizardry to Frankenstein together Kelly’s face and the urinator’s body. (Sparkle’s motive for putting her niece in the video is less clear. For the sake of argument, let’s assume that she was mad at her for, say, borrowing her glitter without permission.) After Kelly refused to pay to keep the video under wraps, Sparkle sent the video to the Chicago Sun-Times, willing to make her niece collateral damage to disgrace the man who’d done her wrong.
The defense rests.
-Ronya
A fleeting moment of warmth
Striving for happiness through increased capacity to consume is like urinating in one’s trousers on a cold winter day: it only provides a fleeting moment of warmth.
—Demos Helsinki, “The Politics of Happiness – A Manifesto: Towards the futures of one Earth” (PDF, 303 KB); English version, draft (Helsinki: WWF, 2010), p. 9
Via Liz Danzico, on Bobulate, which is the best fucking name for a blog since “Clusterflock.”
This post needs no explanation
Joseph’s Dream
For one who teases and will not tell.
What you suggest, Joseph, is a noisy low-res subterranean dream. The Basement Tapes. It is 3:00 am, and flockers toss restlessly on improvised pallets, their bladders aching from an excess of pale ale. They are flockers and yet they are not flockers, as it is a dream, and a fourth-generation copy of a dream at that. You are assigned to empty the bucket into which they sleepily pee, and you must stand watch lest they miss the bucket or the bucket overflows. You spy a mop and seek to enchant it, to command it to do your bidding, to haul away the slop bucket and to mop up the spills and leave you to sleep. Over the mop you mutter mumbo-jumbo, pidgin Dutch, glossolalic utterances that give way to a Tourettic stammer as you realize you do not know what the fuck fuck fuck you are doing and now flockers commence to wet their pallets and soon the floor is awash in pee and you cannot stop it and the sea of pee rises and swirls and rises and swirls and recumbent flockers are submerged in an ocean of urine and you cannot stop it and the flood level rises it rises it rises and flockers are drowning and you stand waist-deep in pee, now shoulder-deep in pee, and it rises and rises and it reaches your chin and you struggle to buoy yourself up, to tread pee, to dog-paddle, but it is no good and now your head bumps the basement ceiling and the pee is rising . . .
and you wake.
Bacon. Maple syrup. And more pale ale.
Was it like that?
on dope
There were 14 other podium spots available during his seven-year streak and, in all, eight riders occupied them. Five of those riders at some point admitted doping, were suspended for it, were convicted of it in court, or paid a fine to have charges settled: Ivan Basso, Raimondas Rumsas, Jan Ullrich, Alexander Vinokourov and Alex Zulle. Two others were linked to doping investigations then cleared or never charged: Joseba Beloki and Andreas Kloden. Just one, Fernando Escartin, had no direct association with doping allegations (though his Kelme team later would).
What I concluded—and as it turns out, this was the most isolating judgment I could have arrived at, because neither side agrees with me—is that based solely on what we publicly know, there’s no rigorously objective path to either yes or no. Whatever you believe about Armstrong is a matter more of faith than fact. Those of us who weren’t there seem to decide first what we believe about Armstrong, then construct a canon from the same set of incidents cited by those who just as passionately swear the opposite.
Also, in the New York Times:
It has long been known that athletes can use small, carefully timed doses of the blood booster EPO to beat urine-based drug tests yet still gain a significant performance advantage. But research by scientists in Australia and France has found that the technique also eludes the long-range biological passport program that was supposed to overcome the shortcomings of conventional testing.
I want to pee, down by the sea
A couple in Northern England turned an old public restroom into their seaside home.
Miss Woodhouse said: “Some people joke about it. At work they’ll say things like, ‘Oh yes, you’re the couple who live in a lavatory’. But we now have a lovely little house with a sea view that used to be a loo.
“We understand the amusement it causes. It tickles us, too. Our TV set is where the Gents’ urinals used to be, and our bedroom and bathroom was the Ladies.”
Y’all
It’s three weeks from today.
from the comments
A friend of mine went to some big asparagus festival in Galt, or some place like that, and didn’t pee for the entire day for fear of the port-o-pot stench.
dear clusterflock
Do you like, or are put off by, the neon glow of vitamin pee?
pee chutes, Army edition
“I actually had this million-dollar idea my first deployment,” Sergeant Bradford said of her tour as a truck driver hauling supplies in 2004. “I was like, I need something that’s like a beer bong that I can hold in place so I can pee standing up without pulling my pants down. Cause we were truck drivers. We’d stop on the side of the road. There’s no bushes. I was telling one of my soldiers about this great idea, and he said they already make that.”
From a New York Times series on the roles of women in combat.
Clusterflockstock 2 Awards
Maybe we should call them the “I feel like I’m not wearing my pants” awards. And here are some game possibilities:
Best drunk driver (closed course)
Best drunk Ministry of Silly Walks walk
Best morning after bruise
Best use of a pee chute
Best drunk argument involving Foucault
Best improvisational woodcraft while lost
Best loss of an electronic device
Best story brought back from a beer run….
Got more? And what will the prizes be?
Howling Poop Bomb
Caught this howler in the act of pooping (right at 6 seconds) down somewhere on the coast of Nicaragua last week.
Work
During my ninth hour of being on my feet today I thought, “My dogs are killing me,” but they weren’t. They were peeing on the slide.
Let a Professional Do It
When I posted this, the phrase “insert in post” caught my eye.
Something Something Watergate
Remember those activists that “busted” Acorn and earned themselves a Roman Triumph on Fox & Friends? Well, they’re in jail now for breaking into a Senator’s office and the NYT has a nice little write up on their exploits:
[They were] fostered by a group of men and women in their late teens and early 20s with a taste for showmanship and a shared sense of political alienation — a sort of political reverse image of the left-wing Yippies of the 1960s. They studied leftist activism of years past as their prototype, looking to the tactics of Saul Alinsky, the Chicago community organizer who laid the framework for grass-roots activism in the ’60s, as well as those of gay rights and even Communist groups.
They held “affirmative action” bake sales with prices set based on the age and race of the buyer, posed as donors to Planned Parenthood seeking to contribute to the abortion of African-American fetuses only, and held a mock “Love Thy Prisoner” campaign to find American homes for Guantánamo inmates.
It’s hard not to feel like we’re all intentionally tipping left on the scale here, but I’m unsure what else to expect when the other side empties itself of all substance?
Seriously, I’m not sure how to respond to these folks anymore. Any suggestions?
seriously
fyi
My Favorite Pit Toilet
Ever. (Tapley Woods. Jo Daviess County, Illinois. US of A.)
