A little ditty about Anna Nicole Smith:
Smith is still fighting for the millions of dollars owed her by the death of her husband oil tycoon J. Howard Marshall II. And I did say OWED to her – I wouldn’t have sucked that cock for nothing either.
Found this link via several blogs yesterday:
Monday night, a record number of noise complaints were received by Residential Security Officers in Roger Revelle College. Officers responding to the calls found the sexual activity of a deaf couple to be the source of the noises, which were described as “cacophonous” by witnesses.
The first officer on the scene, Frank Zipelli, reported, “I could hear those two all the way from the parking lot.” According to Zipelli, “It sounded as if they were bludgeoning a cow. There would be a low moan, like a ‘moo,’ and then a ‘bang’ and a higher-pitched ‘moo.’ It was like ‘MOO…BANG…MOOO!’”
Courtesy of Gapingvoid, posted with permission.
You should read it too. Why? Because it’s Dooce.
She sounded like she was being ripped apart. I immediately transferred her to the changing table where I took off her diaper, and there we found an almost apple-sized piece of coal hanging from her butt. It wasn’t budging, and because Jon had once picked up my poop I did what any decent human would do and I pried it out of her. Leta, when you’re 16-years-old and you’re reading this and you start to think, ohmigod, I can’t believe my mother just wrote that, you should know that I pulled out that piece of poop BECAUSE I LOVE YOU. THAT’S WHAT MOTHERS DO.
Hi, my name is Heather and I used to have a career and make lots of money. Now I poop while my daughter sits at my feet and plays with Tampax, and that’s what I consider a successful morning.
Not sure I really have any commentary on this one:
I was having a rather shitty evening yesterday for a variety of reasons – and then I went back and read this recent post by Dooce about pooping at work:
Internet, I was a work pooper. Now that I work from home I am still a work pooper, but that doesn’t really count. I once dated a guy who refused to go poop in a public place including work, and if he had to go poop he’d take a fifteen minute break, drive home, poop, and then drive back to work. That relationship didn’t last very long for several reasons, one of them being his poop policy (if he felt that way about pooping, he’d never get used to my farting), and another reason being that he always, and I mean ALWAYS, asked if I had come yet within the first 20 seconds of initiating sex. I understand the meaning of “hurry it along,” but show me a woman who can come in less than 20 seconds and I’ll show you a liar.
If you are a woman and you can come in less than 20 seconds PLEASE SHARE WITH THE WORLD YOUR SECRET, YOU BITCH.
I always found it funny as well when I would enter the bathroom at work and someone would STOP PEEING in the middle of their pee session, as if I hadn’t ever heard the sound of pee hitting porcelain in my life and would be offended by the sound of it IN A BATHROOM. Are coworkers arrogant enough to think that we don’t know they pee and poop? JESUS TOOK SHITS, PEOPLE. And, I know this will be hard to believe, but so does Oprah.
Nothing like some poop conversation to cheer one up…
If you don’t read Dooce, well, you’re just missing out on the finer things in your life:
Hello, Internet. My name is Heather and my website is the number one search result for “poop in my ass.” Life doesn’t get much better than that.
And then there’s this fine entry:
I guess C. was at work the day after traveling for a few days, and he found himself IN THE COMPANY BATHROOM (I can hardly type these words without my whole bowel system clinching up), and The Big Bad Motherfucking Poop hit him. He was going to have to pass The Big Bad Motherfucking Poop at work because it was coming and nothing could stop it. For those of you who have been really constipated you know which poop I’m talking about. It’s the one that you can’t physically pass because it’s so hard and large and GRANITE-LIKE IN TEXTURE that the law of physics says, “This is too big to fit out your butt.” But The Big Bad Motherfucking Poop disregards the laws of nature. It defies nature, and it must be passed because it says so.
So C. is sitting on the toilet, his pants around his ankles, and The Big Bad Motherfucking Poop is making it’s way out his butt even though Object A is too big to fit through Object B. And he is in pain, a lot of pain, the pain of a woman feeling the head of her baby crowning through the birth canal. The pain is almost indescribable, and as he is telling me this story I want to hold his hand and assure him that everything is going to be okay because I HAVE FELT THAT PAIN. Pain, oh pain. The world is going to end PAIN.
Go read Dooce now – you won’t regret it.