Tag: ew

I Feel Doody-bound to Write About This…

So, this is a thing. Cottonelle is asking viewers of this commercial to come up with clever euphemisms for the combination of wiping your ass with both TP and “flushable wipes.” Gross.

Now, obviously, I could visit their site and add my own suggestions for this process. But I’m pretty sure that any entries with appropriate words like “shit,” “poop” and “excrement” will be filtered (heh) – not to mention, I don’t want Cottonelle showing up on my list of “Likes” on Facebook. So, here’s what I’ve come up with so far, presented without the stifling censorship of the Kimberly-Clark corporation. Feel free to drop (heh) your own suggestions in the comments section.

  • Crusty Crack Crap Crammer Combo
  • Dingleberr-E-radicator
  • Excrementary, Dear Watson a.k.a. No Shit, Sherlock
  • Bunghole Boogie-Woogie
  • Smears Johnny!
  • 50 Shades of Brown
  • The Origin of Feces
  • The Hole Shebang
  • Diarrhea-nother Day
  • Searching for Klingons on Uranus
  • Better Than a Corn Cob
  • The Number Two-Step
  • Rock, Paper, Shitters
  • From Shart Minds Come Shart Products
  • The Doody Free Shop
  • Shit’s About to Get Real
  • The Karl Rove

Also, just while on the subject of Cottonelle: their TP is the most dingleberry-inducing product I have ever used and it is banned from both my home and my bottom.

“A non-stop waterfall of chocolate decadence…”

Ironically, this is also a side-effect of eating at Golden Corral.

Other names considered for this tempting treat: Chocolate Geyser, Fudge Freefall, The Hershey Highway, Promenade of Poop.

And how much you wanna bet that patrons regularly dunk their Buffalo wings and tacquitos into this river of “decadence”?

 

And it’s even more delicious looking in real-life!

Move Over, Kate and Wills!

So, I think we’ve all heard about (and been creeped out by) the recent marriage of 51-year old actor Doug Hutchinson (if you look up “pervy old dude” in the dictionary, you’ll see his photo. Also, he has an anus mouth) and 16-year old Courtney Stoddard (yes, she is actually 16, despite looking like a 40-something OC divorcée and plastic surgery buff). And it comes as no surprise that they are trolling for a reality show – because, as we all know, appearing on TV – no matter how horrible, desperate, despicable or dimwitted one is portrayed – is the only true measure of success in these United States.

Anyway, the lovebirds (vom) have been giving interviews left and right, declaring their deep and genuine love for one another. And this animated GIF is mesmerizing. Is she having a series of small strokes? Is she being “sexy” (and doing a really fine job of it!)? Is she just so ecstatic over her good-fortune in marrying such a magnificent specimen? Did she just have dental work done and the Novocaine hasn’t worn off? All of these? I don’t know! But I can’t stop watching…

Rowrrr!

This ad was served to me on Facebook – I have no idea why. But whoever wrote these “tales” is a shonda to her people – and to mountain lions…

And yes, the cougar is “wearing” a Star of David necklace. And no, “aka a Jewish Sex and the City” is not sealing the deal.

Yes, I’m complaining about the Y again…

OK, I’m actually complaining about the patrons…  To wit:

  • The lady who was sitting in the middle of the highly-populated stretching area whilst reading a novel.  And, no, she was not stretching – just kicking back and gettin’ her read on.  I did my best to get my sweaty fumes wafting in her direction…
  • The guy who repeatedly spent ten minutes hunched over his Blackberry in front of the penny-lockers, constantly checking his what were sure-to-have-been very important text messages – presumably along the lines of “I’m working out – what about you?”  This was annoying in-and-of-itself – but he was also blocking my access to my preferred corner for stretching my scrawny arms….
  • The dude in the locker adjacent to mine, who required three stools and a four-foot radius to spread out his various towels, gym clothes, salves and unguents, while I daintily tried to squeeze past to doff my gear.
  • The pièce de résistance: the dread-locked fellow who emerged shiny and dripping from the steam room and then parked himself in the passage to the showers and vigorously and repeatedly whipped his head forward and back, spraying all and sundry (including yours truly) with the effluvia from his grimy braids.  Seriously, my gag reflex got quite the workout – I should’ve just puked on him.  Oh, he was also directly in front of the towel hooks, so all the poor saps who’d hung their towels whilst showering were treated to an unwitting rub down with his tonsorial essences.

I will never understand people…