Wrinklesack and Prune Juice

To clarify - Wrinklesack is not this poor sack's name - it is his pseudonym - because I don't think he would appreciate everybody knowing who he is - in fact, I don't think he even knows the facts of this story - Moral # 1) don't get so drunk that you don't know what you're drinking...
Ok, here's the poop on what happened ;-)
There was a big house party at which Little Brother was attending. Wrinklesack showed up late and drunk and without his own booze. He proceeded to mooch booze. Moral # 2) don't mooch booze... So Little Brother and the rest took an empty bottle, filled it with prune juice, capped it and put it in the fridge. Wrinklesack mooched another beer and was given this one. The others a) watched the clock, and b) watched him drink it. Within half an hour, Wrinklesack disappeared into the bathroom. The others continued watching the clock. They also listened at the door. They heard a) lots of banging around, b) some groans and gurgles, c) lots of flushing, and d) some swearing. Did I mention that they had gone in earlier and removed all of the towels and all of the toilet paper from the bathroom? Oh, I must have forgotten. Ooops.
When the noise subsided somewhat, everyone went back to what they were doing, while surreptitiously keepng an eye on the door. Poor Wrinklesack finally came out of the bathroom, looking a little pale and a tad bit more sober than when he went in. He very soon excused himself, saying he had to go home. As they watched him put on his boots, it dawned on the spectators that poor Wrinklesack no longer was wearing any socks.
Moral # 3) if you're going to mooch booze, carry your own toilet paper around with you.
Moral # 4) don't drink with my Little Brother.
Moral # 5) keep a spare pair of socks in your pocket. If nothing else, you can tell the girls "no, that's not a sock in my pocket - I am just happy to see you" (leer, leer).

Too much information

I thought I was stumped; didn't know what to write about. Fatboy said "shit out some stuff and see what sticks to the wall". ?? I think that's a mixed metaphor or something. Anyway, it provided some food for thought (not to imply that I would eat shit - don't get me wrong).
I use wet wipes sometimes, and not the ones for your hands and face, if you know what I mean. Sometimes a person has to freshen up a little, or as Fatboy so charmingly puts it: "Clean out the crack mung" . (gahhh - to think I kiss that mouth sometimes). Eventually I notice that my supply of wet wipes is going down faster than I think it should. I ask Fatboy if he's been using my wipes. Now here's the thing - these are basically the same product with the same freshening ingredients, but if you use cheap generic Walmart wet wipes, they cost about $1.75 a package. If you use "personal cleansing cloths" from the "women's section" of the "pharmacy", they cost about $4.75 - another rip-off when it comes to feminine products. Don't get me started - it pisses me off every time I pay GST for tampons - grrrrrr. Oh, wait - I don't have to buy those things any more - not since I started meno-fucking-pause... more grrrrrrr!!!! So Fatboy admits to using my wipes. I ask him "why are you using these wipes? Do you have a vagina?" He says "Well, yes, in a way". I say "What ??!!!???" He says "Well I have a bleeding hemorroid! Isn't that just about the same thing?" I shake my head in wonder. I told him he would smell like a girl if he continued to use my wipes. He uses cheap Walmart wipes now.
We have crossed a line in our relationship. I was not feeling well. I was on the toilet taking a flu-poo. Fatboy came in and sat on the edge of the tub because he had to talk about something right now. I said "Do you mind? Could I please retain one last shred of dignity and privacy here?" He said, "Oh, honey, we are so far past that now". Then he has the nerve to sit there with the spray can and spray away while he is talking to me. Some day I think I will fart on his head when he is sleeping and tell everybody but him - then we can laugh at him behind his back. I prefer sneaky forms of revenge. Not that my next story is about revenge - but it is about poo and it is damned funny. It will be called Wrinklesack and Prune Juice. Stay tuned...

Birthdays

Well, I was going to write about birthdays, but I am having another killer hot flash so maybe I will write about menopause instead. Or maybe not. I think I will go get a cold drink of something alcoholic instead. Buck the flog for tonight - I want booze!!!

Vomit

Vomit, puke, barf, hurl, ride the porcelain bus, talk to God, talk to the porcelain bus, talk to the great white telephone, blow chunks, hork, heave, toss your cookies, woof your cookies, eat a ricochet omelet... did you know that if you google "pictures of vomit" you will get approximately 1,310,000 replies? Here is a cool word - VOMITURITION - "violent vomiting with the ejection of but little matter; retching" (thank you, Webster's). Have you ever vomited through your nose? I have - it hurts. I will do almost anything not to puke - I will sleep sitting up, I will sleep with my eyes open, I will swallow (swallow swallow swallow) fast and ferociously (it is amazing how much your mouth juices up when you need to puke), I will sleep with one foot on the floor to keep me grounded. I confessed once that when I puke I almost cry and think "oh, I wish someone would come and pat me on the back!" as I am hurling. She wasn't a very good friend because all she did was laugh. A good friend will stand there and hold your hair out of the way. My throat hurts after I puke - must be from the stomach acid. And when I puke it comes up hard all the way from my toes. It is a draining experience to say the least. And, because I am fond of wearing black, I bear a startling resemblance to Dracula after the emission is complete. And then, of course, my night is ruined, because it leaves me weak and needing to go lie down. Other people can puke and keep on drinking. Maybe it is for the best (for MY best) that I cannot do this. I can drink enough without making room for more. I don't know why I hate puking so much - as a child I was terrified of puking. And yes, my mom would be there pounding my back. I think I must have got a chunk caught once and choked or something. One thing I will never be is a purger. I can binge with the best, but what's mine is mine and I'm not giving it back once it hits the gullet. Once I almost ate a beetle that was frozen in a package of strawberries, which I had semi-thawed and put on my ice cream. I thought I might puke. Then I thought that that would be worse than eating the beetle, so I retained the stomache contents and even got a fresh bowl of ice cream. I will not eat in a darkened living room any longer however. And do not ever say to me "open your mouth and close your eyes..." because it just isn't going to happen. (Sorry Fatboy) (my manwhore for those who wonder) (and he calls himself that - I'm not picking on him) (and he is not whorish at all - I can still make him blush).

Thus spake Zarapuketra.

Good night.

Scat

Ok, here is my first attempt at a blog posting:

I am very excited - I am on the inside of an insider's joke - LFE, you know what I mean - I knew who fishy the amateur lesbian was as soon as I saw your links - hee-hee-hee!!!
Did you know, that if you google "pictures of poo" you will get approximately 1,360,000 replies? And if you google "pictures of feces after herbal cleanse" you will get approximately 38,800 replies. Might I ask what compels people to take pictures of their poo? Does it go in the family album? Does it lend itself to scrapbooking? Fries's wife or little Miss Vicky could perhaps answer that one for me. Now I can understand the odd trophy being surrounded by a white porcelain frame - I get that sometimes you've just gotta stand back, admire, and then yell "Honey, come and take a look at this!!" - but honestly - pictures????!!!

So I admit, I had to go look at some of the by-products of the herbal cleanse. I know our dear friend Shane does the detox every now and then. I wonder if Shane has ever given birth to anything even remotely resembling this alien afterbirth stuff? I wonder if I really, really want to know?

After this rant, my sweety, who shall be known here as FatboyMJT, offered to make me a pinch ashtray. I asked what that is - thinking he would pinch one out of clay. Close, but no cigar. He said he would pinch a loaf and hand-form an ashtray and shellac it for me. I told him if he would do that for me the least I could do is start smoking again so I could use his turdtray forever more.

So this is it - I want to see how my blog looks - not my pooh, just my blog. I sense that perhaps my blog will be scatological in content on more than one occasion. I hope it becomes worthy of sharing space with letters to Wog and being one of LFE's links.

Happy trails to you and yours.