Society of Winners

Sorry I have been away for so long. I know you've all been drooling over your keyboards waiting for my next deposit in the private bathroom. I've been out there in the trenches, getting my hands dirty, getting my feet dirty, and even getting my mind dirty studying our beautiful country and what I have determined is a society of winners. Yes, maybe Charlie Sheen (is he still relevant?) is right and winning is the most important thing. Think about it, everyone is a winner and we winners surround ourselves with losers in order to feel better. Look at it this way, when your favorite sports team wins you say "We Win!" However, when that team loses you say "They Lost!" That's right they lost and we won, always a winner. Anyone can go out and buy a shirt or a coffee mug that says "World's Greatest Dad," just check out this guy.



He's a winner, just read his shirt. He's the World's Greatest Dad even though he pleaded guilty to child sex abuse. Who cares though read the shirt. World's Greatest Dad. I know you're Dad worked three jobs to put you through college so you could get a useless communications degree and smoke weed on the quad while you played ultimate Frisbee, but he didn't do enough to be the World's Greatest Dad.

There's even a show called The Biggest Loser, and winners watch this show to look at the losers on the show. When someone wins the show they become the biggest loser. Hold on one second, the winner is actually the loser?



It's obvious in this picture that the loser is on the left and the winner is on the right. The show turns losers into winners because that is what we want. On a side note I always have to have ice cream when I watch this show. Think about it. We're all proud, but of what? Should I be proud of my bowel obstruction or my massive debt or my back hair. Should I be offended that my nickname in 5th grade was Harry Manback. No. I was Harry Manback and I was a winner because I wore sweatshirts all the time and hung out with Unibrow and Club Foot. They were the losers, I was the winner.



I even found love, obviously. Everyone says they are looking for love or happiness, but what is the number one motivator. Spite. People only do things to one up someone else, or to look better than other people. No one goes to a school reunion to catch up with old friends, we go to rub our awesome lives in every ones' faces. So I say the time to win is now. The time to live is now. Get out there with your stretch pants and your chest hair and start winning. Don't let life pass you by. If you don't get out there and win you'll just have to stay in here and lose.

Now I want you to comment on this blog and pass it along, share it on facebook or twitter. If you don't the band Orleans will come after you.

Maybe you have no friends because of diarrhea

That's right ladies and gentlemen everybody poops, but no one wants to know about it. We all fear the skid marks, the brown sparks, and the green apple splatters, but do we ever stop to think about how our bowels affect our social status. This is really a problem for men because girls just don't fart. I'm not even sure they move their bowels the natural way. I feel there is a secret conspiracy where women have learned to evacuate their bowels in the form of condescension. Ever hang out with a girl and after a few hours she gets really condescending for about three minutes or so, and then goes to the bathroom for thirty seconds. Then says every thing's fine. Pooping. The problem many guys have to overcome is stopping the fart. Farts cause problems. I mean if you fart on a first date you've basically doomed the relationship before you have to reveal that you're living in your parents' basement. In fact, Jimmy Milktoast was kicked in the nuts by a girl seven times for sliding out a SBV fart at a Bennigans. I'm pretty sure that's the cause of all those Bennigans closing down.



On the other hand, if you get away with letting a stink bomb slip, and the date actually goes well you have to worry about the situation down there. God forbid you brought the brown sparks and are wearing some tighty whities. I'm pretty sure it's not only a turn off to see a brown line in your underwear that shows exactly where your asscrack is, but also a deal breaker. I specifically try to wear dark underwear just in case. Also, I've often worried about jeans and other types of pants housing the fart. How exactly does it vent through? How bad could it be to open up your fly and release the stank of a fart from three hours earlier. It's like sour milk, we know it's sour, but we always have to open it up and smell it. In a way we are a society of sadists.



So what are we going to do about our horrible functions. I know if my bowels haven't moved I can't go out. I need to get right in the shower afterward to shoot hot water up there for about twenty or thirty minutes. You can never be too careful. Some people try to say eating healthier is the answer, but hang out with someone thirty minutes after they down a bunch of broccoli, and see if you haven't pulled your shirt up over your nose and mouth. I feel the real reason people get married is so they can fart in from of each other. Hang out with a couple that's been married for over twenty years, they produce so much gas living with them is a form of capital punishment.

Everyone is so uptight. We all need to relax, and let our gases slide out, opposed to clenching and tightening until they explode in a fit of rage. I have no good way to end this so here's Gary Busey.

Your Blog Sucks

At least this guy was cool enough to think of this in 2004, or possibly 2003.

Every asshole has a blog these days, and each blog sucks more than the next. I'm pretty sure that my blog sucks most of all, and if you judge the validity of a blog by the number of posts than the one post I did in 2010 should be obvious evidence of my suckiness. It also took me a year and a half to discover how many views I have, fifty. However, that does include my own personal views so it's probably more like twenty-five. Yes, I am getting an F, F+ tops, in blog quality, and I never even got an email from someone who was looking for information about private bathrooms. I figured those emails would be flooding my inbox. Below is a cartoon representation of my blog.



Basically, I'm not even sure why I started this stupid blog. I think it was designed to make me feel better about myself, and I'm lost on why I fell for my own stupid logic. Of all the logic in the world mine is definitely the worst, anyone who has talked to me for at least five seconds will tell you that. The truth is that I'm a sub par writer, I know nothing of logic, and would have a hard time generating interest in a rickshaw fire. Immanuel Kant would turn over in his grave if he heard my explanation of where the Sublime lies.

For those of you not keeping up this is Immanuel Kant



And this is Sublime



Every day someone starts a terrible blog filled with their terrible ideas and bad writing. Everyone has a story, but probably only 1% of those stories are worth hearing. Why are there vampires, zombies, aliens, and other obviously fictional things all over the place? These are completely fictitious creations and a hell of a lot more interesting than anything I, or anyone I know, has ever done.

Here's someone I know, sorry.



I obviously write this blog because I care. I want people to read it. I want the attention. I don't want to call myself an attention whore, but I can't think of a better way to finish that sentence. At this point I'm not sure why I started this post. I guess I would say I hate all the other blogs out there, but I've only ever read like one blog and it was pretty good. The fact of the matter is that the problem is not with the blog, but with the blogger. Why should the private bathroom suffer from having a bad owner? I am willing to hear offers from anyone who wants to purchase the private bathroom. If I can't sell it then the terribleness will have to continue. On the bright side, how bad can it be, I'm sure worse things have happened in a bathroom.

An Observation

One thing that really annoys me, and I'm probably guilty of this, is people who make stupid comments and then defend themselves by saying "I was trying to be clever," or "I was trying to be witty," or "I was trying to be ironic," and so on. How do you try to be clever? Aren't you just clever? In my opinion you are either clever or you're not, there is no trying to be clever. Therefore people who are not clever should not try to be clever. This would save them the embarrassment of failing and showing the world that they are unclever.

Writing this post means...

...I've done more blog posts in 2011 than 2010. For the last two days I've been referring to last year as 2009, and it's not because I think it's still 2010 either. I think it's because I have lost all track of time and space. Though I look up and I see space, but I look around and I don't see a lot of space, but that all depends on where I am. I'm watching Sunshine Cleaning right now and the guy who is playing the used car salesman is the actor who played the father is Breaking Away, in that movie he was played used car salesman as well. I wonder if they cast him in this part because of that. I should look for his name, but really who cares, that would be more work than I am willing to do.

On Saturday I thought it would be a good idea to take a bath, and afterwards I realized that it was probably the worst idea I've ever had. I fill up the bathtub and get in, and, of course, right away I have to pee. I'm not about to pee in the tub and soak in my own urine for thirty minutes or so. So I get out, dry off, pee, and get back in. I'm already starting to get cold, and about a minute later I feel like I have to pee again. I just try and hold it. I kept my hands dry so I could read a book, but all I could think about was how cold I was getting, and that I had to pee. So I gave up and got out after about five minutes. Afterwards I was cold for like an hour. So it didn't even take me a day to break my New Year's resolution of no stupid ideas. I think I should change it to fewer stupid ideas, but even if I had one hundred stupid ideas it would still be fewer.

Playing a game that is not fun.

Every day I find myself playing games that are not fun. I don't play these games voluntarily, I just find myself playing them. Today I played the awful game of "what's that on the toilet seat?" This game is definitely not fun. In public I usually just go find another toilet because even if I pile up three hundred sheets of toilet paper I can't help but feel that the bizarre stain is still going to infect me (I'm pretty sure stains are not infectious). The game is even worse when you play it at home because if you don't live alone you have to not only play the what's that part, but the who did it part. My biggest fear is that it was me, though I always try to check to make sure I leave it spotless, I have a weird paranoia about things like that. The game is not always easy to play, today's thing was in a very odd spot. Other games that are not fun that I have played include: what's that on the floor, who made that noise, why do I sweat so much, where did this blood stain come from, what day is it, and, my least favorite, is that water or urine.

Flat Tire Blues

For awhile now my neck has been really tight and I've assumed that has been the cause of the headaches I've been getting lately. Well today I decided to do something about it. I made a 3:30 appointment to see my Naprapath, and being the gentleman that I am, made an appointment at 4 for my lovely girlfriend. So at 3 I head out to Orland Park for my appointment, his office is right by the mall. Just after I leave he calls me and asks if we could move our appointments to 4:00 and 4:30 and I say yes, as I said I'm a nice guy. So I arrive at 3:30 and decide to kill time at the mall. So about 3:50 I head back to my car and notice that my driver side rear tire is flat. Fuck.

Ironically enough I parked in between an NTB and the Sears auto center. So I get out my jack and tire iron and doughnut tire. I jack up the car and I try to get the lugnuts off. No luck. They won't budge, and the tire keeps spinning. I've changed flat tires before, though not on this car, but the problem is that I usually have no idea what I'm doing whenever I do anything. I can't get the lugnuts to budge and I then realize that I'm going to need some assistance. I don't want to leave the car unattended on the jack so I lower it and toss everything in the trunk and head across the parking lot to the NTB. I was planning to take my car there since I purchased my tires from the NTB in Crestwood two years ago. However, they don't sell anything I could use. The guy actually told me to go to Sears. So I did. I walked across the parking lot and into Sears. I explain my situation and tell the guy what I need. He sells me some stuff and tells me that after I change the tire to just drive it right into the service center. So I am all alone on this one.

In case you are wondering about my appointment my girlfriend took my time and I'm trying to make it by 4:30. So I get back to my car and get all my shit out again. The good thing is the car next to me left so I have more room. I jack it up and spray the lugnuts. No luck. I then decide to resort to the book. Every car comes with a book and this book needs to stay in the car, anyone who takes it out is an idiot. I am also an idiot because I was supposed to loosen the lug nuts before I jack up the car. So I lower the car, and then I hear a car horn. I look to see a car trying to get my attention, they want to park in the empty spot. I ignore them. "Excuse me" I hear a woman say. I stand up. "Can I park here?" "I guess so, I'm trying to change my tire." "Oh I'm sorry." She rolls up her window and drives away. What the fuck? Wasn't it obvious, I didn't drop my keys or something.

So the car is on the ground, finally, and I spray the lugnuts some more, just in case. I then try to loosen them, and I am moving the entire car forward, which really throws me at first. Fuck it, I put all my strength into it and I finally ge one to budge. Repeat that three times and up goes the car again. After removing the tire I was really happy I didn't have a rag and my hoodie became my grease rag. Though most of it instantly bonded with my hand. I'm finishing putting the last lug nut on the doughnut when a guy walks up to me. "Need help?" he asks. "No, I've got it under control." "What happened?" I think, are you seriously asking this. What happened? What happened? What the fuck do you think happened. "I drove over a nail or a screw," which is what I did. "Oh flat tire, that sucks." Then he walked away.

So I am super paranoid about driving on a doughnut but I do, and was successful. I took it to Sears, hey the guy from NTB told me to. Luckily they were able to repair it and I didn't need a new tire. I told them to call me when it was ready and I took off for my appointment, which was right across the parking lot, but in a different direction. I was late, but the doctor didn't have anyone scheduled right after me.