Tag Archives: odor

Man To Man?

water-heaterA wise person once said, “I feel in need of a long, hot shower.” Yep, that’s the most recent comment on this blog as I sit down to work on this post and a fitting way to start. Yesterday’s topic decidedly left me wanting the same.

The key word in the opening statement is “hot.”

Q. What goes in the toaster?

A. Bread, you idiot.

Q. Do you sell any hot water heaters?

A. No, you idiot. You don’t need to heat water that’s already hot.

Ah. So we’ll need a water heater if we want our shower to be nice and toasty.

We’ve lived in the big city for eight months now. During that time the hot water has had a rosy hue. Kind of the like the candy apple red on the car in the movie Corvette Summer starring Mark Hamill. We’ve been showering in rust.

The water heater, circa 1985, was almost 30 years old. My wife finally convinced the property management company to put in a new one. They were sending over their man to install it.

The big day came and I listened out of the corner of my ear, working on my computer, safely ensconced in my office, as my wife met the guy and they set about the task. Everything seemed to be going fine.

Until…

I went to the kitchen to get a refill on my coffee. The man saw me. Oh shit.
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Type A Encounters: Five Stages of Beef

There’s a person I know. Who? Someone I know. Let’s just leave it at that.

Tom’s Law #42

As a devout [insert religion here], whenever possible, I only do business with other [insert religion here]. That way, when things inevitably go to shit, I can viciously write about them on my public [insert religion here] blog and foment animosity and dissent within the entire congregation. Verily, I say unto you, halleluja!

When [insert religion here] Attack, by Tom B. Taker

Let’s leave the specific religion out of it, too. I pledge not to go sectarian on their asses even when they deserve it.

So, this guy I know is quite the character. As someone who has suffered in his vicinity (we all have our crosses to bear) I do get the odd thrill of delight when someone meets him for the first time. I get to feel validated and vindicated in my feelings as my various hypotheses about him are confirmed by the newcomer going through the same process I did.

That’s when I realized there are actual laws at work that govern this reactionary process. I have dubbed this theory The Five Stages of Beef. It’s what happens when a person meets someone of humanoid condition Type A. Of course, we all know that the “A” stands for Asshole.

Denial

You only get one chance to make a first impression. When you meet this particular guy you are on Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride of the Senses. As you meet him for the first time you’re in for a wallop.

Visually eclectic, he has the disheveled pointing-straight-up hair of three-year-old who just rolled out of bed. Your nose, however, will simultaneously pick up on the fact that he didn’t shower before putting on disheveled, dirty and wrinkled clothes. He’s also a man who also clings to fiercely held personal beliefs like anti-bacterial handsoap is stupid and deodorant is a marketing scheme. He’s not afraid to put those beliefs into action, either. You’ll get your smell-based verification of this as his body odor envelopes you.

This is when denial kicks in. Is this guy for real? Naw. It can’t be. This can’t be happening. Not to me.
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Surprise! You are a guest blog!

surpriseToday I shot my wife an email and asked, simply, “How did it go?”

I try to be coy in emails that pass through “company-owned email servers.” Fuck ’em! Never include more information than necessary. Ever. I also refer to people by a single letter. It’s up to my wife to grok the meaning.

And that she did just fine.

Somehow she knew that I was asking about her trip to the DMV. I loved her reply so much I decided to make it a guest post. I plan to offer a reading of this at poet’s corner down at the beatnik place one night soon. Enjoy!
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Into the Bowels of the Bowl

This is what they mean by “taste the rainbow.”

I was flushed with excitement when I made the team. I almost flipped my lid. Not one to fly off the handle, I was resolute and went about the business of doing my job. This consisted mainly of navigating a dinghy about a very small body of water. I’d sing as I tackled the task. “I sail the ocean blue and my saucy shit’s a beauty. I’m a sober man and true, and attentive to my doody. Ahoy! Ahoy!”

For I had set my sights high. I was the man lucky enough to know his own destiny. One day, if I worked hard enough, my teammates and I, as members of the Pack Ten conference, would play in The Toilet Bowl. Perhaps not the bowl sponsored by Tostitos but at least the one that had Ex-Lax, Preparation H and Beano.

And we made it, too, quite literally by the seat of our pants.

[/end of dream sequence]

Blob “Constas” Pation here, and today we take a look at the storied career of Tom B. Taker, a man so dedicated to his crap craft that he has worked the last 11 years within spitting distance of toilets. It’s a story ripped from the anals of history. We caught up with the man as he set out to maintain this blistering pace and go for the world record of twelve years in a row.
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The $7.19 Blues

Grocery Store Egg HuntIf you think about it, what are the topics I blog about? It’s not as varied as you might think. Work, driving, and grocery stores. That’s about it. This post will be about the latter.

I do something weird every single morning. Something that sets me apart from many. And I do so enjoy being apart.
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What’s that poop you’re wearing?

Mr Poop CandySomewhere between love and madness and the toilet … lies Surplus. Love … madness … poop. It’s my secret.

What possesses me? I’ll never know. So there I was, punching the word “poop” into Google and looking for the latest news.

Watch Jersey Shore’s Season in Poop.” Yeah, yeah. No thanks, I’ll pass.

Eh? Wait one. What’s this??? From the Beauty & Style section, no less. “Man Makes Perfume Out of Poop & Holy S**t, It’s Selling.

Ewwwww! De toilette???

You silly humans! Even now, at the end, you can still surprise me! LOL! Stop it. No, seriously. Stop it.

The gist of the story is this: An “artist” (I love putting that word in quotes) has produces 85 bottles of something he calls “perfume” that have been crafted from his own private business, if you know what I’m saying.

And it’s only $85 a bottle. And he calls it Surplus.

What’s his secret, besides finding a way to grab at his 15 minutes of notoriety? Does he have the poopy Midas touch? Did he somehow figure out a way to make poop smell good?

Erm, no. The point is supposed to be the opposite. You know how perfume can be used to cover up bad smells with something nice?

The point of Surplus is to cover your good smells with something bad. I shit you not. (Oops. That might be the slogan for Surplus.)

Intrigued? Learn more and see a advertisement here.

Come to find out I’ve been doing it all wrong. Every morning I wake up and go through this damn annoying routine so I don’t smell bad. I take a shower. I rub soap on my body. I wash my hair. I rub deodorant into my armpits. I brush my teeth. Oh sure, I still smell bed, but at least I friggin’ try.

Instead I could just roll out of bed, dab a little Surplus behind each ear, and head out the door to take on the day. I’ve got to admit, that would be a real time saver!

Artist web site: Jammie Nicholas

Work Improvement – Pooping where you work (via Shouts from the Abyss)

My last job featured an office layout where I literally sat eight feet away from where people poop.

I’m about 5 or 6 weeks into my new job when suddenly a revelation struck me yesterday.

I have improved on that and set a new personal best!

How it almost slipped my mind I’ll never know.

The first few weeks at the new job were hella crazy. Calling it “chaos” would be a monumental understatement. The office was torn to hell. Boxes everywhere, science experiments in the fridge, a microwave oven that made 7/11 look clean – well, you get the picture.

Just yesterday I finally got issued an email address. Suffice it to say that things are not very organized.

Every day I’d come to work and find that my precious few personal items had been moved. For my own personal safety my personal items at work consist of liquid hand soap and hand sanitizer. The other day I came to work and they had been moved – again! So I stood up and announced to the office, “Wow. I really, really, really like this particular space for my stuff. This little 6″ x 10″ cubbyhole on this particular section of this shelf in this cabinet is where my stuff will be henceforth. Forever! I love it.” May God have mercy on the soul of anyone who moves my shit from this moment on.

And so it was with my desk. Where will I be sitting today? And will my “desk” be a piece of wood balanced on two sawhorses? Or perchance a kitchen table? Or, mayhap, a TV tray? And, if I may ask a followup question, where will my workstation be located? Will it be here, like yesterday, or someplace new? Over by the window? The door? The far corner? Where, oh where, will I sit? And, for bonus points, will my computer be swapped out and/or completely left in pieces?

Finally, last week, things settled down. Workstations were built. Ones that will be difficult to move. (Yeah!) Sure, my computer still got fucked with the other day, but that’s small potatoes in the scope of my “career” here so far. Yes, I finally have a place to sit.

And then it occurred to me. Whataminute! I’m closer than eight feet to where people poop! Much closer, as a matter of fact. I now share the friggin’ wall with the bathroom. By my calculations I’m about six feet away from the origin of the feces.

A new personal best, even for me.

I made a spreadsheet and graphed a linear plot of progress to date. By my calculations, at my next job, I will literally sit inside the toilet. And finally all will be well with the universe. I can’t wait.

Here’s today’s video selection inspired by my seating arrangement at work (and another shining example of where the makers should be thankful I don’t sue for stealing the story of my life):

Pooping where you work There must be a certain gleam in my eye when I tell folks that I work about eight feet from where people poop. Typical in these here parts, I’m afraid. A retail business sets up shop in an industrial facility. You probably know the sort. There is a front office area, usually consisting of two or three little rooms. In the back is an open space usually used for a warehouse. In the very back is a roll-up door for deliveries, etc. The front area inc … Read More

via Shouts from the Abyss