King Macklemore And The Game Of Thrones
The #poop tag comes back with a vengeance. –Ed.
You just can’t invent stuff like this. King, a county in Washington state, released a music video imploring the public to not put anything in the toilet except “human waste.” Swoon. I may have found a new home. Their song is a parody of Macklemore’s smash hit Thrift Shop.
I admit I’d never heard the song Thrift Shop. I admit I’d never heard of anyone named Macklemore. Is that his first or last name? Or is this a single-name-situation like Madonna, Prince, Sting and Digit?
In an urge to write a post about this parody song, I turned to Google to find a suitable image to adorn my writings. What? Macklemore also did a song about toilets?
Holy shitcans! Sometimes life can be funny. Behold, Simba, the circle of life! Everything goes full circle. Like water swirling down a drain.
But wait. The circle doesn’t end there. This circle has got levels replete with layers, yo.
As far as I can tell, Macklemore is turd. Turds go in toilets. That’s exactly what King County wants you to know. Further, their parody song riffs on the word “fucking” by replacing it with “flushing.” Yes, a government did this. And, finally, to bring it all back home, in his spare time, Macklemore raps about toilets.
Circle. Full. Flush. Repeat.
No crap about it, this could amuse me all day long. And, in an ironic twist of fate, some have criticized the $123,000 spent on the music video as governmental waste. Cover Oregon had their own famous example of this. Has the King of Waste finally been dethroned? (Reportedly $2.9 million was spent on the Cover Oregon TV and radio spots.) Rocky King, the former executive director of Cover Oregon, said that urgent time frames drove the need for the expensive campaigns. They didn’t have a lot of time to get the word out. Yes, King. (No relation to the county.) I told you this was all connected.
You can’t spell “crap” without R-A-P. Kick it! It’s time to tell you busters all about it!
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Toilet Paper Roll Playing
I wanted to write a bit about the toilet paper situation in our house. There’s a natural order to things, even toilet paper. You might find the topic boring but as your intrepid blogger I’m willing to take a swipe at it.
There’s a three-tier system of toilet paper deployment in our home. I’m not talking about “ply.” That, of course, is something that varies wildly over the course of time and cannot be predicted. If you’re not careful some rolls blow away like dandelions in the wind. These are known in the industry as 1-ply, micro-ply or nano-ply. Others are decidedly thicker and look like what you might expect if you dissected the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. Common varietals include 2-ply, 4-ply, 8-ply, 16-ply, 32 ply and 64-Mbps-ply (if available in your area).
Which tier of the system is for you? It depends on your level of desperation.
In no particular order we begin our journey with an exploration of the Top Shelf Tier. This toilet paper is located at the very top of a cabinet in the bathroom. Despite the lofty name this location has been carefully determined based on being totally inaccessible to the standard occupant in a sitting position. You can reach up and strain your arm but it ain’t gonna happen. This stash is basically emergency use only. It’s the bathroom equivalent of breaking the glass in case of fire. If push comes to shove you’ll have to stand up to get it.
Next we find the Everyday Tier. This is one or more rolls scattered about the room in very accessible positions. This may be the edge of the sink, balanced on the towel rack, or even on the floor. The point is, like an old friend, it’s there when you need it. This is your low-hanging fruit and bestest buddy in the toilet paper realm. But it’s also a dying breed. Your wife will terminate it on sight. That makes Everday Tier a precious commodity and a trusted friend.
Last, but certainly not least, is the Official Tier. This stuff is so highfalutin that it even has it’s own rack. And it’s mounted right on the wall! La-dee-dah! The placement of this rack, however, leaves something to be desired and is, perhaps, the most visible indication yet that this house was designed by Dr. Reed Richards of the Fantastic Four. I know that’s a stretch but evidence suggests his superpowers are required to reach the damn thing. Putting the toilet paper right behind the toilet? Utter brilliance. That ranks right up there with a floor plan design that reveals a direct line-of-sight to the urinals when the restroom door is opened at the pub. Clever!
The point I’m trying to make is that I hate the Official Tier and avoid it unless absolutely necessary. I keep banning it from this realm of existence but it, somehow, always returns.
One time I had a girlfriend move in with me. I kept the master bath for myself and she took ownership of the other bathroom. It was the bathroom adjacent to the living room by the front door. It was informally known as our “public” restroom. The only rule? That it be kept well-stocked with plenty of toilet paper for visiting dignitaries and out-of-town guests.
Then, one day, my best friend went to use the facilities and ended up taking a shower. What the hell? I grilled him when he exited and he claimed he had no choice. There was no toilet paper! No sheet! See? If she had used the three-tiered system that never would have happened.
Avoid pain and humiliation for you and your friends. Get on the three-tiered system today.
They called her Clean-Fingers McGee. She never missed. They said you could bet your life on her fingers being clean. Come to think of it, if you ever shook hands with her, that’s pretty much what you were doing.
Although not generally known, McGee had a secret. When using public restrooms, she would pull up her pants before exiting the stall and making her way across the tile of questionable cleanliness to the sinks to wash her hands.
You see, McGee was deathly afraid of shuffling across public restrooms with pants around her ankles. This condition, which is more common than most people think, is known as talocruralpantaloonlocophobia.
Curious, we decided to conduct a study.
One thing we know for sure: When it comes to restroom habits the concept of sequencing is of vital importance. Fact: Persons exiting restroom stalls with their pants up and belts secured are doing it wrong.
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You Don’t Know Polite
Why does shit like this happen to me? (This is my version of the “dark and stormy” night opening as a literary device.)
My wife and I were out to dinner and having our usually jolly time. Things were clicking. My jokes were firing on all cylinders. I was witty. Our repartee was fast and furious on a highly intellectual level.
As we exited the restaurant I was feeling pretty good. (It could happen.) I saw four people behind us. They were far enough back that I could have let the door close and no slight would have been perceived. I decided to be nice and waited to hold open the door.
They came through single file. As she passed, the first person actually said, I kid you not, “Thank you.”
Wow. It’s a modern day miracle. I’m now that much closer to sainthood. I was momentarily stunned and at a loss for words. As quickly as I could I responded with, “You’re welcome.”
Oops. By then the third person was already walking by. She heard what I said and turned and looked at me. With dagger eyes. Of hatred and death.
Ah. She thought I was talking to her and assumed I was being snotty because she decidedly did not bother to say thank you.
Good intentions: 0. Crass misunderstandings: 1.
Bad form, Mr. Smee. Bad form.
And now some politeness tips from yours truly.
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The 49th State of Reality Awareness Part Two
Alaska. A land so vast that it turns out that it is big enough for the both of us. Our crack team of Discovery engineers has been hard at work calculating that 42 reality-based TV shows about this majestic and fascinating land just isn’t good enough. Not by a damn sight.
We’re gonna blow the lid off yet another story that needs to be told.
Thus, we are splittin’ a seam to unveil our latest bit of creative genius that fully explores every nook and cranny of America’s last frontier in a way the lower 48 has never quite seen before. Alaska State Poopers.
Like a Palin hoppin’ in a chopper fully-loaded for bear we are about to seriously unload, to pull back the lid as it were, on the brave men and women who patrol a wilderness so remote and vast it’s almost inconceivable someone built an outhouse there. Where there’s a will there’s a way. But someone’s still got to clean that shit up.
From tundra to toilet, when the job is just too dirty for anyone else, Alaska Sanitation Team (AST) stands vigilant and at the ready. Enough talk! Let’s plunge right in!
Pilot: S1E1 – “Watch Out For The Cornhole, Bud”
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Riff City: The Economy of War
It’s another Feckless Friday so I’ve decided to riff on a theme. Today’s theme: Us and Them – Workplace Style.
“Us” is those who work. Those who do what they are supposed to do as productive members in this society. The we who produce goods and services. Why, without us, there would be a lot less widgets in the world. Imagine a world without so much plastic fake vomit and whoopee cushions and what not? Shudder.
“Them” is those who profit from the labor of others. You might think of them as the 1%. The political elite. The bankers and CEOs. The people who work the least and benefit the most from a system designed to convert the Earth’s resources into profits for a few. Or, on a more personal level, you may choose to put this face on someone must more close and personal like the boss.
I recently had my “Aha! Moment” (sponsored by Mutual of Omaha, a fucking insurance company of all things). I tweeted my great moment of clarity and awareness and the world took no notice. Nary a retweet. Nay, not even a star. As your humble proprietor here in the Abyss, I reserve the right to shove my unloved tweet in your face:
Okay. Enough about that. What else is going on in the world of economics, work, labor, job and bosses? Remember, I did promise to riff. I guess I’d better get on my black velcro-strapped riffin’ shoes. I’m about to boogie down.
Warning: It’s quite possible I don’t really know what “riff” means.
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Ah, work toilet. The place where it all happens.
And management decisions. Exactly the same thing.
Observe: A 20′ x 20′ square office space. Inside are crammed four, count ’em, four (4) human beings. (Yes, that count includes yours truly even though, technically, I don’t number myself among your kind. For the purposes of this post I’ll strive to be flexible.)
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