Filed under: bad boy, being alive, comedy, comedy writing, culture, funny, girl humour, humour, lad humour, life, love, new ideas, opinion, perspective, philosophy, random, society, stupid thoughts, the asshole, thought for the day, thoughts, toilet humour, writing | Tags: bad boy, being alive, comedy, comedy writing, culture, dick jokes, funny, gay humour, lad humour, lad stuff, life, literary journalism, men behaving badly, opinion, perspective, philosophy, random, random stuff, society, stupid, stupid stuff, stupid thoughts, thought for the day, toilet humour
Toilet paper illustrators should have more fun. For one, they have a niche little corner of the market to play around with yet spend their time working on Christmas trees or cute little animal designs to print on toilet paper. Get an image of a puppy dog, and then cover it in shit. Not so cute after all, eh? I propose printing little tongues or noses, indented and poised to lick and sniff. Why not have a sense of humour about it? Ask anyone what illustrations they have on their toilet roll and you’d likely score a blank – which is a good thing, coz if you’re shopping specifically for toilet paper illustrations then your life is over.
DT
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Some burps just happen naturally and discreetly like sneezes. Others – usually the mightier ones – we have to work out of our system by invoking them from a far deeper and altogether darker place. Thinking I was alone this afternoon, I was in the middle of summoning Conan the Barbarian from the caverns of my stomach when my girlfriend suddenly appeared and unknowingly leaned over and kissed me on the lips. I roared a knee wobbling burp – she kissed me. Let’s say it was a mutual shock!
DT
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If you piss in the swimming pool a cloud of chemically-active purple mist allegedly billows outwards from beneath your legs to show everyone you’ve pissed in the water. I’ve never seen this and I don’t know anyone who has ever done it or witnessed it either, but I’ve lived with this fear since I was a kid. Why purple anyway? Why not red or orange? A rainbow arcing out of your privates would be mortally embarrassing.
I haven’t been to a public swimming pool in years but I really want to put this theory to the test once and for all. I want my kids to be able freely piss in the swimming pool without the same fears I had to live with.
I’ve got a urine sample bottle from the doctor’s surgery that would make the perfect molotov cocktail when filled with piss and lobbed into a swimming pool from the spectators gallery. How many other unsubstantiated theories have I dragged into my adulthood. How about the one that claims if you sneeze with your eyes open, then your eyeballs will pop out of your head swinging from their optic nerves like a yo-yo. Once again – do you know anyone that’s ever witnessed this? Apparently, it’s physically impossible to sneeze with your eyes open but I’ve seen A Clockwork Orange so I know you can force your eyelids open. I haven’t got the balls to try it on myself so I’m looking for a stray dog to try it out on.
DT
Filed under: bad boy, being alive, comedy, comedy writing, culture, humour, lad humour, life, opinion, perspective, philosophy, random, society, stupid thoughts, thought for the day, thoughts | Tags: bad boy, being alive, comedy, comedy writing, culture, dick jokes, humour, lad humour, lad stuff, life, literary journalism, men behaving badly, opinion, perspective, philosophy, random, society, stupid, stupid stuff, stupid thoughts, thought for the day, toilet humour, toilets
Correct me if I’m wrong but you crap in them right? Did I miss an important committee meeting back when toilets became household fashion accessories? I’m reading the stats on a toilet in a glossy magazine – ’slim line mauve exterior with sunken flush.’
The Japanese have revolutionized turd technology and turned the everyday crapper into a mainframe computer. Short of a plastic hand grabbing and wiping – all bodily, emotional and spiritual needs are catered for here. Hold a conference call or burn CD’s on the outside of the bowl, whilst you burn your bowels on the inside. Japanese toilets are basically Ipods you can shit in. When I was in Tokyo last year, I couldn’t figure out how to use one for the life of me. No, I don’t want to Skype my friends, or watch a DVD – I just want to take a shit, ok! In my attempt to find the flush on a control panel of Japanese instructions, I started randomly pressing stuff. Half a dozen plastic tubes and appendages would emerge from hidden slots to spray all manner of aerosols up arseholes! I mildly escaped having my arsehole pedicured. I suppose there’s a button on there somewhere for a crack, back and sack.
What a load of crap!
DT
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I know many jokes. The problem is that my dirty jokes are just too dirty, and my clean ones too clean. I am a man of extremes; I have either family-friendly jokes or utterly disgraceful ones. I don’t really have anything in the middle worthy of a laugh.
On one end I’m all clowns and balloons (Q. How do you tell which end of a worm is which? A. Tickle it in the middle and see which end laughs!). And on the other end my ice-breakers are more like icebergs (What’s your star sign? I’m a faeces!).
For some reason, there are very few things that offend me, and it’s the taboos that are normally funny. As comedian Bernard Manning says: “funny is funny. If you don’t it like it then don’t laugh!” I’m a firm believer that you can say anything with a cheeky smile on your face and get a laugh. An old friend and I had a completely different tactic to pull girls in a nightclub when we were teenagers. We used the element of surprise by being so acutely offensive it was actually funny. I could see that most lads get piss wasted to get up enough courage to say something utterly banal and incomprehensible to girls in the blind chance they will get laid. I could see this didn’t work, so I employed a bit of sober creativity and would say something so downright rude and insulting it was actually funny. Rather than hang around the dance floor or the bar in the hope that girls would talk to us, my friend and I went to the one place where girls were guaranteed to be hanging out in abundance – the ladies toilets. We would wait outside the door and when the girls came out – because of course girls always go to the toilet together – we would deliver the carefully constructed sentence with impeccable innocence: “Hi girls. Have just been for a shit?”
This may seem a little unorthodox but we had done some maths here and we were working on the same principle that if you ask 100 girls to have sex with you – 99 will slap you across the face! Actually, the odds were far higher as woman love a man with a sense of humour, and we really didn’t care either way as we were having a laugh!
DT
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Brain cells, brain cells. I’m sick of hearing about how clever and efficient the brain cells are. When it comes down to efficiency, you can’t beat the anus cell for work ethic.
All biological cells in the human body are universal and define themselves and their job by those cells around them. They all contain the required elements to determine what they should become and apply themselves accordingly. Isn’t that amazing? This means each and every cell is capable of doing anything it’s asked to do. If you’re assigned to work downstairs in the rusty bullet hole then you’re an anus cell. If you’re in the left ear shoveling earwax then you’re an ear cell – simple.
What a utilitarian paradise our bodies are. There’s work for all; no unemployment; no need for unions; one wage for all; and no need for holiday leave. Our cells do everything they’re asked without any tea breaks and never complain about the long hours. The brain is the boss, and would probably have a large human resources section where all new cells report for their first day at work. A new young cell turns up for his first day at work in his dad’s suit with clean socks on. The conversation would go something like this:
New Cell: Hello. I am a new cell reporting for work today.
Human Resources Cell Manager: Hello young cell. You are to report to the supervisor in the Anus this morning. Do you know how to get there?
New Cell: Yes. I know a blood cell that is car pooling and is leaving on the jugular express this morning for the Anus.
New Cell (later that morning): Hello Anus Cell Supervisor, I am a new cell reporting for work.
New Cell Supervisor: Yes, good morning son. Please get into that astronaut suit over there and go to the Svinkter where there’s a pile of brussel spouts that need turning into shit.
… And that’s his job for seven years. Every seven years, each of the trillions of cells in your body will replace themselves, so this little anus cell will drop dead at work and a new one fills his boots silently and automatically on a continuous basis until you eventually drop dead.
We could all learn a thing or two from the Anus cell about efficiency at work.
DT
