Archive for December, 2007

Yeah, Jackie

Monday, December 17th, 2007

If Jackie Stallone isn’t in your life yet, I recommend reading Eliot’s guide (which includes many more photos), then watching this video, which was my first introduction to the human equivalent of a car wreck that is Jackie Stallone. In the video, Jackie Stallone details her patented “rumpology,” which is the reading of ass auras. She deigns not to explain her powers, but when you’re the person that brought Frank Stallone into the world, a certain amount of leeway must be given.

#2

Thursday, December 13th, 2007

happy shitting

In the late fall of 1999, Elijah Wood, of the movies, ruined my bathroom visits forever.

And no, I’m not talking about him filling my seathole or any other such chicanery.

Technically, I guess it was really James Schamus, who wrote “The Ice Storm,” who did it. For, you see, in that film there’s a brief speech that Wood makes to his classmates about molecules that has haunted me ever since I heard it. Honestly, I can’t go into a restroom now without my mind instantly flashing to that bit of knowledge he dropped on an unsuspecting movie audience. I warn anyone who doesn’t want to be grossed out every time they enter a restroom to read no further.

OK, you still with me?

Here’s what Wood said:

“Because of molecules we are connected to the outside world from our bodies. Like when you smell things, because when you smell a smell it’s not really a smell, it’s a part of the object that has come off of it, molecules. So when you smell something bad, it’s like in a way you’re eating it. This is why you should not really smell things, in the same way that you don’t eat everything in the world around you because as a smell, it gets inside of you. So the next time you go into the bathroom after someone else has been there, remember what kinds of molecules you are in fact eating.”

Adds new meaning to the phrase “eat shit,” no?

I entered the bathroom at work the other day and was greeted with a particularly foul odor. My bowels dictated that I brave the fetid room and I soldiered on. Every stall is equipped with a can of air freshener, though for some reason most shitters decide not to take advantage of this. I was unsure if I was breaking protocol or not, but the smell was such that I held the can aloft and sent a spray over the top of stall in the direction of the foul beast that had produced it. The thought of offending the progenitor of the smell crossed my mind, but I was ready with the ultimate shut down:

“Hey, guess whose shit stinks? Yours.”