after two heart-wrenching notices of 'unsuccessful' applications for fifa 2010 tickets (one rejection in phase 1 and one rejection in phase 2) i had begun shaking my fists at the heavens. my ire should have been directed less upwards and more westwards... as it turns out, in a clear indication of growing american interest in the beautiful game, team specific tickets (tst) for the united states (usa) are the most sought after tickets for 2010. south africans are the only nation to be buying more tickets than usa but, by my estimation, the south africans aren't purchasing bafana bafana tickets but instead stadium specific tickets. remember, this is a big country. would someone in california apply for a game that might take place on a wednesday in new york?
this news about a mass yankee migration made me decide to seek out a new direction. i'm happy to report that, after adopting the same strategy that earned us tickets in germany for 2006, i have finally tasted success.
i was quickly awarded (at category 2 seating no less) the first four matches for...
SOUTH KOREA!
...and yes, yes... the fourth match is assuming s.korea makes it out of the group stage...
but regardless, the day after i paid for the tickets s.korea beat the u.a.e. to guarantee their place in south africa... so it is on for 2010.
the next step is to wait. it won't be until october that the qualifying matches will conclude and then the first week of december will see the draw.
until then we can only hope (for our sake not the s.koreans') that spain, the netherlands and usa end up in their group and that the games will be played in durban, cape town and polokwane.
time to get it on. no choice but to get it on.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
In Other Soccer-Related News:
a week from today starts the fifa confederations cup. for me it'll be an excuse to enjoy a four-and-a-half day weekend in joburg. for the participating teams it'll be an invaluable opportunity to see what the climate is like this time of year in south africa as well as to get a feel for the grass (meaning the sod, not the durban poison). it'll also be a chance to get a feel for playing in a stadium filled with the noise of drums and vuvezela.
In Other Soccer-Related News:
this saturday saw the first ever inter-office soccer match for SSI in kzn. the idea has been around for some time but never was acted on until a fortuitous project meeting where i needed to use our environmental branch to report on the ecology of a job site.
when, kushela, the environmental consultant that was assigned to the project mentioned that he played soccer, the discussions for a derby began.
in the following four weeks, to everyone's benefit, kushela took the necessary initiative to organize a field, food, drinks and his eleven-man durban side.
unfortunately, pinetown seemed to use up all their energy in the preparation for the match and had none left to use on the pitch. at the half, several mercy acts were enacted to reduce the amount of goals being scored by maritzburg. these acts involved:
- giving them some of our players
- making me a striker
when, kushela, the environmental consultant that was assigned to the project mentioned that he played soccer, the discussions for a derby began.
in the following four weeks, to everyone's benefit, kushela took the necessary initiative to organize a field, food, drinks and his eleven-man durban side.
unfortunately, pinetown seemed to use up all their energy in the preparation for the match and had none left to use on the pitch. at the half, several mercy acts were enacted to reduce the amount of goals being scored by maritzburg. these acts involved:
- giving them some of our players
- making me a striker
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Worm Holes
time travel will always be a hot topic for discussion. maybe not so much in the future once costco gets their hands on the technology to make them for the average joe but for the time being, time travel is a wildly exciting speculative subject for conversation, research and film. science is even making it an accepted and plausible possibility. it used to be that time travel required the use of (and i'll put these in order of ascending plausability) a delorean, a silver flying walnut or a 1x4x9 black monolith.
but ever since we were sold on the theory of wormholes, we just nod our heads whenever someone in a film is expelled from a bent-light-sometimes-liquidy portal half a metre from the ground, lands awkwardly, stand ups, brushes themself off and exclaims, "we must have traveled through a wormhole!". must have... so i'd say that a bunch of chalk-fingered astrophysicists with doctorates have got us hook, line and sinker with wormholes.
and naturally, 'hook, line and sinker' brings me smoothly to my next discussion point:
worm holes.
have you stopped to think that there are two radically different doctorate research programmes out there with basically the same name? one involves the concept of transdimensional travel by bending space-time to create a wormhole. the other involves studying worms in holes.
the worm-propulsion subject (in particular marine worms) was brought to my attention years ago when a friend's girlfriend, kelly, began her research that has now culminated in a ph.d (and tons of awards) on the subject. i think at the time she wanted to know about strain guages in jell-o. kelly has been passionate about the worm holes for practicaly forever and not too long ago was listed in pop sci as one of their 'brilliant 10' for her research with polychaetes.
but i'm not here to lecture on astrophysics or even sediment crack propogation mechanics. as always, i want to stress the importance of grammar and proper spelling.
if every august you find yourself in a grassy field lying on your back staring at the heavens for the leonids showers, on your college application under "major" put "wormholes". however, if you're facing the opposite direction during these meteor showers, be sure to write the underscore clearly. "worm_holes".
but ever since we were sold on the theory of wormholes, we just nod our heads whenever someone in a film is expelled from a bent-light-sometimes-liquidy portal half a metre from the ground, lands awkwardly, stand ups, brushes themself off and exclaims, "we must have traveled through a wormhole!". must have... so i'd say that a bunch of chalk-fingered astrophysicists with doctorates have got us hook, line and sinker with wormholes.
and naturally, 'hook, line and sinker' brings me smoothly to my next discussion point:
worm holes.
have you stopped to think that there are two radically different doctorate research programmes out there with basically the same name? one involves the concept of transdimensional travel by bending space-time to create a wormhole. the other involves studying worms in holes.
the worm-propulsion subject (in particular marine worms) was brought to my attention years ago when a friend's girlfriend, kelly, began her research that has now culminated in a ph.d (and tons of awards) on the subject. i think at the time she wanted to know about strain guages in jell-o. kelly has been passionate about the worm holes for practicaly forever and not too long ago was listed in pop sci as one of their 'brilliant 10' for her research with polychaetes.
but i'm not here to lecture on astrophysics or even sediment crack propogation mechanics. as always, i want to stress the importance of grammar and proper spelling.
if every august you find yourself in a grassy field lying on your back staring at the heavens for the leonids showers, on your college application under "major" put "wormholes". however, if you're facing the opposite direction during these meteor showers, be sure to write the underscore clearly. "worm_holes".
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Two Things: Part one
two things:i'll be the first to admit that america might not be most educated when it comes to stuff outside its own borders. in fact, people i meet here (read: young white people) don't have a problem reminding me that americans they've met in their travels to the united states are laughably ignorant of life here in south africa.
"americans think we have lions just walking around here! like they walk through our grass huts" and "were you surprised that we had airports here?"
they're right. the only time i'd ever thought of south africa as a teenager was when i was assigned to read "July's People". For those of you that have read "July's People", an exploration of the social impact left by apartheid in a fictional (nay, predicted) world that followed apartheid to its natural conclusion: war, you can only imagine what sort of outlandish misconceptions i had developed of the whole area. this was 1993... i think i was too busy trying to get the attention of anna, my first real girlfriend, for me to pay attention to mr. hilbert explaining the actual political climate in south africa when nadine gordimer wrote this book.
that being said, when confronted with these anecdotes about americans, i originally had trouble standing up for my people seeing as i was both totally confused and utterly disinterested with regards to south africa before i came here. after all, every time bugs bunny, elmer fudd, felix the cat or any pre- politically correct cartoon character found him/itself in subsaharan africa it was inevitable that one or more of the following occurred:
- the main character would end up in a giant metal pot with the subsequent carrots, celery and sneeze-inducing salt and pepper
- a thick-maned lion or bengal tiger would chase our hero from right to left and left to right several times. a joke would usually occur involving the lion's mane or the tiger's stripes.
- the black natives, wearing grass skirts and bones through their noses, would break into song... predictably a percussive jazz number. JAZZ?! we all know that if the same cartoons were being made today, the natives would be rapping and dancing like chris brown.
- if johnny quest or any hannah barbara cartoon drama were taking place, quicksand would rear its ugly head.
so in our collective defense, these were our impressions of africa.
but the best defense is a good offense. to defend the honour (whoops) of my fellow americans i now turn the tables on those who wish to ridicule you.
with alarming regularity, when i announce that i'm from california i get asked if i've met any celebrities. usually the drunker, younger and girl-er the person is, the more specific the celebrity. Johnnie Depp, Nicolas Cage, Ice Cube and Snoop Dogg top the list. Paul Reiser, Archimedes and Stephen Jay Gould round out the bottom.
so whenever i'm mocked for americans thinking that south africa is nothing but talking lions battling for the 'pridelands' with hyenas and using mackaws as their consulate, i now counter that the same south africans honestly think that Tom Cruise routinely borrows a cup of sugar from me.
this brings us to the picture at the top of this article: further fuel was added to my fire when my parents visited and, in fact, the nearby lion park had its fence blown over and the lions escaped.
who's living up to their stereotype now?!
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
I Enjoy Nouning
This brings us to part 2.
Newspaper sales are different here than they are where you come from. 'paperboys' here stand at traffic lights ("robots") early in the morning wearing red coats walking up and down on the dashed line carrying an armful of papers. if south africa were to make a video game of 'paperboy', it wouldn't be half as exciting as the american version where you end up riding a bike through an obstacle course complete with tire targets and jumps over rivers, all whilst being pursued by zombies and killer bees. i guess you could argue that the south african version of 'paperboy' would be 'frogger'.
the sad sad joke being that the life (not to mention income) of a paperboy in south africa is far more perilous seeing as they basically stand on the dashed white lines and reflectors as non-customers are zipping past them frantically trying to get to work while distractedly reading the newspaper they bought at the previous robot.
in this day and age, the era of 'newsies' are behind us. there's no more "extry, extry, read all about it!". bullet-proof tinted windows, 6 speaker car sound systems and potential language barriers all impede this form of advertising. so newspapers canvass lampposts with summaries of the top four or five intriguing stories that you can learn about if you shell out the nominal cost of a newspaper. the "lions still on the loose" is just one example.
but i'm not here to discuss the whereabout of game in pietermaritzburg. i want to discuss headline ambiguity. lots of nouns moonlight as verbs... for example: the word "moonlight" and in these hyper-distilled summaries when an editor chooses to create a headline comprised ENTIRELY from words that can be either a noun or a verb (or adjective)... well, watch out is all i'm gonna say.
i'll start off with these:
- pension age rate flags
- graduate fights protest fine
- rape pupil hides
that last one felt like more of a weird command than a headline...
anyhow, this all reminds me of the headline paul found in the sac bee when we were in college:
- judge blocks sailor's discharge
this was back in the day of "don't ask don't tell...
remember, share 'em if you see 'em.
Newspaper sales are different here than they are where you come from. 'paperboys' here stand at traffic lights ("robots") early in the morning wearing red coats walking up and down on the dashed line carrying an armful of papers. if south africa were to make a video game of 'paperboy', it wouldn't be half as exciting as the american version where you end up riding a bike through an obstacle course complete with tire targets and jumps over rivers, all whilst being pursued by zombies and killer bees. i guess you could argue that the south african version of 'paperboy' would be 'frogger'.
the sad sad joke being that the life (not to mention income) of a paperboy in south africa is far more perilous seeing as they basically stand on the dashed white lines and reflectors as non-customers are zipping past them frantically trying to get to work while distractedly reading the newspaper they bought at the previous robot.
in this day and age, the era of 'newsies' are behind us. there's no more "extry, extry, read all about it!". bullet-proof tinted windows, 6 speaker car sound systems and potential language barriers all impede this form of advertising. so newspapers canvass lampposts with summaries of the top four or five intriguing stories that you can learn about if you shell out the nominal cost of a newspaper. the "lions still on the loose" is just one example.
but i'm not here to discuss the whereabout of game in pietermaritzburg. i want to discuss headline ambiguity. lots of nouns moonlight as verbs... for example: the word "moonlight" and in these hyper-distilled summaries when an editor chooses to create a headline comprised ENTIRELY from words that can be either a noun or a verb (or adjective)... well, watch out is all i'm gonna say.
i'll start off with these:
- pension age rate flags
- graduate fights protest fine
- rape pupil hides
that last one felt like more of a weird command than a headline...
anyhow, this all reminds me of the headline paul found in the sac bee when we were in college:
- judge blocks sailor's discharge
this was back in the day of "don't ask don't tell...
remember, share 'em if you see 'em.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Poo's Your Own Adventure
about a year ago i was asked to contribute an article or story to a friend's upstart 'zine. i'm not down with the literary circles of the bay area like i once was so i couldn't tell you what people write about in self-published mini-mags these days. regardless of whatever is mainstream, michelle was starting a 'zine about "shitting oneself". now whether she had chosen this subject matter because fecalphilia had gone mainstream since i'd left the country (what are the odds?) and she thought she could make millions or because she felt a duty to fill a niche market i forgot to ask.
all i know is that she was starting a poo 'zine and she came to me.
i don't claim to be an expert on the subject. i've never taken an oath in court and testified as an expert witness on the subject and only once have i ever been credited in a documentary or film involving poo-related hijinx (twice if you count the video where jeremy jaeger defecates white to abdicate himself of witchcraft charges).
below, please find my submission. it's a 'choose your own adventure'. one interesting note is that i had one of my interns proofread it to make sure the pages all linked up. probably didn't see that as part of his job requirements when he was studying civil engineering. so i humbly submit to you the first "Poo's your own Adventure" entitled:
“Shake him again.” Are the first words you hear. You’re instantly aware of your own weight and dull pain running up and down your right side. Shortly thereafter you realize that you are being shaken. You recognize the voices. They belong to your best friend Paul and his sister Suzie.
Suzie says to Paul, “He couldn’t have forgotten.” and this instantly wakes you up. Your eyes open quickly and the light floods in and stabs the back of your skull. You were sure it was four in the morning but the bright daylight confirms your fears that your family is arriving at the airport this morning and your alarm didn’t go off to wake you up.
As you scramble to your feet you realize why your alarm didn’t wake you up. Your alarm clock is next to your bed which is 15 miles away. The sign outside reads, “Pizza and Pasta”. You are the manager.
“What time is it?” You ask either Paul or Suzie. Over their shoulders you see customers in the parking lot confused by the open door and chairs still on the tables inside.
“Late.” They reply in unpracticed unison.
If you choose to return home and change and shower before going to the airport please turn to page 13
If you choose to lock up your store and head straight to the airport please turn to page 4
Page 4
“No time to lose!” as you reach into your pockets for your keys. You pull out two sets, neither of which are familiar. You throw them in the tip jar as you run out the front door. You pause briefly to mimic locking the front door so as to convince the customers in the parking lot that unfettered access to balls of pizza dough and pre-sliced pepperoni isn’t theirs for the taking.
“Where’s my car?” you ask.
“Maybe your family will want to help you find it.” Says Paul. This sends you into a panic sweat. Your balls are drenched and you feel an uncomfortable pit form at the bottom of your stomach.
Turn to page 6
page 6
You jump into the backseat of Suzie’s old Geo Prism. The movement has made you aware of the effects of last night’s binge. The Jaegermeister you taste on your breath has radically softened the already delicate stool consisting of Taco Bell’s latest ethni-fusion: the nacho stir fry.
”Run, don’t wok to the nearest toilet” you mutter ominously to yourself.
“You smell like a bar rag.” Paul informs you as he pushes the passenger seat against your knees. Bringing your knees closer to your chest has the anticipated effect and as soon as the doors close a pocket of gas moves like an overfed St. Bernard to the back door. It wants out.
If you choose to relieve the pressure immediately, turn to page 80
If you choose to hold it in and spare your friends, turn to page 79
Page 7
The road to the airport is uncrowded. With the exception of a deep rumbling deep in your stomach, the debacle of the past night’s binge is starting to fade. The wind blowing in through windows has a calming effect and your mind wanders.
Suzie snaps you from your mindless wanderings. “Paul, do you think we should stop for gas? We weren’t planning on taking our car to the airport so the tank is kinda low.”
“We’ve got enough,” he replies, “but we either refill now or after we pick up his family.”
“Well before we pick them up, you two are dropping yourselves off at some political rally right?”
“Heil Hitler.” They say in practiced unison.
Turning to face you, Suzie asks, “You must be hungry. Do you want to stop for a bite?”
If you choose to pull over for a bite and refill the tank, turn to page 9
If you choose to keep driving, turn to page 1,000
Page 8
When you finally reach the freeway towards the airport, cars are moving slowly.
”Must be an accident… road was fine when we went to find you at ‘Pizza and Pasta’”
You immediately regret the previous detour. Time is no longer on your side and you begin to get nervous.
You picture your family waiting at the airport terminal, holding their luggage and waiting on the curb breathing in taxi exhaust and you immediately begin to perspire again.
The nervous feeling of butterflies hits you and spreads to your stomach. Immediately your stomach rumbles loudly.
“Please don’t tell me you’re hungry.” Says Suzie.
“Ummm.” Is the only response you can muster. All of your energy and attention is focused on clenching your asshole shut. “Divert all power to rear shields Chewy!” escapes your lips. Confused, Paul mimics a wookie, and rolls down the windows as a precaution.
You feel like Gallipoli is taking place in your lower intestine. Deadly gases and trench warfare are all you can think of. A single bead of sweat runs down your temple. The buildup is unbearable. You realize you’re not even sitting anymore but completely stiff as a board. If a butterfly were to land on your abdomen you’d explode.
If you can’t stand it and ask Paul to pull over, turn to page 50
If you think you can hold it in, turn to page 61
Page 9
“Let’s pull over.” You reply. Your stomach, which agrees with your decision but is being disagreeable on all other counts, rumbles audibly belying activities that rarely end cleanly.
You pull into a small gas station and Paul begins filling the tank.
”Can I get you anything from the shop?” you offer politely.
”Snap into it!” is his reply.
At the counter you grab a bag of Lay’s chips, a sprite and two Slim Jims for Paul.
“Can you tell me where the restroom is?” but even through the inch of bulletproof glass you can see that the answer to your question is reserved for the desperate. His cocked eyebrow reads loud and clear. “If you can hold it, you should hold it.”
“Oh Yeayuh.” Paul says as you hand him the Slim Jims.
Again, squeezing yourself into the back of the Geo Prism, the uncomfortable positions and shifting involved, has shifted a large pocket of gas.
You jump out of the car before Suzie gets in and you attempt to relieve the pressure. Unfortunately you realize that riding the tail end of the gas is nacho stir-fry that has been marinating overnight in six shots of Jaegermeister. Convinced you can hold it, and picturing the much more pleasant airport restroom, you fan three times behind your ass, jump up and down twice and spin around once before getting back in the car.
Turn to page 8
Page 10
You point yourself at the Domestic gate and pray that you’ve made the correct choice. As you approach the curb where your family should be you can see a large crowd gathered and some commotion. Your stomach ties up in knots. Guilt. Fear. Concern.
As you get closer you see the cause of the commotion. Two monkeys are throwing their feces at everyone leaving the baggage claim.
The monkeys are your parents
Your parents are monkeys. You didn’t shit your pants but your parents are monkeys.
Page 13
“Would you mind if we go home and grab some clean clothes first. I smell like sour milk.”
Paul takes a deep breath and replies, “It’s your call.” And points the car away from the airport and towards your house.
Your eyes roll back into your head and you fall into a restless that is interrupted only five minutes later when the car stops in your driveway. You quickly climb through the rear window and let Paul and Suzie in the front door.
As you jump in the shower you hear the familiar sounds of “The Fairly Odd Parents” coming from your television. The warm water seems to wash away all the ills of the previous night or two and it’s only the strongest act of willpower that pulls you out of the warm shower and into a clean t-shirt and debatably clean jeans.
“Let’s roll!” you exclaim as you burst from your bedroom into the living room. You’re feeling unstoppable.
“Your crotch is still wet.” Says paul getting up slowly.
“It’ll dry in the car. You guys ready?”
The Geo Prism speeds away from your house.
Turn to page 8
Page 50
Through gritted teeth you exclaim, “Pull over!”
Naively Paul shouts “Dude! Don’t throw up in the backseat!”
“Just pull over man!”
This is easy and difficult all at the same time seeing as Paul is in the middle lane of traffic that isn’t moving.
“Um.” Suggests Suzie.
Your stomach makes more noise which this time can’t be mistaken for hunger but instead something far more insidious. Off comes Suzie’s seatbelt and she opens the passenger door in the middle of traffic. Looking around, you feel like you’re in the middle of the scene from “Independence Day” where everyone is trying to get out of Washington D.C. Thinking of Jerry Bruckheimer only makes you have to shit even more.
Turn to page 2719
Page 61
You think of baseball. After all it had worked in the past to prolong your ejaculation. It works. The armies amassed at the gates of your sphincter were turned away. You celebrate and mentally pump your fists in the air like the Negro regiment in that Matthew Broderick film you watched in Junior High and High School.
“Can you guys name a film other than ‘Glory’ that everyone has seen six times but has never once paid to rent?”
A peaceful silence follows. After some time Suzie pipes up. “Donald Duck in Math Land is a distant second.”
Heads nod in agreement. Traffic is still barely moving and time is passing. Your parents’ plane is probably landed by now and you still have to drop Paul and Suzie off in town at some political rally and then get to the airport.
“By Jove, let’s take the side roads. At least we’ll be moving.”
“Capital idea.”
Turn to page 1000
Page 68
You let the phone continue vibrating against your thigh as you speed to the airport. You check the clock on the dashboard of the Prism. 22:15. You subtract twelve to account for Suzie setting the alarm in non-military time in the PM.
It’s a safe bet that the phone call was probably your family calling to say they are at the baggage claim wondering where you are but seeing as you’re only ten minutes from the airport you speed along.
As you approach the terminals you realize that you forgot to check to see which airline your family is coming in on and hence you’re not sure of the gate to meet them at. You have to make a quick decision. The signs read “Local” and “Domestic”.
If you choose to go to the Local gate turn to page 90
If you choose to go to the Domestic gate turn to page 10
Page 69
You dig deep into your jeans and try to extract the cell phone. You fumble around and drop the phone under your seat. At the first traffic light you bend down to retrieve it but bending at the waist turns you into a cake decorators frosting gun. Before you can close the airlocks you frost the inside of your pants.
You’ve shit yourself. Your parents leave everything to the cat.
Page 79
You decide to hold in the gas. The same laws of chemistry that govern the atoms in the sun are playing out in your abdomen and the expanding pressure pushes out several beads of sweat on your forehead.
You’re starting to look and feel like the fat man from “Who’s Line Is It Anyways?” except you’ve removed your right shoe and are using the sock as a kerchief to dab your brow.
Unable to relieve the pressure by removing your pants belt (you’re not wearing one), you realize there are only two ways to relieve the painful and uncomfortable bloating. The second option involves a caesarian section.
It is at this time that a trapped pocket of gas that has been waiting anxiously behind a stopped 18-wheeler turd on your intestinal highway decides to pass on the shoulder. The pocket of gas, eager to get to work, speeds along the shoulder and slams into the traffic cop that is your sphincter. All the methane and sulfur pockets are furious and the taco bell stir-fry is letting new commuters on at every on ramp. The backup seems to go on for miles.
An uptight pocket of gas shouts, “linch the sphincter!”
If you choose to bend to the will of the mob and fart on Paul and Suzie, turn to page 80
If you choose to continue holding it in turn to page 79 (again)
Page 80
“Thanks again for picking me up guys.” You say as you let out a cocktail of gases.
“Our pleasure.” Starts Suzie. But Paul, who was looking in the rearview mirror noticed that you inexplicably leaned three degrees to one side whilst you said this.
“I’m gonna kick your ass if you just did what I think you did.”
“Wha-“ starts Suzie but she stops her question as both front windows begin to roll down. “Dammit. Go Paul. Drive!”
You slump down comfortably in the back seat as the Geo Prism speeds out of the parking lot.
Turn to page 7
Page 90
As you drive into the airport you look carefully for your parents at the Local gate. At first you don’t see them. Instead, standing on the curb are sixteen clowns in all their clown glory. “I can’t believe they’re allowed to travel like that.”
Then you see the humpback whale on the curb.
Bells are ringing.
You slowly open your eyes and realize you’re lying down on the floor of the pizza and pasta shop that you manage. The bells are customers trying to get the front door open. The smell is a corn-infested shit that you took around page 2719. The good news is it’s mostly contained to your underpants and cargo shorts. For good reason you’re afraid to stand up.
You’ve shit your pants at work and you don’t work in German porn. Consider yourself fired and disowned.
Page 1000
This turns out to be the best and only good decision you’ve made in weeks. You’re delighted when you hit roadblocks miles earlier than expected.
“Closed because of your rally guys. Guess you’ll have to walk from here.”
You leap into the front seat and thank Paul and Suzie for their help as the throw the Prism into first. As you’re about to put it into second you feel a vibration coming from your pants. Unexpectedly, it’s just your cell phone.
If you choose to answer your phone turn to page 69
If you choose to keep driving and ignore the phone turn to page 68
Page 2719
You run into the median, the only part of the freeway with some shrubbery to provide a little privacy. You can feel the eyes of everyone in their cars on you but the sensation is nothing compared to the full body pain you feel.
Like a penguin you waddle around looking for a nest in which to give your warm and explosive birth. You sense the collective gasp of your fellow motorists as you squat and pull pants and undies down with one movement.
The shit is like a liberal arts graduate: directionless and misguided. Much of it lands on your heels and finds its way into your shoes.
The satisfaction of relieving the unbearable pain is now gone but instead replaced with worry. How can you get in the car with so much shit on your shoes? You look at Paul and you can tell he’s thinking the same thing.
That’s when you lose your balance. You were lightheaded already and now looking to your right and left has left you with just enough vertigo to topple backwards into your own mess of fiesta compost.
This time when you look up to see Paul he’s motioning Suzie to get in the car and lock the doors. As he honks at the cars in front of him to move, you realize your ride is trying to get away from you.
You’ve shit yourself on the median of a major highway. You’ll be on the evening news and everything around you except your face will be pixilated for the sake of the viewing audience.
all i know is that she was starting a poo 'zine and she came to me.
i don't claim to be an expert on the subject. i've never taken an oath in court and testified as an expert witness on the subject and only once have i ever been credited in a documentary or film involving poo-related hijinx (twice if you count the video where jeremy jaeger defecates white to abdicate himself of witchcraft charges).
below, please find my submission. it's a 'choose your own adventure'. one interesting note is that i had one of my interns proofread it to make sure the pages all linked up. probably didn't see that as part of his job requirements when he was studying civil engineering. so i humbly submit to you the first "Poo's your own Adventure" entitled:
MR. BROWN GOES TWO IN WASHINGTON
“Shake him again.” Are the first words you hear. You’re instantly aware of your own weight and dull pain running up and down your right side. Shortly thereafter you realize that you are being shaken. You recognize the voices. They belong to your best friend Paul and his sister Suzie.
Suzie says to Paul, “He couldn’t have forgotten.” and this instantly wakes you up. Your eyes open quickly and the light floods in and stabs the back of your skull. You were sure it was four in the morning but the bright daylight confirms your fears that your family is arriving at the airport this morning and your alarm didn’t go off to wake you up.
As you scramble to your feet you realize why your alarm didn’t wake you up. Your alarm clock is next to your bed which is 15 miles away. The sign outside reads, “Pizza and Pasta”. You are the manager.
“What time is it?” You ask either Paul or Suzie. Over their shoulders you see customers in the parking lot confused by the open door and chairs still on the tables inside.
“Late.” They reply in unpracticed unison.
If you choose to return home and change and shower before going to the airport please turn to page 13
If you choose to lock up your store and head straight to the airport please turn to page 4
Page 4
“No time to lose!” as you reach into your pockets for your keys. You pull out two sets, neither of which are familiar. You throw them in the tip jar as you run out the front door. You pause briefly to mimic locking the front door so as to convince the customers in the parking lot that unfettered access to balls of pizza dough and pre-sliced pepperoni isn’t theirs for the taking.
“Where’s my car?” you ask.
“Maybe your family will want to help you find it.” Says Paul. This sends you into a panic sweat. Your balls are drenched and you feel an uncomfortable pit form at the bottom of your stomach.
Turn to page 6
page 6
You jump into the backseat of Suzie’s old Geo Prism. The movement has made you aware of the effects of last night’s binge. The Jaegermeister you taste on your breath has radically softened the already delicate stool consisting of Taco Bell’s latest ethni-fusion: the nacho stir fry.
”Run, don’t wok to the nearest toilet” you mutter ominously to yourself.
“You smell like a bar rag.” Paul informs you as he pushes the passenger seat against your knees. Bringing your knees closer to your chest has the anticipated effect and as soon as the doors close a pocket of gas moves like an overfed St. Bernard to the back door. It wants out.
If you choose to relieve the pressure immediately, turn to page 80
If you choose to hold it in and spare your friends, turn to page 79
Page 7
The road to the airport is uncrowded. With the exception of a deep rumbling deep in your stomach, the debacle of the past night’s binge is starting to fade. The wind blowing in through windows has a calming effect and your mind wanders.
Suzie snaps you from your mindless wanderings. “Paul, do you think we should stop for gas? We weren’t planning on taking our car to the airport so the tank is kinda low.”
“We’ve got enough,” he replies, “but we either refill now or after we pick up his family.”
“Well before we pick them up, you two are dropping yourselves off at some political rally right?”
“Heil Hitler.” They say in practiced unison.
Turning to face you, Suzie asks, “You must be hungry. Do you want to stop for a bite?”
If you choose to pull over for a bite and refill the tank, turn to page 9
If you choose to keep driving, turn to page 1,000
Page 8
When you finally reach the freeway towards the airport, cars are moving slowly.
”Must be an accident… road was fine when we went to find you at ‘Pizza and Pasta’”
You immediately regret the previous detour. Time is no longer on your side and you begin to get nervous.
You picture your family waiting at the airport terminal, holding their luggage and waiting on the curb breathing in taxi exhaust and you immediately begin to perspire again.
The nervous feeling of butterflies hits you and spreads to your stomach. Immediately your stomach rumbles loudly.
“Please don’t tell me you’re hungry.” Says Suzie.
“Ummm.” Is the only response you can muster. All of your energy and attention is focused on clenching your asshole shut. “Divert all power to rear shields Chewy!” escapes your lips. Confused, Paul mimics a wookie, and rolls down the windows as a precaution.
You feel like Gallipoli is taking place in your lower intestine. Deadly gases and trench warfare are all you can think of. A single bead of sweat runs down your temple. The buildup is unbearable. You realize you’re not even sitting anymore but completely stiff as a board. If a butterfly were to land on your abdomen you’d explode.
If you can’t stand it and ask Paul to pull over, turn to page 50
If you think you can hold it in, turn to page 61
Page 9
“Let’s pull over.” You reply. Your stomach, which agrees with your decision but is being disagreeable on all other counts, rumbles audibly belying activities that rarely end cleanly.
You pull into a small gas station and Paul begins filling the tank.
”Can I get you anything from the shop?” you offer politely.
”Snap into it!” is his reply.
At the counter you grab a bag of Lay’s chips, a sprite and two Slim Jims for Paul.
“Can you tell me where the restroom is?” but even through the inch of bulletproof glass you can see that the answer to your question is reserved for the desperate. His cocked eyebrow reads loud and clear. “If you can hold it, you should hold it.”
“Oh Yeayuh.” Paul says as you hand him the Slim Jims.
Again, squeezing yourself into the back of the Geo Prism, the uncomfortable positions and shifting involved, has shifted a large pocket of gas.
You jump out of the car before Suzie gets in and you attempt to relieve the pressure. Unfortunately you realize that riding the tail end of the gas is nacho stir-fry that has been marinating overnight in six shots of Jaegermeister. Convinced you can hold it, and picturing the much more pleasant airport restroom, you fan three times behind your ass, jump up and down twice and spin around once before getting back in the car.
Turn to page 8
Page 10
You point yourself at the Domestic gate and pray that you’ve made the correct choice. As you approach the curb where your family should be you can see a large crowd gathered and some commotion. Your stomach ties up in knots. Guilt. Fear. Concern.
As you get closer you see the cause of the commotion. Two monkeys are throwing their feces at everyone leaving the baggage claim.
The monkeys are your parents
Your parents are monkeys. You didn’t shit your pants but your parents are monkeys.
Page 13
“Would you mind if we go home and grab some clean clothes first. I smell like sour milk.”
Paul takes a deep breath and replies, “It’s your call.” And points the car away from the airport and towards your house.
Your eyes roll back into your head and you fall into a restless that is interrupted only five minutes later when the car stops in your driveway. You quickly climb through the rear window and let Paul and Suzie in the front door.
As you jump in the shower you hear the familiar sounds of “The Fairly Odd Parents” coming from your television. The warm water seems to wash away all the ills of the previous night or two and it’s only the strongest act of willpower that pulls you out of the warm shower and into a clean t-shirt and debatably clean jeans.
“Let’s roll!” you exclaim as you burst from your bedroom into the living room. You’re feeling unstoppable.
“Your crotch is still wet.” Says paul getting up slowly.
“It’ll dry in the car. You guys ready?”
The Geo Prism speeds away from your house.
Turn to page 8
Page 50
Through gritted teeth you exclaim, “Pull over!”
Naively Paul shouts “Dude! Don’t throw up in the backseat!”
“Just pull over man!”
This is easy and difficult all at the same time seeing as Paul is in the middle lane of traffic that isn’t moving.
“Um.” Suggests Suzie.
Your stomach makes more noise which this time can’t be mistaken for hunger but instead something far more insidious. Off comes Suzie’s seatbelt and she opens the passenger door in the middle of traffic. Looking around, you feel like you’re in the middle of the scene from “Independence Day” where everyone is trying to get out of Washington D.C. Thinking of Jerry Bruckheimer only makes you have to shit even more.
Turn to page 2719
Page 61
You think of baseball. After all it had worked in the past to prolong your ejaculation. It works. The armies amassed at the gates of your sphincter were turned away. You celebrate and mentally pump your fists in the air like the Negro regiment in that Matthew Broderick film you watched in Junior High and High School.
“Can you guys name a film other than ‘Glory’ that everyone has seen six times but has never once paid to rent?”
A peaceful silence follows. After some time Suzie pipes up. “Donald Duck in Math Land is a distant second.”
Heads nod in agreement. Traffic is still barely moving and time is passing. Your parents’ plane is probably landed by now and you still have to drop Paul and Suzie off in town at some political rally and then get to the airport.
“By Jove, let’s take the side roads. At least we’ll be moving.”
“Capital idea.”
Turn to page 1000
Page 68
You let the phone continue vibrating against your thigh as you speed to the airport. You check the clock on the dashboard of the Prism. 22:15. You subtract twelve to account for Suzie setting the alarm in non-military time in the PM.
It’s a safe bet that the phone call was probably your family calling to say they are at the baggage claim wondering where you are but seeing as you’re only ten minutes from the airport you speed along.
As you approach the terminals you realize that you forgot to check to see which airline your family is coming in on and hence you’re not sure of the gate to meet them at. You have to make a quick decision. The signs read “Local” and “Domestic”.
If you choose to go to the Local gate turn to page 90
If you choose to go to the Domestic gate turn to page 10
Page 69
You dig deep into your jeans and try to extract the cell phone. You fumble around and drop the phone under your seat. At the first traffic light you bend down to retrieve it but bending at the waist turns you into a cake decorators frosting gun. Before you can close the airlocks you frost the inside of your pants.
You’ve shit yourself. Your parents leave everything to the cat.
Page 79
You decide to hold in the gas. The same laws of chemistry that govern the atoms in the sun are playing out in your abdomen and the expanding pressure pushes out several beads of sweat on your forehead.
You’re starting to look and feel like the fat man from “Who’s Line Is It Anyways?” except you’ve removed your right shoe and are using the sock as a kerchief to dab your brow.
Unable to relieve the pressure by removing your pants belt (you’re not wearing one), you realize there are only two ways to relieve the painful and uncomfortable bloating. The second option involves a caesarian section.
It is at this time that a trapped pocket of gas that has been waiting anxiously behind a stopped 18-wheeler turd on your intestinal highway decides to pass on the shoulder. The pocket of gas, eager to get to work, speeds along the shoulder and slams into the traffic cop that is your sphincter. All the methane and sulfur pockets are furious and the taco bell stir-fry is letting new commuters on at every on ramp. The backup seems to go on for miles.
An uptight pocket of gas shouts, “linch the sphincter!”
If you choose to bend to the will of the mob and fart on Paul and Suzie, turn to page 80
If you choose to continue holding it in turn to page 79 (again)
Page 80
“Thanks again for picking me up guys.” You say as you let out a cocktail of gases.
“Our pleasure.” Starts Suzie. But Paul, who was looking in the rearview mirror noticed that you inexplicably leaned three degrees to one side whilst you said this.
“I’m gonna kick your ass if you just did what I think you did.”
“Wha-“ starts Suzie but she stops her question as both front windows begin to roll down. “Dammit. Go Paul. Drive!”
You slump down comfortably in the back seat as the Geo Prism speeds out of the parking lot.
Turn to page 7
Page 90
As you drive into the airport you look carefully for your parents at the Local gate. At first you don’t see them. Instead, standing on the curb are sixteen clowns in all their clown glory. “I can’t believe they’re allowed to travel like that.”
Then you see the humpback whale on the curb.
Bells are ringing.
You slowly open your eyes and realize you’re lying down on the floor of the pizza and pasta shop that you manage. The bells are customers trying to get the front door open. The smell is a corn-infested shit that you took around page 2719. The good news is it’s mostly contained to your underpants and cargo shorts. For good reason you’re afraid to stand up.
You’ve shit your pants at work and you don’t work in German porn. Consider yourself fired and disowned.
Page 1000
This turns out to be the best and only good decision you’ve made in weeks. You’re delighted when you hit roadblocks miles earlier than expected.
“Closed because of your rally guys. Guess you’ll have to walk from here.”
You leap into the front seat and thank Paul and Suzie for their help as the throw the Prism into first. As you’re about to put it into second you feel a vibration coming from your pants. Unexpectedly, it’s just your cell phone.
If you choose to answer your phone turn to page 69
If you choose to keep driving and ignore the phone turn to page 68
Page 2719
You run into the median, the only part of the freeway with some shrubbery to provide a little privacy. You can feel the eyes of everyone in their cars on you but the sensation is nothing compared to the full body pain you feel.
Like a penguin you waddle around looking for a nest in which to give your warm and explosive birth. You sense the collective gasp of your fellow motorists as you squat and pull pants and undies down with one movement.
The shit is like a liberal arts graduate: directionless and misguided. Much of it lands on your heels and finds its way into your shoes.
The satisfaction of relieving the unbearable pain is now gone but instead replaced with worry. How can you get in the car with so much shit on your shoes? You look at Paul and you can tell he’s thinking the same thing.
That’s when you lose your balance. You were lightheaded already and now looking to your right and left has left you with just enough vertigo to topple backwards into your own mess of fiesta compost.
This time when you look up to see Paul he’s motioning Suzie to get in the car and lock the doors. As he honks at the cars in front of him to move, you realize your ride is trying to get away from you.
You’ve shit yourself on the median of a major highway. You’ll be on the evening news and everything around you except your face will be pixilated for the sake of the viewing audience.
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