Note: In case you didn't get it or don't already know, gonorrhea is also known as "the clap."
Updated Monday through Friday.
Water Cooler
The younger of my two cats, Vlad, is positively entranced by the water cooler that my family has at home. As intrigued as he is by it, I am equally amused by his puzzlement.
From what I've observed, he has passed the water cooler on many an occasion, without much care. The truth is, he is pretending not to care.
When I get a cup and walk towards the water cooler, Vlad knows what's going on - at the very least, he knows that the mysterious bubbly thing will soon be activated and the guy who feeds him (me) is about to consume from its innards (drink water).
So when I say Vlad pretends not to care when he passes the water cooler, I mean, he's trying to show the water cooler he is above it, but if it is going to be used, that's another story.
When I get to the water cooler, Vlad will come running - it doesn't matter if he's in a totally different room. He comes sliding in front of me, due to his high velocity, and then skids to a stop and lunges at the water cooler.
Sometimes Vlad just wants to see what's going on, but sometimes he wants to be involved. When he wants to be involved, he bolts into the room, leaps at my cup as I fill it and sends it splashing everywhere for me to clean up.
When Vlad just wants to entertain his bewilderment, he will jump on a high chair near the water cooler, then onto the stackable chairs that are next to the water cooler. Sometimes this jump is poorly calculated and he'll fall to the ground surprised and instantly try to regain access to the spot.
Once Vlad is up on the seats, he just stares at the water cooler as it bubbles and then he'll glance down at my cup as it gets filled, and then back to the bubbles. He just can't help himself.
I wonder what he thinks is going on. He consistently goes to watch it every time I try to use it, even if it means clawing onto me - sticking those little talons into my chest - just to jump closer.
Perhaps I have him incorrectly pegged as a fool, and while he is fixated on the water machine, and I am fixated on him, he has some accomplice get into the food supply and get some snacks. Who knows?
Right now, he's curled up next to me, purring softly, conspiring or day dreaming about the water cooler.
Note To Readers
I normally post every day, but Blogger was down since last night so I couldn't post my comic.
I'm on a different computer so I'll have to upload my comic later when I get on my computer.
I made a twitter account for the blog: http://twitter.com/#!/FactandFict
(@FactandFict) so you can go there to read stuff like funny comments on news articles, when I am not able to post.
Sorry for the inconvenience. If time allows, I'll do two more posts today.
I'm on a different computer so I'll have to upload my comic later when I get on my computer.
I made a twitter account for the blog: http://twitter.com/#!/FactandFict
(@FactandFict) so you can go there to read stuff like funny comments on news articles, when I am not able to post.
Sorry for the inconvenience. If time allows, I'll do two more posts today.
Sticky Fingers
This post is mostly for parents, but still it applies to just about anyone. When someone spills soda, or in some way gets their hands sticky, you need to know how to appropriately handle the situation.
Sticky fingers and hands do not call for a napkin. Don't ever hand a person with sticky fingers a napkin, paper towel, toilet paper, rag, towel, any cloth that isn't wet.
You know what sticky fingers and a napkin combine to make? Sticky fingers with napkin bits attached all over. Same thing happens when something sticky is on the ground. Don't clean it up with a napkin or papertowel because gets what's gonna happen... I'm waiting. You guessed it (or maybe you didn't): you'll have sticky stuff with bits of napkin all stuck to your floor.
But there is a solution. Dampening or wetting the cloth or getting Lysol wipes or something, will actually help you clean up the mess or unsticky-ify your hands. That's right, wetting cloth is so effective, you can make up words like "unsticky-ify" to describe it.
So, whenever there's something that needs cleaning up, you're best getting a wet cloth*.
*Note: This doesn't apply to getting sticky stuff on things like outlets - bring a little common sense into the equation here. Cleaning outlets with wet cloths are just going to send electric currents into your body that you'll have to discharge by use of the force. Take Darth Vader's mentor for instance. He probably cleaned an electrical outlet with a wet cloth and now he keeps shooting lightning out of his hands.
from Google Images
You may think it's cool to shoot lightning out of your hands, but you have to also consider that lightning is bouncing around inside you before it can be discharged, so that's gotta be uncomfortable. Not to mention, what if you discharge the lightning at the wrong time. Say, for instance, you gotta change bulbs because the light burned out and then you accidentally zap the thing with your electric discharge. Now you got two useless bulbs because you shorted the thing.
Not to mention, check out how ugly Palpatine is (Darth Vader's mentor). I mean that dude probably got that way from a) all the built up electric charge in him and b) all the built up anguish from breaking all his lightbulbs.
So, in short: don't use a dry napkin to clean a sticky hand and don't use wet cloth near an outlet lest you'll look like "Mr. Right?"
Sticky fingers and hands do not call for a napkin. Don't ever hand a person with sticky fingers a napkin, paper towel, toilet paper, rag, towel, any cloth that isn't wet.
You know what sticky fingers and a napkin combine to make? Sticky fingers with napkin bits attached all over. Same thing happens when something sticky is on the ground. Don't clean it up with a napkin or papertowel because gets what's gonna happen... I'm waiting. You guessed it (or maybe you didn't): you'll have sticky stuff with bits of napkin all stuck to your floor.
But there is a solution. Dampening or wetting the cloth or getting Lysol wipes or something, will actually help you clean up the mess or unsticky-ify your hands. That's right, wetting cloth is so effective, you can make up words like "unsticky-ify" to describe it.
So, whenever there's something that needs cleaning up, you're best getting a wet cloth*.
*Note: This doesn't apply to getting sticky stuff on things like outlets - bring a little common sense into the equation here. Cleaning outlets with wet cloths are just going to send electric currents into your body that you'll have to discharge by use of the force. Take Darth Vader's mentor for instance. He probably cleaned an electrical outlet with a wet cloth and now he keeps shooting lightning out of his hands.
from Google ImagesYou may think it's cool to shoot lightning out of your hands, but you have to also consider that lightning is bouncing around inside you before it can be discharged, so that's gotta be uncomfortable. Not to mention, what if you discharge the lightning at the wrong time. Say, for instance, you gotta change bulbs because the light burned out and then you accidentally zap the thing with your electric discharge. Now you got two useless bulbs because you shorted the thing.
Not to mention, check out how ugly Palpatine is (Darth Vader's mentor). I mean that dude probably got that way from a) all the built up electric charge in him and b) all the built up anguish from breaking all his lightbulbs.
So, in short: don't use a dry napkin to clean a sticky hand and don't use wet cloth near an outlet lest you'll look like "Mr. Right?"
Peeing In The "Woods"
Have you ever been on a long drive and really had to take a wizz?
We've all been there, many of us may have even pulled to the side of the road, found a hidden spot and let nature take it's course. I can count myself amongst those that have pulled to the side of the road to take a leak.
Sometimes, hard as we may try, we're not always as hidden as we believe.
I used to visit my friend, Danny, every weekend. He lived fifty miles from me, so getting there always took a little over an hour. Often we'd head out around lunch time, so on the way, we'd all get hungry and agree to get fast food.
As usual, I got a burger and a drink, a large drink - large, at least, compared to the size of a human bladder. When it comes to drinking, I'm like a camel in that I drink a lot, but I'm not like a camel in that I can't store it. Camels can drink gallons of water and then go days without drinking because they can store it in the hump on their back. I can drink gallons of water and then go minutes without peeing, but pretty soon it'll catch up to me.
Well, I wolfed down my burger and practically inhaled my entire beverage and sat quite content. When you drink fast, all of your beverage can go through quite quickly and since most beverages are liquid and liquids are digested in 15-20 minutes, whatever you drink will hit your bladder pretty soon.
Now, I mentioned that the trip takes a little over an hour, so you can easily see that 15 minutes is only a small segment of that - a fraction of the time. Having downed the whole beverage quickly, it all hit me at once.
When we got to be about ten minutes or so from my friend's house, I couldn't hold it any longer. I demanded that my mom pull off at the nearest curb that was located next to the woods and I would go relieve myself behind a tree.
After what felt like forever, we finally pulled off into the shoulder of a street we were on and I jumped out of the car and dashed for the woods. I wasn't too picky about what tree I would use, just anything about as thick as me and maybe fifty feet in would do.
All I could focus on was urination and holding back that urination till I found a tree. Being so unaware of my surroundings is what lead to a rather embarrassing situation that I will describe soon.
I found a tree, maybe ten rows of trees in, that would cover me from the road and I unzipped and let waves of relief wash over me as I gave my drink back to nature. When I was just about finished, I shook out the last drops and began to zip up my pants.
Suddenly, from my right, I hear a voice yelling. It's an old man, exiting his house, cane in hand, scolding me.
"How would you like it if I went to your house and peed on your lawn?" the old man yells.
I'm going to break here to tell you a little about where I lived at this time, so you can appreciate what I was imagining when this guy yelled that.
I lived in a highly populated sub-urban town of 40,000 people. I lived on the second floor of a two-family house on one of the five most popular roads. My front yard was small, maybe 10 feet by 10 feet and is clearly visible by anyone and everyone who drives on the road, which on any given day, during most hours when the sun is out, will mean several hundred people in the space of five minutes.
So, as this guy is yelling at me, I am running as fast as my little legs can take me (I'm around twelve or so at the time) and imagining this elderly man, whipping out his tinkler on my front lawn, exposing himself to hundreds of passersby as he just pees gingerly on my lawn.
He waves his cane at me when I turn back to see if he's gaining on me at all (he isn't moving much faster than a turtle). I yell to my mom to open the side door of the mini-van as I come sprinting at it.
My sister hurls it open just in time for me to dive in and shout for my mom to step on it.
The old man never did pee on my lawn to my knowledge, though I'm sure it would've been the talk of the town for some time if he did. Every time since then that I go to Danny's house, I pass that old man's place and think of when I peed on his lawn.
We've all been there, many of us may have even pulled to the side of the road, found a hidden spot and let nature take it's course. I can count myself amongst those that have pulled to the side of the road to take a leak.
Sometimes, hard as we may try, we're not always as hidden as we believe.
I used to visit my friend, Danny, every weekend. He lived fifty miles from me, so getting there always took a little over an hour. Often we'd head out around lunch time, so on the way, we'd all get hungry and agree to get fast food.
As usual, I got a burger and a drink, a large drink - large, at least, compared to the size of a human bladder. When it comes to drinking, I'm like a camel in that I drink a lot, but I'm not like a camel in that I can't store it. Camels can drink gallons of water and then go days without drinking because they can store it in the hump on their back. I can drink gallons of water and then go minutes without peeing, but pretty soon it'll catch up to me.
Well, I wolfed down my burger and practically inhaled my entire beverage and sat quite content. When you drink fast, all of your beverage can go through quite quickly and since most beverages are liquid and liquids are digested in 15-20 minutes, whatever you drink will hit your bladder pretty soon.
Now, I mentioned that the trip takes a little over an hour, so you can easily see that 15 minutes is only a small segment of that - a fraction of the time. Having downed the whole beverage quickly, it all hit me at once.
When we got to be about ten minutes or so from my friend's house, I couldn't hold it any longer. I demanded that my mom pull off at the nearest curb that was located next to the woods and I would go relieve myself behind a tree.
After what felt like forever, we finally pulled off into the shoulder of a street we were on and I jumped out of the car and dashed for the woods. I wasn't too picky about what tree I would use, just anything about as thick as me and maybe fifty feet in would do.
All I could focus on was urination and holding back that urination till I found a tree. Being so unaware of my surroundings is what lead to a rather embarrassing situation that I will describe soon.
I found a tree, maybe ten rows of trees in, that would cover me from the road and I unzipped and let waves of relief wash over me as I gave my drink back to nature. When I was just about finished, I shook out the last drops and began to zip up my pants.
Suddenly, from my right, I hear a voice yelling. It's an old man, exiting his house, cane in hand, scolding me.
"How would you like it if I went to your house and peed on your lawn?" the old man yells.
I'm going to break here to tell you a little about where I lived at this time, so you can appreciate what I was imagining when this guy yelled that.
I lived in a highly populated sub-urban town of 40,000 people. I lived on the second floor of a two-family house on one of the five most popular roads. My front yard was small, maybe 10 feet by 10 feet and is clearly visible by anyone and everyone who drives on the road, which on any given day, during most hours when the sun is out, will mean several hundred people in the space of five minutes.
So, as this guy is yelling at me, I am running as fast as my little legs can take me (I'm around twelve or so at the time) and imagining this elderly man, whipping out his tinkler on my front lawn, exposing himself to hundreds of passersby as he just pees gingerly on my lawn.
He waves his cane at me when I turn back to see if he's gaining on me at all (he isn't moving much faster than a turtle). I yell to my mom to open the side door of the mini-van as I come sprinting at it.
My sister hurls it open just in time for me to dive in and shout for my mom to step on it.
The old man never did pee on my lawn to my knowledge, though I'm sure it would've been the talk of the town for some time if he did. Every time since then that I go to Danny's house, I pass that old man's place and think of when I peed on his lawn.
Happy Mother's Day
Send this to your mom, cause it's easy and shows you thought of her for a couple seconds today.
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