Go to the Shewee site for two minutes. I'll wait. Now we're all caught up.
Just wait. It's too soon to say, "What the fu*k?" just yet. It's being advertised by super feminists as a self-empowerment tool. Penis-envy much? Also, they mention whipping it out in line at the post office and relieving yourself because you know, men do that all the time. We just whip out our junk anytime we feel even a little anxious and just let loose. Really?
Now, I can agree this could be very handy to use in say, a public bathroom where you don't want to sit down on a STD infested, previously shat on seat. Yes, there is makes sense. However, do not for one second think that will eliminate the need to hover. Unless you don't mind getting wee on your shoes. The ability to aim is meaningless without pressure to get the pee there.
Here's another little observation, once you've used it. Especially say, in line at the post office. You are now in the possession of a plastic object that has been urinated through. In a bathroom, you can at least wash it off and put it somewhere out of the way like your tiny clutch. At the post office, not so much.
Boyfriends/Husbands/Bitches - I understand that your pockets are essentially an extension of her purse. My best friend is a girl, trust me, I understand. However, DO NOT under any circumstances be a carrier for the Shewee.
It's practical in a stupid, not-very-well-thought-out sort of way but how is this a female empowerment tool? It's a wannabe penis. At the most, its a urination-funnel tool. Wait - wouldn't a paper funnel work just as well? And you know, flushable. I'd hate to be the one who has to explain what that is to customs in a crowded airport.
Now you can say it.
zQ
December 16, 2008
December 10, 2008
135th - Daddy
My last blog was pretty short so I see no harm in blogging again so soon. This one is short too.
For anyone who's ever spoken to my dad on the phone, you've experienced one of these things. Probably all.
1. He calls you. You answer your phone.
You: Hello?
Dad: Who is this?
You: Uh, you called me.
2. He asks you a question. This conversation happened about forty-five seconds ago.
Dad: Which tire is flat?
Sixth: Front Left.
*click*
No, "Bye", or "Okay", or nothing.
3. He calls to tell you something.
You: Hello?
Dad: Who is this?
You: Uh, you called me.
Dad: I see. Well, you won the lottery. They left some tied up leprechauns here. I put them in your room.
You: Really? YE-
*click*
I can't wait to get to that stage where I just don't care. Not even a little.
zQ
p.s. Go read previous blog.
p.p.s. My html thing is still messed up. J, looking in you direction.
For anyone who's ever spoken to my dad on the phone, you've experienced one of these things. Probably all.
1. He calls you. You answer your phone.
You: Hello?
Dad: Who is this?
You: Uh, you called me.
2. He asks you a question. This conversation happened about forty-five seconds ago.
Dad: Which tire is flat?
Sixth: Front Left.
*click*
No, "Bye", or "Okay", or nothing.
3. He calls to tell you something.
You: Hello?
Dad: Who is this?
You: Uh, you called me.
Dad: I see. Well, you won the lottery. They left some tied up leprechauns here. I put them in your room.
You: Really? YE-
*click*
I can't wait to get to that stage where I just don't care. Not even a little.
zQ
p.s. Go read previous blog.
p.p.s. My html thing is still messed up. J, looking in you direction.
December 9, 2008
134th - Kamph um das Bett is OVER
After months of debating this with, well, mostly myselves, the battle for my bed is over. It's always covered in God forsaken laundry anyway, so I've decided that once my laundry is put away, which I think will happen this Saturday/Sunday after Shiv leaves, I'm removing my bed from my room. This will clear up space for more shelves.
I've been sleeping on my floor for the past couple of months anyway and it's not all that uncomfortable. I've been sleeping just fine. No back issues or anything to report.
Also, I feel this will help keep my room looking cleaner, which will delight my mother to no end. The only remaining problem is that I watch TV while lying in bed. And sleeping on the floor will present a height/angle issue. Once that is figured out, BURN IN HELL, BED!
zQ
I've been sleeping on my floor for the past couple of months anyway and it's not all that uncomfortable. I've been sleeping just fine. No back issues or anything to report.
Also, I feel this will help keep my room looking cleaner, which will delight my mother to no end. The only remaining problem is that I watch TV while lying in bed. And sleeping on the floor will present a height/angle issue. Once that is figured out, BURN IN HELL, BED!
zQ
December 3, 2008
133rd - I still haven't seen Quantum of Solace
Before I begin, so that chick I started my mini flame war with. Desi Fashionista managed to find my blog even though I was commenting anonymously, which yes, did make me seem like a girl. Anyway, I'm not sure if I'm impressed, or creeped out.
I woke up this morning overhearing some talkings happening in the hallway. I wondered about those talkings until my attention was diverted to the pain in my chest. Moments later, internal memory had booted up and I was reminded that I was yet again asleep on my floor. The chest pains were due to sleeping on my face. Nevertheless, the sounds were of my father and brother discussing politics, which is a great way to start the day. Get's the blood pumping. You feel energized and awake and don't give a damn about children crossing the streets to get to school. It doesn't matter. Whether later on in life or the front grill of my car, they're doomed. This got me thinking, my brother would be great in politics.
He's be at the debate while running for the office of Supreme Ruler of Everything, discussing his major stand. Which is using fifteen and three quarter gagillion dollars to create and distribute Megatron-like robots for the homeless, blond, blind, old, and otherwisse feeble. These robots would not only serve as aides, they would help against would-be attackers. They would also serve as Canada's defense system since fitting them with a hundred ss-18 missles and four thousand three-inch armor and force field piercing bullet rounds wasn't a huge additional cost. Plus, the prototype robot seems much happier having them than not having them.
At this point some reporter stands up and asks, "Sheryl Mackenzie, Toronto Bum. I just have one question. Are you, in fact, "fu*king" with us, in which case, Kudos and I win a fifty dollar bet with my sound guy or are you insane? Could you be specific on the type of insanity, please."
My brother responds with a rousing speech about how the bus drivers of Vancouver are the enemy and must be smote wherever they are. Intelligence reports suggest that a hella lot of them are posing at TTC operators. The reporter withdraws her question. More questions follow.
"Ben Gary the Third, FirstasLast Magazine. How do you plan to finance such a plan since this kind of money is only available in the United States and how does the United States feel about being replaced as Canada's defense system?" My brother responds with quick joke and then talks about eliminating Bollywood Cinema. All rejoice. The Americans would get over it.
My brother calls for the final question. A very serious looking woman with a navy power suit, matching horn rimming glasses with a fashionable yet sensible cord around her neck to ensure the safety and well being of her glasses during her bi-weekly triathlon stands up. She has a pad and a pen in her mouth so you know she means business. She introduces herself as the the Ally Bidness, Supreme Chancellor of Facts, Solid Facts Magazine and as Glinda, Magician Extraordinaire [weekends only] and as Seth Rompart, Femdom Dominatrix [by appointment only]. She hands out cards. She flips open her pad, scrolls through it. She "hmm"s and "ah"s and taps her pen on the pad as she does this. Then she looks up and without any warning explodes with a series of facts, accusations, belittlings, insults, truths, a joke [she is very good at what she did], history lessons, geographical facts, technological impossibilities of this project, the lunacy of it all, and more facts and statistics that would lead to this projects undeniable doom. She finishes with a triumphant smile. The sea of reporters was silent. Someone coughs. Tumbleweed tumbles across the stage. My brother, who seems far too composed for someone who just received that kind of blunt verbal trauma, clears his throat. He says, "Those are mere facts." The crowd stays silent, anticipating more. My brother said nothing. A few more seconds pass, a minute passes. Nobody spoke a work. A rat can be heard waddling through the ventilation pipe. The crowd explodes in applause. Not because the really approve of what just happened but because the tension was too thick and someone had to do something. Besides, mused Ben Gary to himself, what could it hurt.
My brother wins in a landslide and takes office immediately. He is the new Supreme Ruler of Everything. His opposition begrudgingly offer their congratulations. The fifteen and three quarter gagillion dollars are spent on the Megatron-life robots. As a safety measure the Three Laws of Robotics are applied. Weeks later they remove the laws since it works against the Defense System Bit. The removal of the laws costs around twenty-four gagillion dollars.
Years later, it turns out that the homeless, blond, blind, old, and otherwise feeble are actually part of a secret society bent on taking over Antartica. They steal the Megatron-Like robots and make their own nation in Antartica, Uncreative Namica. Their Tourism Flourishes, mostly due to their the beaches and penguin hunting. Eventually they run out of food and eat the Megatron-like robots to survive. The people of Uncreative Namica die of heat stroke.
My brother manages to recover the Robots. He becomes the greatest Supreme Ruler of Everything.
zQ
p.s. The moral of this story is, DON'T VOTE. You're an idiot. You fell for some stupid horse-shit speech concocted by my brother and decided this is the guy to vote for because he has a plan. You have no idea how to run a Hot Dog vendor stand, let alone a coutnry or the Universe or Everything. You shouldn't be voting.
p.p.s. Five bucks to whomever helps me fix that gap issue between my blog and the sidebar. I'm to lazy to look up HTML. It sounds as tedious and trying to figure out how to work a VCR.
I woke up this morning overhearing some talkings happening in the hallway. I wondered about those talkings until my attention was diverted to the pain in my chest. Moments later, internal memory had booted up and I was reminded that I was yet again asleep on my floor. The chest pains were due to sleeping on my face. Nevertheless, the sounds were of my father and brother discussing politics, which is a great way to start the day. Get's the blood pumping. You feel energized and awake and don't give a damn about children crossing the streets to get to school. It doesn't matter. Whether later on in life or the front grill of my car, they're doomed. This got me thinking, my brother would be great in politics.
He's be at the debate while running for the office of Supreme Ruler of Everything, discussing his major stand. Which is using fifteen and three quarter gagillion dollars to create and distribute Megatron-like robots for the homeless, blond, blind, old, and otherwisse feeble. These robots would not only serve as aides, they would help against would-be attackers. They would also serve as Canada's defense system since fitting them with a hundred ss-18 missles and four thousand three-inch armor and force field piercing bullet rounds wasn't a huge additional cost. Plus, the prototype robot seems much happier having them than not having them.
At this point some reporter stands up and asks, "Sheryl Mackenzie, Toronto Bum. I just have one question. Are you, in fact, "fu*king" with us, in which case, Kudos and I win a fifty dollar bet with my sound guy or are you insane? Could you be specific on the type of insanity, please."
My brother responds with a rousing speech about how the bus drivers of Vancouver are the enemy and must be smote wherever they are. Intelligence reports suggest that a hella lot of them are posing at TTC operators. The reporter withdraws her question. More questions follow.
"Ben Gary the Third, FirstasLast Magazine. How do you plan to finance such a plan since this kind of money is only available in the United States and how does the United States feel about being replaced as Canada's defense system?" My brother responds with quick joke and then talks about eliminating Bollywood Cinema. All rejoice. The Americans would get over it.
My brother calls for the final question. A very serious looking woman with a navy power suit, matching horn rimming glasses with a fashionable yet sensible cord around her neck to ensure the safety and well being of her glasses during her bi-weekly triathlon stands up. She has a pad and a pen in her mouth so you know she means business. She introduces herself as the the Ally Bidness, Supreme Chancellor of Facts, Solid Facts Magazine and as Glinda, Magician Extraordinaire [weekends only] and as Seth Rompart, Femdom Dominatrix [by appointment only]. She hands out cards. She flips open her pad, scrolls through it. She "hmm"s and "ah"s and taps her pen on the pad as she does this. Then she looks up and without any warning explodes with a series of facts, accusations, belittlings, insults, truths, a joke [she is very good at what she did], history lessons, geographical facts, technological impossibilities of this project, the lunacy of it all, and more facts and statistics that would lead to this projects undeniable doom. She finishes with a triumphant smile. The sea of reporters was silent. Someone coughs. Tumbleweed tumbles across the stage. My brother, who seems far too composed for someone who just received that kind of blunt verbal trauma, clears his throat. He says, "Those are mere facts." The crowd stays silent, anticipating more. My brother said nothing. A few more seconds pass, a minute passes. Nobody spoke a work. A rat can be heard waddling through the ventilation pipe. The crowd explodes in applause. Not because the really approve of what just happened but because the tension was too thick and someone had to do something. Besides, mused Ben Gary to himself, what could it hurt.
My brother wins in a landslide and takes office immediately. He is the new Supreme Ruler of Everything. His opposition begrudgingly offer their congratulations. The fifteen and three quarter gagillion dollars are spent on the Megatron-life robots. As a safety measure the Three Laws of Robotics are applied. Weeks later they remove the laws since it works against the Defense System Bit. The removal of the laws costs around twenty-four gagillion dollars.
Years later, it turns out that the homeless, blond, blind, old, and otherwise feeble are actually part of a secret society bent on taking over Antartica. They steal the Megatron-Like robots and make their own nation in Antartica, Uncreative Namica. Their Tourism Flourishes, mostly due to their the beaches and penguin hunting. Eventually they run out of food and eat the Megatron-like robots to survive. The people of Uncreative Namica die of heat stroke.
My brother manages to recover the Robots. He becomes the greatest Supreme Ruler of Everything.
zQ
p.s. The moral of this story is, DON'T VOTE. You're an idiot. You fell for some stupid horse-shit speech concocted by my brother and decided this is the guy to vote for because he has a plan. You have no idea how to run a Hot Dog vendor stand, let alone a coutnry or the Universe or Everything. You shouldn't be voting.
p.p.s. Five bucks to whomever helps me fix that gap issue between my blog and the sidebar. I'm to lazy to look up HTML. It sounds as tedious and trying to figure out how to work a VCR.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
