Men’s Room Etiquette

If you’re taking a shit in a public restroom and someone walks in to pee at the urinals, wait until they leave to exit your stall. We don’t want to have to see the face of the guy forcing us to hold our breath while vomit enters our mouth.

That is all, carry on.

Dumbest Prank Of The Week

Could be considered funny, but it's fecal matter - shit! - that's being poured on people, including babies. It's just wrong! And unsanitary.

History Repeats Itself Again

That moment where you just wiped your ass, you fold the toilet paper for a second swipe, but it bursts, and you end up re-pasting yourself with hot, stinking peanut butter...

And the sense of déjà-vu it instills in your soul because it wasn't the first time it's happened...

I have no idea if that has anything to do with this, but in the off chance that it may... here is an article from the L.A. Times regarding the firing of GM Pierre Gauthier. From the Anaheim Mighty Ducks, in 2002, but the facts remain so strikingly similar to the current Montréal Canadiens administration, it's uncanny.

My favourite part:

Gauthier made absolutely no impact on Orange County hockey fans in his four-year tenure. He was not part of the community in any noticeable way. He was anonymous. He tended to make statements that weren't true, in the sense that soon after he'd said something wouldn't happen, it happened.

For instance, Gauthier said he wouldn't think about firing his coach. Then a month later, Craig Hartsburg was fired. He also said he'd never consider trading the team's two superstars, Paul Kariya and Teemu Selanne. Then, a month or so later, Selanne was traded and the die-hards of the dwindling Duck fan base became rightly nervous about Kariya's future in Anaheim.

This season alone, Gauthier fired two coaches (one assistant, one head) and traded superstar sniper Michael Cammalleri. To go with his 5 other shitty trades...

Beer And Unloading In Varadero, Cuba (or How I Learned To Start Running And Drop A Liquid Bomb)

It was an awful hour of the morning in Varadero, say 6AM, with no sleep and sun sneaking through the lead-like blinds.

Nothing else to do but start a new day anyway. Two glasses of orange juice and bacon, then time for rum and coke and the ocean.

Your body does weird things when you don't sleep. If you don't know what I'm talking about, you haven't lived - and you might want to try it before you keep reading. The metabolism goes much faster. I'm already on a 2-shit-a-day diet here, but sleepless it can go up to 5, I'm sure.

And the beach is far enough from the room, 5 minutes sober, maybe 15 otherwise - it's gonna be a bitch trying to keep this pudding from pouring down my leg.

I grab a book for when I get there, a strawberry-vodka for the road - and start walking. For subtlety's sake, I smile at passers-by. The 25 stairs between the ground level and the rooms are like a dream, over in a half second. The yardage to the door is me at the Super Bowl, going for a touchdown with no one in front of me. The easiest 6 points of my career. The key's in the lock socket before my hand is even out of my pocket. The door opens and I'm but one jump from my destination. I get naked 'cause I know what's coming next. As soon as my knees bend, the shit hits the fan. Best two minutes of my life.

Wipe off, get up. I need another goddamn drink.