My comfort level was at an all time low. After hours of a gurgling tummy, I had decided to release the beast. A party at an acquaintance's house was hardly the time or place, but I had run out of options. I did the poo waddle down the hallway attempting to dodge all conversation and awkwardness.
Success. Reaching the bathroom door felt like summiting Mount Everest - I had reached the beautiful mecca and now must begin my decent. With the door locked, mind prepared, and sleeves rolled up, I sat down for what I knew would be the end of days.
Satan had released a play thing in my bowels. Out demon! Out, I say! And before my tush had enough time to warm the porcelain, it arrived. An explosion of epic proportion rocked the tiny apartment bathroom. Splatter everywhere. The splash damage was immense. My bowels unloaded the intestinal time bomb in very quick order. Zero to poo-pocalypse in under four seconds. The sphincter, tired from the undertaking, gave some pathetic aftershocks. It was over.
Relief came with mixed emotions. Jubilation for removing the unagreeable monstrosity. Remorse at the damage done to the acquaintance's bathroom. Fear the party had heard my transgression. Concern that cleanliness could only be attained with a shower.
Anxiety hit when I reached over for some toilet paper. The cheapskate had stocked up with one-ply.
One-ply? One-ply?!!? This was no time for one-ply! I'm not even sure what to do with one-ply during a regular BM let alone the atomic bomb of all movements.
The TP dilemma isn't limited to one-ply, but rather to all plys. Practice makes perfect. Once a shitter becomes familiar with a certain ply, they hone their cleaning skills with that tool. All plys serve a purpose but without proper knowledge of use or cleaning technique, a defecater may face defeat.
One-ply
As mentioned above, the cheapest of the cheap. The flimsy butt floss is the preferred paper product of masochists hellbent on rubbing their assholes raw. Proper cleaning technique calls for using half the roll per wipe. One-ply was created by accident. During mass production of two-ply, a ply machine broke down and thousands of rolls of one-ply were created before the machines could be shut down. One-ply is provided to prison inmates and Guantanamo Bay detainees - if they're using it, you shouldn't be.
Two-ply
Double your pleasure; double your fun. Two-ply is strength on a budget. While the product wouldn't be considered soft, it is strong. There is 100% more paper separating fingers from asshole. Proper cleaning technique calls for seven sheets. Two-ply gives the user a satisfactory clean and is approved for use by 9 out of 10 proctologists.
Three-ply
Soft. Supple. Like a cumulus cloud floating by to wipe the sphincter. This paper achieves uncompromising comfort and undeniable strength. With just a few sheets you'll be able to accomplish a clean not seen since that bidet encounter during your European excursion. The Most Interesting Man in the World doesn't always take shits, but when he does, he prefers three-ply.
Four-ply
Ridiculous overkill guaranteed to clog most toilets. Four-ply is the elusive Bigfoot of TP, but I can confirm its existence. Imagine taking a travel size pillow and wiping your ass with it. Proper cleaning technique calls for one sheet. Proper flushing technique calls for an industrial strength toilet. Four-ply is the Rolls-Royce of TP and is about as easy to flush as one, too.
Different strokes for different folks and all that garbage. But when you're presented with the task of cleaning a dirty asshole and have the unfortunate circumstance of an unfamiliar paper product, the little chore can become a momentous hassle. For this reason I argue that all papers should be standardized. Screw these different numbered plys. Pick one and commit.
xoxo,
ShavedGolf
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Catchy Pop Shit
I was writing. Blogging. Gettin' it done. Then YouTube lured me away. Distracted me. Enchanted me. Suggestions filled the right hand column of my monitor. Suddenly I found myself watching Teenage Dirtbag by Wheatus.
The song brought me back to my childhood. I grew up on this shit. Rocked out to it. Wheatus was my adolescent Motzart. Mistakenly I believed the lead singer was a woman and subsequently my world view was severely shaken roughly ten minutes ago.
But why this song? What drew me in?
Flash forward twelve years. Have you listened to today's pop music? I mean really listened? Maybe I'm the only one out there that does this, but I pay a lot of attention to the lyrics. Too much attention. So forgive me for sounding like an old man shaking his fist when I say, today's pop music is complete crap.
You needn't look far. Sample some of Rihanna's S&M...
The takeaways from Rihanna's dirty brainchild is that she's good at being bad, chains and whips excite her, and she has very smelly sex. While I can poke fun at the content, I cannot deny the song's popularity.
Pop music follows a recipe. The initial hook is the beat. It's catchy, not complicated. It's memorable, but not a musical masterpiece. The syncopation will get stuck in your head and rot your brain. It's this beat that sets the tone for the song.
Now that you've been lured by rhythm addiction, it's time to finish you off with some trite lyrics. Writers craft lines that are specific enough to tell a story and paint a picture in the listener's mind hole, yet at the same time, general enough that any asswad can put themselves in the shoes of the singer. The assemblage is no different than a horoscope. This technique allows the listener to slip into the song and identify with the singer. Example: "Rihanna has smelly sex just like me! I totally get where she's coming from."
The recipe is a winning combination. The success is undeniable. The composers give the people what they want: a catchy tune with base lyrics relatable to all who listen. And regardless of my criticism, I'm a part of it. Far too much of my brain is filled with the useless garbage lyrics of the popular music genre.
The fact that I know all the words to Live Your Life: somewhat ridiculous. Confidence in lyrical masterization of JT's What Goes Around: embarrassing. The ability to sing along to Bieber's Boyfriend: downright shameful.
Admission is the first step to recovery. I'm not about to start a twelve-step program, but I won't give up my pop hip hop either. I just want to encourage everyone listening to the Z100s out there to open their ears, pay attention, and be critical.
The songs are garbage. Enjoy responsibly.
xoxo,
ShavedGolf
The song brought me back to my childhood. I grew up on this shit. Rocked out to it. Wheatus was my adolescent Motzart. Mistakenly I believed the lead singer was a woman and subsequently my world view was severely shaken roughly ten minutes ago.
But why this song? What drew me in?
Flash forward twelve years. Have you listened to today's pop music? I mean really listened? Maybe I'm the only one out there that does this, but I pay a lot of attention to the lyrics. Too much attention. So forgive me for sounding like an old man shaking his fist when I say, today's pop music is complete crap.
You needn't look far. Sample some of Rihanna's S&M...
The takeaways from Rihanna's dirty brainchild is that she's good at being bad, chains and whips excite her, and she has very smelly sex. While I can poke fun at the content, I cannot deny the song's popularity.
Pop music follows a recipe. The initial hook is the beat. It's catchy, not complicated. It's memorable, but not a musical masterpiece. The syncopation will get stuck in your head and rot your brain. It's this beat that sets the tone for the song.
Now that you've been lured by rhythm addiction, it's time to finish you off with some trite lyrics. Writers craft lines that are specific enough to tell a story and paint a picture in the listener's mind hole, yet at the same time, general enough that any asswad can put themselves in the shoes of the singer. The assemblage is no different than a horoscope. This technique allows the listener to slip into the song and identify with the singer. Example: "Rihanna has smelly sex just like me! I totally get where she's coming from."
The recipe is a winning combination. The success is undeniable. The composers give the people what they want: a catchy tune with base lyrics relatable to all who listen. And regardless of my criticism, I'm a part of it. Far too much of my brain is filled with the useless garbage lyrics of the popular music genre.
The fact that I know all the words to Live Your Life: somewhat ridiculous. Confidence in lyrical masterization of JT's What Goes Around: embarrassing. The ability to sing along to Bieber's Boyfriend: downright shameful.
Admission is the first step to recovery. I'm not about to start a twelve-step program, but I won't give up my pop hip hop either. I just want to encourage everyone listening to the Z100s out there to open their ears, pay attention, and be critical.
The songs are garbage. Enjoy responsibly.
xoxo,
ShavedGolf
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Amusing Searches: The Third
We've reached an impasse, you and I. This time you've forced my hand. I'm not even mad. I'm impressed. It's a feat of accomplishment. Print this post and hang it on your fridge. Maybe list it on your resume. Frame it for your office. Your searching has compelled me to do the one thing I hate most. Censor.
You know this blog. You know the content. To say the topics are edgy and the writing racy would be a classy way of saying it's crude and vulgar. So when I review the stats for the worst of the worst searches, perhaps it shouldn't surprise me that the Googled terms attracting visitors are in poor taste.
But even I have my limits. In this, the third installment of Amusing Searches, I've had to draw the line. Even I know better than to click publish on scandalously scornful searches that might draw the ire of authority and/or lure the wandering eye of unwanted perverts.
That's right. I can't post it. I can't write about it. I can't mock it. It's that bad. So with that in mind, here now, for your reading pleasure, are seven censored search topics and my scathing ridicule of the internet idiocy.
floss
Try the medicine cabinet. Looking to buy? Try the pharmacy. Shit, your dentist hands the crap out for free. But no, your pathetic oral hygiene isn't the reason you searched floss. You merely wanted a picture of it. For your efforts you were dumped at Trim, Floss, Adjust.
old looking young people
IMDB: Because of an unusual aging disorder that has aged him four times faster than a normal human being, a boy enters the fifth grade for the first time with the appearance of a 40 year old man.
Go watch it. See also: Greg Oden.
naked ash ketchum
Proving that hentai is alive and well. When I published my Pokemon post, it never occurred to me that people would peruse looking for nude cartoons. I thought the post would receive hits from Pokemon enthusiasts like myself. Wrong. You're more interested in Ash's ass.
bitch is looking thick
Weight fluctuation among bitches is not uncommon. Indeed bitches of certain breeds have a tendency to pack on the pounds. However it is also possible your bitch is looking thick because she's pregnant. Has your bitch been spayed? If not, try to recall the last time your bitch was in heat. Did the bitch come into contact with a male? Do you think the bitch fucked him? Best go see a vet about your thick bitch.
i usually don't find the droids
I don't always look for droids, but when I do, I usually don't find them.
lice pubic comb
Buddy...you've got problems. Many of them. Of the creepy, crawly variety. Living in and around your genitalogical private reserve. The wild lice roam free. So nice of you to designate your pubic region as a safe haven for unwanted critters. Fun to think how you're never alone.
simple shoe bag
Said Simple Simon to the pieman, "Let me taste your ware."
"My what?"
"Not your what, your wares. Let me taste you ware."
"What wear? I got no where!"
"You know what ware! Any ware!"
"Who's got wear?"
"You got ware!"
...or just watch the video...
Undoubtedly you're left wanting more. You want to know what was cut out. You want to know what was edited out. You want to know what was censored.
Tough shit.
xoxo,
ShavedGolf
You know this blog. You know the content. To say the topics are edgy and the writing racy would be a classy way of saying it's crude and vulgar. So when I review the stats for the worst of the worst searches, perhaps it shouldn't surprise me that the Googled terms attracting visitors are in poor taste.
But even I have my limits. In this, the third installment of Amusing Searches, I've had to draw the line. Even I know better than to click publish on scandalously scornful searches that might draw the ire of authority and/or lure the wandering eye of unwanted perverts.
That's right. I can't post it. I can't write about it. I can't mock it. It's that bad. So with that in mind, here now, for your reading pleasure, are seven censored search topics and my scathing ridicule of the internet idiocy.
floss
Try the medicine cabinet. Looking to buy? Try the pharmacy. Shit, your dentist hands the crap out for free. But no, your pathetic oral hygiene isn't the reason you searched floss. You merely wanted a picture of it. For your efforts you were dumped at Trim, Floss, Adjust.
old looking young people
IMDB: Because of an unusual aging disorder that has aged him four times faster than a normal human being, a boy enters the fifth grade for the first time with the appearance of a 40 year old man.
Go watch it. See also: Greg Oden.
naked ash ketchum
Proving that hentai is alive and well. When I published my Pokemon post, it never occurred to me that people would peruse looking for nude cartoons. I thought the post would receive hits from Pokemon enthusiasts like myself. Wrong. You're more interested in Ash's ass.
bitch is looking thick
Weight fluctuation among bitches is not uncommon. Indeed bitches of certain breeds have a tendency to pack on the pounds. However it is also possible your bitch is looking thick because she's pregnant. Has your bitch been spayed? If not, try to recall the last time your bitch was in heat. Did the bitch come into contact with a male? Do you think the bitch fucked him? Best go see a vet about your thick bitch.
i usually don't find the droids
I don't always look for droids, but when I do, I usually don't find them.
lice pubic comb
Buddy...you've got problems. Many of them. Of the creepy, crawly variety. Living in and around your genitalogical private reserve. The wild lice roam free. So nice of you to designate your pubic region as a safe haven for unwanted critters. Fun to think how you're never alone.
simple shoe bag
Said Simple Simon to the pieman, "Let me taste your ware."
"My what?"
"Not your what, your wares. Let me taste you ware."
"What wear? I got no where!"
"You know what ware! Any ware!"
"Who's got wear?"
"You got ware!"
...or just watch the video...
Undoubtedly you're left wanting more. You want to know what was cut out. You want to know what was edited out. You want to know what was censored.
Tough shit.
xoxo,
ShavedGolf
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Hugs: You're Doing It Wrong
Hugs. Shitty hugs. They're rampant.
Undoubtedly you've been a victim of the lackluster embrace. The instant that weak hug occurs, you cringe. A poor hug is like blue balls for the soul.
Another classic technique is the side hug. In a side hug, the hugger uses only one arm to pull close and gently press their side against the side of the huggee. The side hug is the preferred technique of first dates as a greeting or farewell. The side hug says "we're friends, but we're not that good of friends." Alternatively, the side hug could mean the hugger is sheepish and lacks confidence. The side hug could be read as cowardice. It's embarrassing.
Whether it be a butt-out, a side hug, or some mutant variation, all techniques lead to physical frustration. The huggee is left jilted. The muted, dull hugs are insufficient. They lack compassion. They're absent of gusto. They're hollow.
Fair enough. That's your prerogative. I have mine. In that instance, when deciding between a full embrace and feigning friendship, don't fucking touch me. I'd rather get a wave goodbye. Shit. Even a cheesy thumbs up would be better. I may lose my man card for saying so, but quit fucking around and hold me tight. Squeeze me. Bear hug me or don't even bother.
If you're uncomfortable feeling the other person's body, you shouldn't be hugging. If you're gonna hug, do it right. Feel that person up. If you care that much that you're willing to touch them, then fucking go for it. A weak hug is like a limp handshake. It's a disappointment and both parties leave unsatisfied. So get in there and fucking enjoy it. Stop being a timid pussyfoot. Don't half ass it. Move in for the kill. Pull them in close. Hug the shit out of them. It's what you both want anyway.
xoxo,
ShavedGolf
Image pirated from never-without.blogspot.com
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Blog Queue Cluster
Ideas are bountiful, content is not. Entry topics present themselves almost daily. I scramble to jot down titles in hopes of a flash of brilliance later. A later date when I become motivated. A moment when I'm in the zone. Don't let me into my zone. I'm definitely in my zone.
The StoryTime queue currently has forty drafts. 40. Four. Zero. That's forty topics that have yet to be fleshed out. Just sittin' there. Chillin'. Not doing shit. Hanging out in their parent's basement. Collecting dust like your VHS collection. Well fuck it. I'm gonna put these useless bastards to work. I'll name drop and maybe even give a preview of the shit to come. The eclectic mish mash of titles should convey one thing: this blog is random.
Here now, in order when which they were last worked on, the 39 other entries in the StoryTime queue...
Hooded Warriors to Coast: The Rules
My future team has some future rules for future dominance.
Things I MUST Learn
I'm stoopid and need some education.
Amusing Searches: The Third
You've seen the first two, now wait for me to polish this bitch up.
Bitchin' Balcony Basics
I've got a balcony and need to brag about it.
Learning to Cry
Does this title make me less of a man?
I Love Bananas
It's true.
Ikea: A Love/Hate Relationship
You love it. You hate it. It's the shitty furniture we all buy.
Where Your Ex Is Now
I'm not bitter!
fat sci fi
The name says it all.
So You Think You Can Dance Sober?
No.
Adventures of Drunk ShavedGolf: The Scottish Protector
This is actually a good story that I'll tell someday. Promise.
Adventures of Young ShavedGolf: The Unicycle Slow Race
This is actually a decent story that I haven't quite figured out yet. Promise.
The Seven Undateable Professions
As soon as you read what they are, you'll go, "ahhh...yeah...so right."
Match Day Attire
What to wear to a Timbers match...and other gay fashion advice.
Regrettable Mental Rumination
We all have regrets. This blog draft is one of mine.
Down With The Sickness
I got sick and thought it was a unique experience.
Full Disclosure Analysis
I over analyze things that would make you cringe.
The Entitlement Epidemic - title already used...balls
Thought I was being unique.
The Anti-Hipster
I really hate hipsters.
Standardized Toilet Paper
This is a good idea.
Why Bachelors Can't Have Nice Things
*SPOILER* Because we break them.
Reforming Education Reform
The education system under the ShavedGolf regime.
Planning Phuture Philanthropy
Because I'll be a benevolent billionaire.
Herding Cats to Naked Chicks
Ever planned a bachelor party?
My Gym Time
Don't keep me from it.
Lessons Learned with Kindly Uncle Martin
I have an uncle. He is kindly and very wise.
Old Man Winter
...is a dick.
Adventures in Dating: The Bitch Ass Hipster Whore
I REALLY hate hipsters.
Wednesdays with Me
You've spent many a hump day with me.
How I Became Legen...Wait For It...
Gee...I wonder what he could possibly be referencing?
Fore Score
Just yell fore and make it all better.
Liking Likes: The Thumb Whore Epidemic
Another Zuckerberg creation.
Fourskin
ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww
How I Didn't Meet Your Mother
Gee...I wonder what he could possibly be referencing?
Unicycles in Chicago
I can ride one. I've never been there.
Three People Who Aren't Me
We all have doppelgängers. I have three.
Ferris Bueller's 25th Anniversary: Where Are They Now?
This is a year late.
avatar extra nerd points for making him look similar to iron man
So vague and I'm gonna leave it that way.
In Flight Commentary
A trite piece of shit about flying, airplanes, the TSA, and that fat guy in the seat next to you.
This is the cemetery of the fallen. Wounded warriors. The guys that never made it. These are the posts that will never see the light of day. I suppose there's always the possibility of reform. The entries could go through rehab. Be reworked. Re-energized. Rewritten. But in their current state, they're an embarrassment. They suck. You deserve better. I can do better. I aim to do just that.
xoxo,
ShavedGolf
The StoryTime queue currently has forty drafts. 40. Four. Zero. That's forty topics that have yet to be fleshed out. Just sittin' there. Chillin'. Not doing shit. Hanging out in their parent's basement. Collecting dust like your VHS collection. Well fuck it. I'm gonna put these useless bastards to work. I'll name drop and maybe even give a preview of the shit to come. The eclectic mish mash of titles should convey one thing: this blog is random.
Here now, in order when which they were last worked on, the 39 other entries in the StoryTime queue...
Hooded Warriors to Coast: The Rules
My future team has some future rules for future dominance.
Things I MUST Learn
I'm stoopid and need some education.
Amusing Searches: The Third
You've seen the first two, now wait for me to polish this bitch up.
Bitchin' Balcony Basics
I've got a balcony and need to brag about it.
Learning to Cry
Does this title make me less of a man?
I Love Bananas
It's true.
Ikea: A Love/Hate Relationship
You love it. You hate it. It's the shitty furniture we all buy.
Where Your Ex Is Now
I'm not bitter!
fat sci fi
The name says it all.
So You Think You Can Dance Sober?
No.
Adventures of Drunk ShavedGolf: The Scottish Protector
This is actually a good story that I'll tell someday. Promise.
Adventures of Young ShavedGolf: The Unicycle Slow Race
This is actually a decent story that I haven't quite figured out yet. Promise.
The Seven Undateable Professions
As soon as you read what they are, you'll go, "ahhh...yeah...so right."
Match Day Attire
What to wear to a Timbers match...and other gay fashion advice.
Regrettable Mental Rumination
We all have regrets. This blog draft is one of mine.
Down With The Sickness
I got sick and thought it was a unique experience.
Full Disclosure Analysis
I over analyze things that would make you cringe.
The Entitlement Epidemic - title already used...balls
Thought I was being unique.
The Anti-Hipster
I really hate hipsters.
Standardized Toilet Paper
This is a good idea.
Why Bachelors Can't Have Nice Things
*SPOILER* Because we break them.
Reforming Education Reform
The education system under the ShavedGolf regime.
Planning Phuture Philanthropy
Because I'll be a benevolent billionaire.
Herding Cats to Naked Chicks
Ever planned a bachelor party?
My Gym Time
Don't keep me from it.
Lessons Learned with Kindly Uncle Martin
I have an uncle. He is kindly and very wise.
Old Man Winter
...is a dick.
Adventures in Dating: The Bitch Ass Hipster Whore
I REALLY hate hipsters.
Wednesdays with Me
You've spent many a hump day with me.
How I Became Legen...Wait For It...
Gee...I wonder what he could possibly be referencing?
Fore Score
Just yell fore and make it all better.
Liking Likes: The Thumb Whore Epidemic
Another Zuckerberg creation.
Fourskin
ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww
How I Didn't Meet Your Mother
Gee...I wonder what he could possibly be referencing?
Unicycles in Chicago
I can ride one. I've never been there.
Three People Who Aren't Me
We all have doppelgängers. I have three.
Ferris Bueller's 25th Anniversary: Where Are They Now?
This is a year late.
avatar extra nerd points for making him look similar to iron man
So vague and I'm gonna leave it that way.
In Flight Commentary
A trite piece of shit about flying, airplanes, the TSA, and that fat guy in the seat next to you.
This is the cemetery of the fallen. Wounded warriors. The guys that never made it. These are the posts that will never see the light of day. I suppose there's always the possibility of reform. The entries could go through rehab. Be reworked. Re-energized. Rewritten. But in their current state, they're an embarrassment. They suck. You deserve better. I can do better. I aim to do just that.
xoxo,
ShavedGolf
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