What PM? You serious? :shock:

 

Oh...BTW...I flunked my yearly Mental Illness Evaluation Exam. I can still drive OTR though.

For the last couple hours, I've mainly sat here staring at a bug on the end of my nose. While I was thinking in gibberish (an inner language I don't share often)...I began to realize I could communicate with this bug. Of course, it is always a challenge communicating with other species.

Bugs like to speak in riddles and metaphors...which lends well to gibberish.
Been discussing Politics mostly. I don't agree with this bug, but I don't really understand what it is saying completely, so I just say...uh huh, and nod my head a lot. BTW....Insect Politics is very cruel and quite disturbing. But I think they feel the same way about Human Politics.

My eyes were getting crossed from staring at the tip of my nose, so I ate the bug, and took a nap. When I wake up...I want to tell you about this weird dream I'm having about communicating with a bug. Strange dream.

 

Has this ever happened to you?

You walk into a bar and order a beer. And while you're sitting there, you hear a tiny voice, “Nice shirt!”

You look around, but don't see anyone. A little while later, you hear another little voice, “That’s a really cool hat.”

You look to find the source of the voice. But again, no one. The bartender notices you looking around and asks if everything is okay. ...reluctantly you explain that you're hearing small voices.

Then bartender says, “Oh, that’s just the peanuts. They’re complimentary.”

 

RestRoom Cell Phone

All in all, it hadn't been a good day. Bad traffic, Trailer tire flat, incompetent dockworkers and a sore back all made me a seething cauldron of rage. But more importantly for this story, it had been over forty-eight hours since I'd last taken a dump. I'd tried to jumpstart the process, beginning my day with a bowl of bowel-cleansing fiber cereal, following it with 24 oz. mug of coffee, and adding a bean-laden lunch at Taco Bell. As I was planning for a Truck Stop to park for the day, my insides let me know with subtle rumbles and the emission of the occasional tiny fart that Big Things would be happening soon. As I was cruising down the Interstate, I noticed a large sale sign proclaiming, "Everything Must Go!" This was prophetic, for my colon informed me with a sudden violent cramp and a wet, squeaky fart that everything was indeed about to go. I hurried to the nearest Rest Stop.

I surveyed the five stalls, which were numbered 1 through 5;

1.Occupied
2.Clean, but Bathroom Protocol forbids its use, as it's next to the occupied one.
3.Poo on seat.
4.Poo and toilet paper in bowl, unidentifiable liquid splattered on seat.
5.No toilet paper, no stall door, unidentifiable sticky object near base of toilet.
Clearly, it had to be Stall #2.

I trudged back, lined up with the door and backed in, dropped drawers, chocked my heels and sat down. I'm normally a fairly Shameful Shitter. I wasn't happy about being next to the occupied stall, but Big Things were afoot.
I was just getting ready to bear down when all of a sudden the sweet sounds of Beethoven came from next door, followed by a fumbling, and then the sound of a voice answering the ringing phone. As usual for a cell phone conversation, the voice was exactly 8 dB louder than it needed to be. Out of Shameful habit, my sphincter slammed shut. The inane conversation went on and on. Mr. Shitter was blathering to Mrs. Shitter about the shitty day he had.
I sat there, cramping and miserable, waiting for him to finish. As the loud conversation dragged on, I became angrier and angrier, thinking that I, too, had a crappy day, but I was too polite to yak about in public. My bowels let me know in no uncertain terms that if I didn't get crapping soon, my day would be getting even crappier.

Finally my anger reached a point that overcame Shamefulness. I no longer cared. I gripped the toilet paper holder in one hand, braced my other hand against the side of the stall, and pushed with all my might. I was rewarded with a fart of colossal magnitude -- a cross between the sound of someone ripping a very wet bed sheet in half and of plywood being torn off a wall. The sound gradually transitioned into a heavily modulated low-RPM tone, not unlike someone firing up a Harley. I managed to hit resonance frequency of the stall, and it shook gently.
------
Once my ass cheeks stopped flapping in the breeze, three things became apparent: (1) The next-door conversation had ceased; (2) my colon's continued seizing indicated that there was more to come; and (3) the bathroom was now beset by a horrible, eldritch stench.

It was as if a gateway to Hell had been opened. The foul miasma quickly made its way under the stall and began choking my poop-mate. This initial "herald" fart had ended his conversation in mid-sentence.
"Oh my God," I heard him utter, following it with the suppressed sounds of choking, and then, "No, baby, that wasn't me (cough, gag), you could hear that (gag)??"
Next door I could hear fumbling with the paper dispenser as he desperately tried to finish his task. Little snatches of conversation made themselves heard over my anal symphony: "Gotta go... horrible... throw up... in my mouth.... not... make it... tell the kids... love them... oh God..." followed by more sounds of suppressed gagging and retching.
------
Alas, it is evidently difficulty to hold one's phone and wipe one's bum at the same time. Just as my high-pressure abuse of the toilet was winding down, I heard a plop and splash from next door, followed by a string of swear words and gags. My poop-mate had dropped his phone into the toilet.

After a considerable amount of paperwork, I got up and surveyed the damage. I haven’t punished a toilet this severely in weeks. My God it was a Guinness Book Grade Rembrandt. This was definitely a 3 or 4 flusher. That’s if it doesn’t over-flow…then you have to just escape and evade.

As I left, I glanced to the next-door stall. Nothing remained in the bowl. Had he flushed his phone, or had he plucked it out and left the bathroom with nasty unwashed hands? The world will never know.

I exited the bathroom, momentarily proud and Shameless, looking around for a face glaring at me. But I saw no one. I suspect that somehow my supernatural elimination has managed to transfer my Shamefulness to my anonymous poop-mate. I think it'll be a long time before he can bring himself to poop in public -- and I doubt he'll ever again answer his cell phone in the loo. And this, my friends, is why you should never talk on your phone in the restroom.

:P

 

Why is a fly called a fly? :?

 

If you pull his wings off, would he be a walk?

 

I think Driver's Licenses should just list the color of your eyebrows, for hair color.

You know Home Land Security is going to start pulling Blonde's aside and say, "okay who are you..and don't lie."

Or little old Ladies, with blue hair. "Your license says silver... :evil: I'm afraid we are going to have to search you, Angnes Smith...yeah...like THAT's your real name!" :evil:

 

If everyone in China had a pish at the same time would the Earth be flooded?

 

I love to stare up at a clear nigth sky. Amazing, humbling, and very Awesome. Then I had this random thought or question if you will. If a guy wants to clear his head, Does he just take a big dump?????????

 

:lol: :lol: :lol: :lol:

Here is my thought - who said moms never get sick? Bronchitis :cry: