Oh man, what was I thinking?

For a "smart" kid growing up, I sure thought some pretty retarded things.



Remember these bad boys? I'm pretty sure they're still around, though I'm thinking Fruit by the Foot took some wind out of their produce-perverting sails. Six feet of fruit, versus a five inch by five inch square? I'm no mathematician, you do the math.
Anyways, way back in the day, I had a grape one of these. I was somewhat conscious of the plastic lining, but for some reason decided to eat it anyhow, I suppose thinking I could eat around the plastic or something. Of course, I couldn't. I ate some of the plastic. I got worried. I didn't totally know the meaning of it, but I knew a bunch of WWF wrestlers had had plastic surgery performed, and logically it followed that I too would need plastic surgery now. Brilliant.

Around the same time (what I guess you could call my rocket-science years), I had a calendar in my room. I must've been bored one day, and started looking through it and marking stuff down. November 11th. No, not what you're thinking "Shit! That's Calista Flockhart's birthday!". No, you trivia buffs out there, it's also Remembrance Day.


I took stock of what I had on hand, and noted that my scotch tape supplies were decidedly low. So, naturally, I wrote above Remembrance Day "Need scotch tape". I'm pretty sure I didn't score any that day. So screw you, veterans.

Ever seen this sticker on some manner of product?


Did it confuse the hell out of you why Quebec had any say on products sold in the rest of the country, too? Why do these presumptuous assholes just assume that you're well aware that QC is the abbreviation for quality control?

When I was seven, I went to Florida for a week or two, to visit my grandma. She had a place on one of the eleventy billion lakes there. When I got back, I was over at my ma's place. She asked about the trip, and the place, etc. She was in real estate, and I'd heard her talking on the phone before, and knew that condominium was frequently abbreviated. So, I let her know that I was at grandma's condom on the lake. I hope she was laughing with me.

Another post with more stupid stuff as I think of it.

Vomit Comet 1, Wags 0.

Oh, Billy Madison.

If pissing your pants is cool, consider Fergie Miles Davis

So, like Stephen Harper's list of acheivements during the last parliament, my New Year's celebrations were pretty much non-existant. Work saw to it that was the case. However, I hear the general populace decided to celebrate the event anyhow. I'm sure it was a bittersweet evening for all involved. There might have been some intoxication involved.

I mention this because I'm pretty sure there's a direct correlation. I shimmy on home on Ye Olde Bus from work this evening. It smells not so pleasant, even for the the bus. Ah well. Someone getting home from party action late (I approve!) or something.

I'm now ready to deboard said bus. I pull the delightful yellow cord, telling the person running the show that I would appreciate it if he could make those doors open for me soon. Naturally, I rise from my seat, so I can make my way to said doors.

But wait! My pantaloons don't feel right. A little clammy, mayhaps? A quick brush of my derriere with my hand tells my there's probably more moisture there than there should be. I run a quick check in my head, making sure there were no discharges of vile anus juice, authorized or otherwise, and to be certain, I make sure I haven't been eating anything with Olestra. Checks out clean. The internal dialogue at that point was something like "Are you fucking kidding me?". Admittedly, that probably would've been the thought either way.

So, I realize

• The smell was coming from my seat
• It contains either piss, shit, or puke
  
• Without being able to fully see my own ass (sigh), my pants are probably looking terrible right now
• The people anywhere close to me on the bus came on after me, and will probably attribute the smell to me, since there's forensic evidence

It's gotta be either shit or puke, I know of no foods that'll make number 1 smell quite like that. I'll probably never know, nor does it really matter, I guess. In my mind, poo's funnier seeing as it likely had to go through someone's pants to get deposited on the seat like that. Someone's jeans were a rudimentary coffee filter earlier.

Once I collect all this information, I make my way down to the door to get off the bus. I'm sure the folks behind me had an interesting 8 seconds. Once I get home, I immediately derobe downstairs, take a quick picture, and then hop in the shower to wash the foreign stank off me. Fuck, it isn't pretty.

Dear TTC,
Start putting that diaper material in the seats that changes colour when wet.

Love,
Me