Atention Television aquissitions executives: There's enough toilet humor here for 100 average TV episodes...
Page 16 of 50
Before that anothor laptop was ruined more than a year ago (and mabye some of my longtime readers remember this) when Uncle Zeke who was visiting went sleepwalking (he is a big sleepwalkor) and lifted the lid of the thing thinking it was a toilet seat lid and without actualy placing any part of his body on it stood infront as steady as he coud and pissing shocked himself with a nice 110-volt vascectomy.
(Actualy anothor laptop was ruined in 1999 that Cyberblop dosent know about cause Stu was able to re-designate it to anothor department before anyone found out I was to blame. Granfather was to blame for that. On purpouse one night he left a COOKIE on the hard drive if you know what I mean).
I told Tilde that the problom with her computer was very, very serrious. I told her she had a virus. Tilde usualy overreacts whenever you say anything, but she seemed to ignore me. I repeated: "Tilde this machene has a VIRUS on it. You probly picked it up from all those attachments from the Web you always send around to people."
As I sat in her seat and worked on her computer, she was seated in anothor chair and all the while kept moving closer and closor to me as I moved away. She moved so very close till her short little hairy arm pressed agianst mine. She peered into my face and shook her head with curious sympathey, as if Id just sprouted a third eye on my forehead.
"Walter," she whined in her flat screechey Chicago twang, "Youve got a little strawberry here." I coud not believe she was lookin at my zits. Yes I know I have acne but I cant help it. She starts tellin me about new medicines and whatnot that can help, which was nice I guess but this was NOT the time and place. In fact it was houmiliating.
The thing that terified me the most was that I was afraid even to look at or get close to him as he recovored.
For the first minute in the bathroom I didnt even notice Stu was in there takin a leak. Like I wrote about in the past Stu is one of these guys who pees standing five to ten feet away from the urinol and with no hands on the eqiupment if you know what I am talking about. That fact dosent make you any less skeeved out to shake hands with the guy. Plus if his hands arent on his hips in glorius masculine triumph they're usualy doing somthing else, and today he hapened to be, while peeing with no hands or hooves or anything, tapping at his Palm Pilot while his cellphone was crooked between shoulder and jowl. Also Stu has amazing, well, control over the whole process, where theres never any loud splashyness, even from ten feet away: just a perfect shimmoring golden arc, landing silently on a distent wall of pristine porcelin. Why, I woudnt of even known he was there unless by accident it so hapenned. And so it did:
I said to him "Just a little schpritz. Its my fault."
Stu, looked at me, nodded, contineud peeing and then made a loud fart. "Well, I owe you a pair of pants."
I dont know what the deal is with farting at the urinol. But guys always do it. Most men who woudnt dream of doing so in any other venue (even when just men are arround) sudenly have no qualms about just belting them out while takin a whiz. Stu coud tell somthing was wrong even before I walked past him and got splashed.
He asked me what was wrong and I started bellyaching about Tilde. I admit it I am a big sissy and when I complaine I sound even worse. Stu is one of the few people in the world I can talk to.
"Walter," he said to me, finaly calming me down. "Gimme the disk. I'll take the virus off it, and I'll fix the budget."
Back at my cube I dug in my drawor and pulled out a handfull of Aloe Baby Wipes to rub the wee off my pants. I had allot of them left over since I used to buy them by the ton before Granfather's acident. I cant explian it but Aloe baby Wipes can freakin get black ballpoint pen out of white carpeting. The trick is you haveto buy the cheapest store brand cause these wipes work the best, for all kind of human waste (or whatever it is that comes out of Granfather...or for that matter, Stu).
I took my regular seat in the back row, next to Stu, who sat queitly. Tilde wandered in with the crowd, and seeing us, waddled down the row to sit on the othor side of me.
One of the top exetcutives, the third ranking person in the company after Mr. Bouvard and Mr. Peckushay, the woman we know as The Lady Who Screams at Everyone, got up to holler and yell. She was there to speak further on the "Survivor" type format that Cyberblop will use to reduce staff in the upcoming round of layoffs: one "Weakist Link" at a time.
"This is not going to be a popularrity contest!" she screams. "This is a morale builder! A culturaly timely and cutting edge morale builder!"
Tilde nugdes me and whispors, "Oh, I'm SO glad its not a popularity contest! Otherwise, we'd both be first! You and I are both so unpopular!"
I did not apreciate her coments.
Tilde and I are two very diferent people but in allot of ways are the same. We both suffor from feelings of rejection and low selfesteam and a poor self image.
But I am quiet abbout it while she is a big pain in the ass pushy nosey loudmouth. Yes that is right, You will NEVER find ME blabbing about my probloms to the world...Over and over, repeatedly, the same problems, year after year...
...Well, mabye this here website of mine is an exception to that.
"Howdy y'all!" she bleated in her loud hoarse raspey chain smoker's seal bark. "Walter, move yo' skinny ass out the way! Us four here in the Seinfeld Crew caint enjoy gettin' into all our hijinks and whut not if we dont so much as SIT together.
There were plentey of empty seats all arround the auditorium, but even still, she had to wrestle in there so me, her, Stu and Tilde coud all sit together.