You would think one of our humanly traits we would inherit from billions of years of existence would be the ability to use reason to answer questions for ourselves, analyze situations, and plain and simple not annoy each other. This is not the case. For example we see moronic drivers on the freeway cutting off each other in two ton metal vehicles going 80 miles per hour, and brushing it off with a kind wave of their hand and mouthing, "Sorry!." In fact a split second difference in the drivers lane change could have caused four deaths, a 54 car pile up, and a shitload of paper work for our police force. We are surrounded by these people who make rash judgments, and false assumptions of the area around themselves. Now don't get me wrong, I have definitely cutoff my share of drivers, and made horrid judgments.
What really gets me is when people ask how to spell words, interrupting teachers, or whomever. "How do you spell that?" I cringe. Let's use our reasoning skills that the Neanderthals fought to increase their brain size for. A-m-m-e-n-d-m-e-n-t, the m's drag on, and the -ment, is a common ending for a lot of English words.
I'm going to end this rant by completely refuting what I just wrote about. If you know me I am a very unreasonable person. I once drove to Portland (2 hours away) at 12 am, blacked out, because I thought it would be "fun," and then drove home, because I was "over it." My alter ego Ricky has no sense reason, but I completely blame that on him, and as I finish this third glass of Wild Turkey I'll see you in about 30 minutes in this infamous world of no reason.
Tomorrow is Christmas. It is time to celebrate The birth of a fictitious man. Everything will be closed. Jews will be bored, and the Catholics will praise, Fuck this fucking holiday, I'd rather watch a church blaze.
Robert has just been eaten by a hippo according to an AP report released 47 seconds ago. We are unaware of where this occurred but supposedly he's stuck in the digestive tract of an African Hippopotamus. He says that he is okay and still has a pack of cigarettes so he'll be fine for a few hours.
His cell phone can be heard ringing from inside the animal but no one can get near enough to hear his voice.
She seemed like angel, waking up in my New York Nick's jersey, covering her lower regions. She started sucking on a red vine, and said, "What are we doing today." It was totally not like that. She had long black hair in a pony tail and she walked around my apartment like only gravity held her down. This was not the case.
Gravity held me down. I was hungover; I had met her at a glorified bar the night before, and I had not remembered bringing her home. She seemed almost at home, strutting all over my kitchen, looking in the refrigerator for food I definitely did not have.
"So what do you want to do today," she asked
I couldn't come to a decision, so I suggested, "Breakfast?"
We drove to a horrible iHopish diner, that served the usual eggs and bacon. We got started on a conversation that derived into small talk.
It's just two days until Christmas, and I'm still hiccuping. It might be all of he wild turkey I drank, or it might be Saint Nick telling me I'm a naughty boy. Regardless, Christmas is around the corner. I hope everyone gets their iPhones, iPods, snowboards, black dildos, etc. I don't really have a point here, but if santa comes down your chimney kick him in the balls, because he turned a holiday into credit debt, because I know first hand.
This has been a busy year for The Philistine. We were born and almost died as Trevor put us all to shame with his thoughts about relationships. Billy finished another semester at Harvard and is now spending his days either preparing for next semester or driving around in cricles in an attempt to take advantage of the low price of gasoline. Beni is moving on with his wide range of studies including microbiology, astrophysics, quantum mechanics, psychobiology and of course chemical engineering. Little Beni is still enjoying fly fishing, racing his mclaren F1 that he got last Christmas and has now added slack lining and caddying to his list of pleasures. Robert and I are now experienced empty nesters. Even though we are both still working hard, Robert is currently holding a full time position in the oval office as well as bussing tables at Denny's, we manage to fit in lots of adventures. Trying out as many Eugene restaurants as time and our waistlines permit has become a frequent activity. We also had fun skiing the French Alps in February, just got back from a fabulous trip to the moon and spent the summer in Dubai at its new refrigerated beach. We were underwhelmed by Dubai because our lives are much more extravagant and interesting when compared to the modesty to that of such a primitive environment but we both did our best to lower our standards. With hopes for stability and peace in the New Year, our family wishes yours a less fancy 2009 than ours.
Wishing you and your loved ones a very financially unstable Holiday Season.
So for my final project of Digital Arts 250, I had to make a magazine of "west 11th st." It's a strip in Eugene, Oregon that is just so outrageous. Fast food, strip malls, and to top it off a wallmart! I really enjoyed making this mag, and am happy to receive crits on it. Btw im watching the dark night, and heath ledger is so fucking good at acting...
I am a mouse. I am the underground life form that lives beneath humans. They judge me like I am a poison. I am not. I feel emotions like them, I have a wife and three children. If they died I would feel the same sadness a human husband and wife would. I need closure. I need omniscience, without direction. People and mice need the same treatment for depression only I can’t swallow the same size pill of xanax a human can.
“Hey there can you break me off a piece of that?” I asked.
Of course he can’t hear me, I’m a mouse. My voice is as quiet as can be. I wait in much despair for a response, but nothing happens. It’s frustrating to be disappointed, but it comes with the territory of being a rodent.
I have a wife, but she really doesn’t respect me. When I’m tired from scampering all over town to find food for our daughter and son, she still makes me go out for a full retrospective of our nest. It makes sense, looking out for owls, cats, and any other predators, but I’m tired, why me and not her?
Anyway my dream is to become an advertising agent. No mouse has ever done it, but ratatouille broke the barriers of humans and mice.
Okay picture vans shoes. You never see ad’s for them, but everyone wears them. How about a vans shoe that just so happens to lift you off of the ground. A rocket shoe. I’m a mouse and I leave my inventions to chance, but really a hovercraft shoe? Come on, so cool. I’d pan into a skateboarder dropping into a vert pipe, and when he launches off the other side, he ditches his board and flies away, easy sell.
But I’m a mouse, how do I get people to listen. I need an interpreter. Speaking to a country rather than the USA might be more effective, I mean they always go for the Christian white males to develop ideas, and I’m not. I’m a German mouse who likes cheese. Oh well, the euro is still more than the dollar.
And I digress, I’m still an insignificant mouse, wrapped up in his own humanesque mentality. I will never be a human, and I will never be anything more than a mouse
People always come up to me asking me what they should do with their time. I often say you should find the time to think about what you might do with your time if you had any.
None of us really have any time. Trevor Storey is a textbook example of how little time most of us do not have. He's constantly busy.
The promotion of Elmo Live has actually been giving Trevor a few gray hairs.
I have been especially not busy this past few months. Between watching TV and going to the bathroom I find myself at a loss for anything quite as productive to occupy myself with.
Customizing my Bookmarks Toolbar in Firefox has given me cause to restructure my weekly schedule. It almost pushed my meeting with president-elect Robert Belmont back a few days but luckily I completed my conception early enough to make my flight.
The meeting went well. Until he asked me what he should do with all this time his secretary had freed up for him to theoretically relax for the next week.
"Run," I said.
The misinterpretation had become clear to me as the word rolled off my tongue.
Robert took the comment as a stab at him. He thought I meant that he should run for office, as if I had not found out that he had secured the presidential nomination already. I believe he also took it as a stab at his recent escape attempt from custody where he supposedly regurgitated on a police officer and tried to blind a man with I Can't Believe It's Not Butter spray.
The Wall Street Journal pointed out that Robert would have had a better chance of escaping the unlocked cop car if he had just gotten out and run away rather than walking over to the group of police men and attempting what he had.
I am not one to explain my words, I don't feel they should be questioned. Unfortunately that meant our lunch ended there.
Which brings me to the fact that I clearly lack the insight as to how one should spend their time wisely.
I do not like people who dress up like babies and wear diapers
I do not like people who pop their polo shirt collars
I absolutely do not like people who like nascar
I do not like people who shop at hot topic
I do not like extreme liberals
I do not like keystone light
I do not like people who ride longboards (PLEASE DISCONNECT YOURSELF FROM SKATEBOARDING)
Fuck you guy
I do not like people who use the word holy smokes
except her
Ok one more: I DO NOT LIKE PEOPLE WHO ARE SOUR TO PEOPLE THAT WORK RETAIL, IF YOU WANT TO BE RUDE TO ME ON A 40 HOUR WORK WEEK, GO AHEAD, I WILL FUCK YOU SO HARD IN THE ASS THEN DRAG YOU BEHIND MY QUATTRO S4 IN THE SNOW UNTIL YOU ARE NOTHING BUT BONES. ROB IS ALONE IN EUGENE BECAUSE OF YOUR STUPID IGNORANT SPRINGFIELD, OREGON HIC ASSES. IF YOU DON'T KNOW HOW TO USE ELECTRONICS GO ON THE INTERNET AND USE GOOGLE BEFORE YOU BORE ME TO TEARS WITH YOUR PROBLEMS.
She lives near a lake She has a small house She wears close to no makeup She doesn't eat meat She flirts with the boys She doesn't step on cracks She makes distant friends She judges based on looks She makes me so angry She should just stay on that lake
Get the full PDFhere(It should be clear, but if it is not, click Issue1.pdf, anyone using firefox might have to open in IE or download it if it doesn't work hit me up noob88@gmail.com).
It is clearly a little tardy, forgive me. This is for November 2008.
Please let me know if you want to write an article for any subsequent issues of the magazine or if you have a blog post you feel compelled to include in the magazine.
When one country, let's say for example Beanland, wants to trade with another country, say Riceland, they both are going to produce whatever they specialize in. Obviously Beanland makes beans and Riceland makes rice.
Clearly Riceland is not going to produce beans. Riceland has a comparative advantage in producing rice which in one hour it can produce 1000lbs of rice. While Beanland has a comparative advantage in producing beans of which they can produce 100lbs in one hour.
Riceland's bean production capacity is not great, it can only produce about 10lbs in one hour. Beanland coincidentally cannot produce rice at a very high rate either, about 100lbs in one hour.
Therefore if both Riceland and Beanland decide to engage in free trade then both will benefit. Riceland can produce all of its rice and more while trading for beans. Beanland can do the same with their beans.
Both nations are better off.
But what if a nation is bad at producing everything?
Usually they can still engage in free trade, their labor is cheaper than that of places like Riceland and Beanland who have a comparative advantage therefore they can sell their goods for less.
The rest of the world benefits from lower prices.
Consequently inexpensive labor usually means higher employment. Which is due to the fact that these places that have little to no skilled labor usually sift out the bad eggs from the good, and there are plenty of unskilled eggs out there who flock to areas like this.
I happen to live in a city that is bad at producing everything.
Eugene, Oregon is a place full of bums (unskilled eggs). These men and women, who lack a warm place to sleep and mostly lack the sanity and/or skills to find a job to acquire an insulated environment for nightly dormant rest, are all over the place.
Most of them are also quite fond of crack.
This puts large holes in their pockets. Most of them meander not really bothering anyone but some see themselves as possessing a skill in taking things to support themselves.
This morning I was on my way to school. When I walked into the garage I noticed something immediately that I thought was odd. There was a pile of broken glass next to my driver's side window.
Then of course I notice that the window was shattered.
The only thing that was taken from my car was my 160gbiPod that I paid $395 for last year and is as of now discontinued.
I also spent something like 9,347 hours putting 18,043 songs on this device.
This included tagging music, converting tons of it from flac and copying to no end.
But the worst thing about this theft was the way in which the intruder attempted to access my car.
Upon closer examination I noticed that around the broken window was three little dents.
It appeared that the thief had missed the window three times before achieving the desired blow that shattered it.
What kind of autistic retard can't land a solid blow when breaking a window that is 37" in width?
This troubled me, because I don't appreciate being robbed, but this person seems to lack the skill needed to break a window without denting the surrounding metal.
Eugene's labor market, even in unlawful removal of electronics from locked motor vehicles, still is worse than all other competing labor markets.
It is my contention that Eugene should outsource for all its criminal elements and resolve at least one aspect of its deteriorating economy.
-Monty
Edit: I'd like to thank Beni for offering his economic insight to help me clean up my logic in this article.
To preface this story. I had a dream about this last night (in much less detail), but it was the basis for the story. When it starts to get gurped, those are the true excerpts from my dream. Enjoy.
Every summer I went to go visit my aunt and uncle in a small suburb of Baton Rouge, Louisiana called Zachary. I had been visiting them since I was born, but it wasn’t until I was sixteen that I started to go on my own. The town had the typical small town feel. No one drove cars; people usually walked everywhere, rode bikes, or skateboarded. It made the town have this eerie white noise that I wasn’t used to.
My aunt and uncle’s house was a small three bedroom with a large backyard. The archways from room to room had a cathedral design to them and all the walls were painted an odd burnt sienna color. The room I stayed in had a bay window that overlooked the well kept garden in the backyard. I would wake up every morning and be greeted by my cheerful aunt and uncle with breakfast and a newspaper. It was the local newspaper, so it had very few national news stories in it. I read it anyway, because I enjoyed reading the events section. The town events were what everyone did at night, you did not miss them. They could vary from dances, to huge barbeques. I loved it. My aunt and uncle both smoked cigarettes in the house, so a few years after I began smoking, I got the courage to have after breakfast cigarettes with them.
The one convenience store was on the corner of Old Baker road and New Weis road, and had two entrances, one for a small sit down buffet, and the other for things like candy and cigarettes. Jasmine was the old woman who owned the store, she wore the same white sweater every day, but changed the broach she wore on the left collar. She would always have a different insect as the broach, but as she told me, her favorite was a spider with an opal abdomen. She had a sort of mysteriousness about her, when she spoke, at first; you couldn’t really tell if she was speaking English or not, but when you got into the habit of hearing her voice you could decipher what she was saying. The year I started to smoke cigarettes when I was about 17 she said, “I was wondering when you were going to start smoking.”
I spent most of the hot afternoons in black cutoff shorts made from old dickies walking up and down Baker road until it turned into Old Baker road where the convenience store was. I would buy a pack of Kamel Reds and a Sprite, then walk down to Jefferson Park and lay on my back in the grass until the day cooled off. In Zachary the temperature could be a constant 100 degrees from eight to five.
What I loved about my yearly trips to Zachary was I had a whole circle of friends that I had grown up with there. I had my friends at home and my friends in Zachary, both equally as close. We had a great balance of both girls and guys too. Most of the kids I hung out with were a lot like me. We all enjoyed drinking, smoking cigarettes, and also getting high. When we got older, we would play poker games and drink way too much, and I would stumble home to my aunt and uncle’s house, and most likely fall asleep with all my clothes on in the living room.
When I got into my mid twenties I still took a few weeks off every summer to go visit Zachary. I had a great job with a design firm that let me do my work remotely while I was visiting.
When I was twenty six, it got weird. I don’t remember how I arrived in Zachary that summer, but I woke up in my aunt and uncle’s house in a room I had never been in before. The walls seemed like they were not connected and I felt like I was too large for the room. The odd part about this summer was I did not see my aunt and uncle once while I visited, which made me second guess whether I was actually there. I was slipping in and out of reality every few hours and the vagueness of my mind was scaring me. I left the house the outside air was very cold and it didn’t match the normal climate of Zachary. I walked down Old baker road and saw two young boys delivering the paper. I thought to myself, “Okay, I’m fine.” As I got closer to the boys I realized they were identical twins, except one was dressed in all red and one was dressed in all blue. I heard them talking, and they had the voices of old men. One of them threw a newspaper to a second story apartment deck and missed it by a few inches. The ad’s that were inserted into the Sunday edition slowly floated to the ground at my feet. The other twin grumbled in his aged voice “You need to get more arch in your throw, David.” He proceeded to toss another Sunday edition perfectly to the porch. I was immediately back into this clouded imaginary mindset. The boy’s voices entered my head and made me very confused. I split ways with them to try and escape this imaginary realm I was in, but I could hear them the whole way to the convenience store. It haunted me like a night terror. When I got to the convenience store I was greeted by a young woman with a white sweater on and an opal broach in the form of a spider. I immediately assumed she was Jasmine’s daughter trying to keep the image of the convenience store alive. I asked her, “How is your mother Jasmine doing?” She looked at me very puzzled and said, “I am Jasmine…” The opal spider jumped off her collar and started to crawl up my neck; I swatted at it and we both fell to the ground. I was staring at the opal spider dead on. I stood up and tried to smash it with my foot, but it seemed to know my every move and jumped out of the way of my shoe. A man behind me with a remote control in his hand yelled at me to stop. “What are you doing? I just finished building that robotic spider, and you’re trying to kill it!” I bought my cigarettes and my sprite, and exited the store.
I walked down to the area near Jefferson Park, while the streets warped themselves around each other. It was hard to walk and I felt like I was moving in circles. I never made it to Jefferson Park that day.
When I woke up I was in the middle of an outdoor dance with loud music playing and strings of lights hung everywhere. I was sitting at a table with all of my friends from Zachary, all laughing and obviously drunk. They didn’t seem to notice anything weird about me, and when I came to my senses I realized I was very drunk as well. I looked down at three empty glasses with ice in them. I had no recollection of how I had got to this dance or of meeting up with my friends. I was sitting next to a girl I had been involved with for many years, named Lisa. She was staring deep into my eyes and I was slipping out of reality for what seemed like the twentieth time today. No one else seemed to notice my existence except Lisa. When I would speak to my friends they would answer my questions through someone else. I could only see the sides of people’s faces and when I would try and move to another angle to see them they would move their head as well. Aside from all of the melting of the lights into people’s faces, and the fact I only existed to one person, the dance was great. I immediately remembered why I loved Zachary, everyone was dancing with each other, and everyone was either laughing or getting ready to laugh. Lisa and I danced for what seemed like four hours.
“I’ve missed you,” she said, “It really is true, age breaks people apart, even though I saw you last year.”
I couldn’t speak, but I thought to myself, “It’s true, but you’re still as beautiful as you were last summer, if not more.”
She replied blushing almost instantly, “Oh, stop.”
I couldn’t speak, but we could still communicate. The rest of the night was as much of a blur as the day had been. I woke up at my friend Danny’s house sitting at a poker table with about two hundred dollars in chips. I could speak now, and everyone was staring at me.
“Rob, call or raise.” said Danny.
I looked down at my cards and saw and Ace and King suited. I said raise and put twenty dollars in the pot. Everyone folded except Lisa, who called my raise, as she stared into my eyes. “Could she still read my thoughts?” I asked myself. We went back and forth raising a few times, until I finally succumbed and called her.
“Alright, what do you guys have?” asked Danny.
I put down my cards, expecting to win, but Lisa showed her pocket Aces and smiled.
We kept drinking as the night went on, telling stories and making fun of each other. I got up to go to the bathroom and saw a door in Danny’s house I had never seen before. I walked into the room and my feet felt comforted by the light brown shag carpet. There was a small coffee table and a brown couch in the room. The walls were adorned with pictures of me and my family, which I thought was very odd for Danny to have in his house. I heard a noise behind me and turned around abruptly. I had knocked over what seemed to be a glass bong. I heard a crashing noise as it hit the floor, and felt bad I had broke Danny’s bong. When I reached down to pick up the bong and gather the pieces, it was intact, but it was made out of a tarp like material. It was clear, red color and I could see the water inside of it. I examined it and was curious to see if this “tarp-bong” worked. There was a bowl already packed in it, so I got out my lighter and started to hit it. The sides of the bong got sucked in as I was hitting the bowl. “Shit just keeps getting weirder,” I thought to myself.
I walked Lisa home after we left Danny’s house. She kissed me and we parted ways. It was very dark out, and in Zachary there are very few street lights, and as I got closer to my house, the lights started to go out almost syncronized. It was very peaceful not being able to see all the fucked up shit Zachary was doing to me, and for the first time on this trip I felt normal. In the distance I heard the two twins throwing news papers at houses speaking in their horrifying old men voices. I tried to tune them out by singing.
When I got to my aunt and uncle’s house, they were still not home. I felt very lonely, so I put on a VHS of Looney Tunes and went to sleep on the couch.
I woke up running. I had my bags hung from both of my shoulders, and somehow I knew where to run. I arrived at a bus station I had never seen in Zachary. There were about 30 busses all full with people staring at me as I ran by.Each bus had a destination pinned up on it, but I was very confused, they all were destinations in California all near where I lived. Someone grabbed my hand and whisked me onto a bus, they disappeared somewhere before I got thank them. After the bus started to roll away, I realized that I was not in Zachary anymore but I was leaving a bus station in Northern Washington, driving south to San Francisco. I looked around and everyone was minding their own business, not staring at me anymore. I was sitting next to a little girl wearing a white sweater with a small opal spider broach. I was expecting to slip back into the stream of hallucinations I was in all week, but the little girl just looked up at me and smiled. I put my head back in my seat, closed my eyes, and fell asleep to the peaceful sound of the buses tires on the road.
I'm reading this great book called The Destruction of Memory by Robert Bevan, and it's about the idea of destroying places like libraries, monuments, and places of prayer as a war tactic. The feeling of seeing something that means a lot to a culture or peoples can really bring down moral. The only downside of the book is the denseness of it. The author writes very descriptively and the book gives off a sort of textbook feel. It has pictures in it as well, which I was very skeptical of at first, but it helps a lot with the read. Anyways just thought I'd share, because the blog has been very slow lately.
So I work at best buy and tomorrow is black Friday. The day when mindless consumers think they are getting deals on last years models of electronics. Literally 1,200 people sit outside of best buy for days to get these "great" deals. The other day at work this moron comes up to me bragging he is always the first in line at our store for black Friday. He proceeded to tell me he camps out at 8 am on thanksgiving day waiting until about 4 in the morning the next day for the store to open. I honestly didn't know what to say; "nice", "congrats", "what is wrong with you?", or plain and simple "Why aren't you spending thanksgiving with your family?" My boss told me people bring generators, tv's, xboxes, heaters, tents, poker tables, refridgerators, etc. This epic deal day brainwashes people into spending money they do not fucking have, creating 6 month financing plans with best buy just so they can have a 2007 or 2008 model samsung 42inch 720p tv. It's plain and simple retarded. I can't tell you how many people I deal with on a day to day basis that need a $250 deposit on a $40 a month cell phone bill, due to their horrid credit. Americans love this one time sale idea, but in the long run we just dig ourselves into hole that we cannot get out of.
I got a new job and today was my first day. I now work at a toy store on College/Ashby. I was able to play with a new toy that came out on the market. It's a remote control car that has a battery powered vacuum allowing it to move along any flat surface, including walls and ceilings. It was quite nostalgic seeing some of the toys that we all used to play with. More updates to come.
I have no doubt about this. It's not because it's bad in the sense that it's an unplayable game, even though it is.
It sucks people into it, some have actually died from playing it.
Today I was sitting in class and a girl in front of me was playing World of Warcraft. I was thinking, this has to be the most retarded waste of time ever.
That is the main reason that it is the worst game of all time. Because it actually takes away from your life rather than adding to it by entertaining it takes away by sucking your time up.
To express what this game does to people I give you a snippet from a conversation I had with Trevor today, who is an avid player:
(15:59:10) monty: dude im in fucking newswriting class and this girl in front of me is playing WoW on her laptop (16:00:46) Tre 2 Da Store: what lvl is she (16:00:51) Tre 2 Da Store: and clas (16:00:53) Tre 2 Da Store: class (16:01:08) monty: dude (16:01:15) monty: who the fuck cares (16:01:18) Tre 2 Da Store: <---
Other than this I don't have any evidence of this, I haven't done any research and I don't wish to. This is all just based on my unrivaled opinion.
Dave and Mike's used to be a place I went to most weekends.
We'd often travel there by means of bike or foot prior to acquiring driver's licenses. I remember a specific day we walked down there from Billy's house.
These days though I am finding more and more that I do not feel very good after I eat breakfast.
Even when it's just cereal or something. I feel tired and drained rather than optimistic about my day.
This doesn't suggest by any stretch that I am talking shit on breakfast. It still in theory is a wonderful meal.
I will now offer a list of my favorite places for breakfast, places I would still go to even though I have changed my mind about breakfast.
Dave and Mike's Thereis no question about it. This is the original spot. Where going to breakfast began and hopefully where it might some day continue. Crepevine The newest spot I've discovered for breakfast, they've got two locations that I know of. One in San Rafael and one on Fillmore.
Swinger's Hands down the best pancakes I've ever had. Banana that is, if you get something else you're just a fruit. Only problem is this place is in Santa Monica. Bullshit.
Struggling to push out the chicken parmigiana I had not but four hours ago, I began to unravel a few sheets of two ply Cottonelle. A minute passes and I began my routine of leaning to the left, applying all the pressure on one side of the porcelain oval. Just as I begin my first wipe I hear a large CRRRRACCCCCK. Thoughts were racing through my mind as to what the sound might have been. I stood to see what damage had been done and to my dismay the seat, had broken. Embarrasment, shame, foolishness, all feelings that made me stare at the car crash that wouldnt allow my eyes elsewhere. How do I tell my roommate? Does this come out of my security deposit? I had no answers for these questions. I finished my buisness and flushed my emotions away. I could only sit back and laugh at what had just occured. At least I had a good story to tell for the next few days, I thought.
Later that day as I was driving to the gym with Danny, I brought up the topic of wiping. At first it was just a story of how I had broken the toilet seat but soon turned into a world I was unaware of. He explained to me that there were more methods to wiping than I knew. Not only were there those who stood to wipe, but those who went between the legs when sitting. I couldn't believe, I wouldn't believe it, alternative methods to wiping? For so long I had trusted the lean and now I was unsure of what to think. Where did the lean get me, I asked myself. It got me a broken toilet seat. Now I was doubting myself, my method, everything. My world was crashing down over such a simple thing. I thought the best thing I could do was teach as many as I could of these three ways to keep your ass clean.
For those unaware of the three methods of wiping, I will give a brief overview of each so that you may make a decision which is best for you. First is this one I have used for as long as I can remember, the sit and lean. To begin, lean to the opposite side of your dominant hand so that there is a clearance space between your ass and the toilet. Reach behind you with your dominant hand and wipe. Bring the paper up back up to see how much wiping is still necessary.
Secondly is the sit and spread. To begin, spread your legs so that there is plenty of space for proper wiping. Reach between your legs and wipe starting at the top of your buttcrack moving towards the genitals. Caution, dont get shit on your junk.
Finally is the stand and bend. To begin, stand up and bend your legs slightly to create proper space between the cheeks. With your dominant hand apply the same technique as method one, going from bottom to the top of the ass crack.
about the idea of destroying places like libraries, monuments, and places of prayer as a war tactic. The feeling of seeing something that means a lot to a culture or peoples can really bring down moral. The only downside of the book is the denseness of it. The author writes very descriptively and the book gives off a sort of textbook feel. It has pictures in it as well, which I was very skeptical of at first, but it helps a lot with the read. Anyways just thought I'd share, because the blog has been very slow lately.
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