Things a Rhyming Proctologist Might Say

I’ll try to be kind
To your sick behind.

Of cream I’ll add a dollop.
It might reduce your polyp.

If I fill your can with helium,
You'll float up to the ceilium.

Joe was constipated
'Til the age of thirty-one.
Then he came to see me.
Now his hole shoots like a gun

I'll look into your bung,
But not sift through your dung.

Corn in your stool?
That ain’t cool!

I always change my glove
Before the finger shove.

Painful rectal itch?
Just part of my niche.

If you act like a dope,
With a spork I will scope.

I provide a service;
You give me hard earned loot.
I then put on the rubber glove
And get inside your chute.

Show me the crack, Jack!

There's a pimple on your bun.
That can't be too much fun.

Your vertical smile
Ejected a pile.

McPhennigan had dandruff
Upon his anus hair.
I said, "Try Head & Shoulders.
"Or wash your crack with Nair."

If you can change your diet,
Your bum should then get quiet.

Should you pass a bass through your ass, m'lass,
Your gas just has to be crass.

I’ll probe within your pooper.
Let’s hope it turns out super.

Will I look in your arse?
The answer is "Of carse!"

I’ll check your fecal matter,
But poop you mustn’t splatter.

Because...
You're blue
With flu,
Your poo
Came through
Like stew
Thus…
For you,
This goo.
Doo-doo:
Like new!

I’ll diagnose in onomatopoeia:
Splishy-splashy goes your diarrhea.

Ranking Nothing in Particular

What a difference 16.5 months makes:

Top Ten, week of June 19, 2007

1. Billy Joe McAllister’s least appreciative wolverine
2. Heaving the Tennis Channel through time splitting nature calls
3. Guys who say “fooooo-ton” when they mean “your haircut is shaped like a corn turd”
4. That Mark Philippoussis TV show! Man, was that ever—OK, I didn’t watch
5. Little League umpires, except the ones who bite me

Week of February 5, 2006

1. Dopamine-induced fits of banana boat theft
2. Minnesota vs. Duquesne. Need I say more?
3. Battleaxe recipes involving expulsions of phlegm
4. With the Super Bowl now over, Pro Bowl mania can finally begin!
5. Saddam Hussein’s lawsuit (how’d that turn out, by the way?)

Poetry Reading Script

Totalitarianism!
We mosey against the lard.
Plodding, plodding, always plodding.
Always…
Plodding.

[Pause]

Helmeted Mayor McCheeses
Burrowing in excess
Rapping, tapping, beating, algebra!

[Pause, then slowly shake head]

I sure picked the wrong day to pluck that button off the interstate!

[Wait for laughter to die down]

Fallopian! European! Cantalouppian!
We run without chandeliers
‘Twixt the meaning over orange.
Phil leader: Beheaded and cavalier;
Old hockey pray tell.

[Clear throat 6 times]

Damien on horseback,
Delivery crap!

[Put hand to ear to show no fear of angry muttering]

[Louder] Final fish! Yes, I said that! Final fish!

[Wait for gasps to cease]

Tomorrow we elevate the land odor dexterity!

[Be careful here—applause might begin]

And…
And…
And…
And…
Neptune we bow sullenly to the specter of…

[Make quotation marks with fingers]

“Garden meat!”

[Wait for initial applause to diminish before bowing]

Jaundiced Misgivings

I have recently found myself being attacked by a bitch reminiscent of 'Yeats Beast'.

No, she isn't particularly ugly nor does she possess the unmistakable odor of tuna gone bad.

So, what to do? How do you engage or otherwise attack such a beast? How do you defeat vbf spawn?

My first try, poetry:

Roses are red,
violets are blue;
Go f**k yourself.

Not good, though I particularly get a kick out of the ending.

Second try, philosophical reasoning:

Maintain a philosophical attitude, madam;
eschew all things philodoxical.
Suspend judgment and thoughtfully weigh considerations and reasons.
Above all else, eat me, you *** su**ing a**hole!

Really over the line, good as it might feel.

Finally, an attempt at good ol' boy humor:

How they hangin', ****stick?

So yes, quite jaundiced, and quite unsure, I opt for the only solution:

One teaspoon of Al Kaline's spleen juice, given on an empty stomach.....

Musings

If I had a pile of decaying meat, I’d probably name it Milo.

I used to think that the imaginary presence that lives in my spleen was the finest neurosurgeon in the northern hemisphere. Turns out it’s just some guy named Jeff.

Green Eggs & Ham: Orange cover. Bowling Green University: Orange uniforms. Coincidence? Yeah, right. And the Tonys aren’t fixed.

My sources tell me that the producers of “So You Think You Can Dance” are working on an action adventure series they plan to call “23.” It features a super agent named Zack Power.

The pancreas may well be the most underrated of the internal organs. It not only flawlessly performs its, um, you know…pancreatic functions, but does so in complete darkness.

When someone says, “I look forward to meeting you,” I sometimes answer, “You’ll look BACKward to meeting me!” even though I know it’s not funny.

If my toilet was clogged and I had to choose one poet from the Bengali medieval period to unclog it, I would probably go with Jayadeva, as he was, in my opinion, most likely to be the handyman of the bunch. Vidyapati seems a bit whiny for the task and Badu Chandidas would surely overthink it. The other medievals are, in my opinion, unworthy of consideration.

I’ve noticed that a lot of guys who say, “What can I do ya for?” have difficulty matching their socks to the rest of their clothing.

Uvula: Good-ass word.

Liver and Beets

The thought of this simultaneously brings my blood to a boil and provides that eerie feeling that you get right before the bile hits the back of your throat. That what the hell is happening to me feeling followed by the oh crap, I knew I should have flushed the toilet (but the damn camera was dead and I wasn't about to let that gouda beauty get away from me without documenting it) kind of feeling. I think you all know what I mean here.

I defy anyone on the planet to tell me why these two substances should be allowed on the earth. Perhaps renaming the life giving organ to something more noble like 'bassoon' or 'estrada'? Perhaps that purple fruit should be renamed 'fudgepacker' or 'breastial festival'? Frankly, I'm thinking the entire purple dragon and it's family should be banned.

Our friends over at OUINSIDER.com (not to be confused with SCOUT, who SUCKS THE BIG ONE) recognized this early on. Liver and Beets were permanently banned, end of story. Some thought adding a little ketchup or some spices would alter them; but no. Liver and beets in any form are reprehensible.

And while I'm at it. I'm thinking of suing the creators of South Park. Clearly "The Passion of the Jew", episode 804, was a direct rip-off of Liver's final stand, other than the happy ending.

Enough politics. Please contact your grocer, your alderman, you favorite super moderator and let them know your outrage.

Tell them Steven Segal sent you.....

Ranking Nothing in Particular

What a difference 35 years makes...

Top five, week of June 6, 2007:

1. The juicer that may or may not be attached to Al Kaline’s spleen
2. Guys who say “Been a business doin’ pleasure with ya’” just before they vomit on your necktie
3. Those booger-like things you sometimes find in your eyes
4. “More bedrock, Flight Commander?”
5. Primal scream therapy that sounds suspiciously like frat house hooting

Week of June 6, 1972:

1. Spleen juice, right field, Tiger Stadium
2. When “Bed that wench!” becomes less a cliché and more a call to arms
3. Traipsing twixt the moors o’ yesteryear
4. Naming your tits Hubert and Spiro
5. Using Rollie Fingers’ moustache for medicinal purposes

Contemplating Gouda

I've spent a lot of time lately consuming various cheeses as scientific research. How, specifically, does each varietal impact the following: Mood, Bowels and Embouchure. (I briefly considered testing each for tensile strength and general knowledge of botany, but I was talked out of it by my pet turtle, Sparkle, who despite his appearance is quite the man about town and possesses a razor-sharp wit.) Results were tested in a double-blind method using 'exhaustive' procedures, discounting the possible permutations involved in both seasonal and regional bias. Striving for optimal results, maximum testing efficiency (conformity assessment) was utilized. Basically, I went to the store, bought the cheese and ate it.

Frankly, I was surprised by the range of results. Many had virtually no effect on any of the three above mentioned study parameters; swiss, goat, gorgonzola, muenster (though some spotting of the 'bowl' was noted with the latter). Edom, Camembert and Brie elicited responses of spontaneous laughter followed by bouts of rage and the general inability to hit a high "C" on command (though the frito chili pie at lunch might have skewed the results). Stilton and marscapone made me down right pissy both figuratively and literally.

But Gouda, dear God, holy mother Mary, all the saints and Mary....Beemster X.O. (extra DOUBLE aged Gouda), elicits what I would term a virtually sexual response. It was provocative in only the way something that rots for 18 months can be. It was arousing (yes, I got laid that night). Almost better than the night before was the virtually perfect, 10 point beauty of a BM that graced my morning after; better than an empty bed (or waffles!). Beautiful and breathtaking (again, figuratively and literally). Were that not enough, I wailed the rest of the morning on my Bach Concert Series Trombone as if I were a child again. If Beemster X.O. were a woman....scratch that.....if Beemster X.O. were a tree.....scratch that......If Beemster X.O. were President....well, we might have a new namesake on the blog......

The Difference Between New York and LA

Were I a time traveler, I would go back to my sixteenth year and re-pop that one unforgettable zit. I’m not exaggerating when I tell you that it splashed so intensely I looked as if I’d gone face-first into a vat of mayonnaise.

Good times.

Once that mission was complete, I would go to the early 1800s and explore, just like Lewis & Clark. For companions, I would bring Caroline of Brunswick, who was Queen of Britain for about 10 minutes right around 1820, and, of course, Klaus Meine, lead singer for the Scorpions. It seems like the perfect combo: Klaus and I could talk about ‘70’s music (“My name is Michael, I’ve got a nickel? What the hell was that?” “No, wait! I got a better one: ‘I’m not Leeee-sa…’”), we’d have someone from the century we were in to guide us (Lady Caroline), we’d have a woman’s point of view (Caroline again), and, based upon historical reports, the woman in question would be so exceedingly repulsive that any thought of sexual tension (which can ruin the best of exploring) would be laughable.

The dangers faced by Lewis & Clark—new diseases, hungry wildlife, fierce warriors, and such—are admittedly more than the 3 of us could handle. So rather than exploring uncharted America, we would instead blow air horns at Thomas Paine’s funeral.

The cool side of the pillow

A question I’m almost never asked is how to write a sea chantey. So I did a little research and concluded that the only real requirements are that they 1) include nautical terms and 2) make absolutely no sense whatsoever. Something like:

Smegma ahoy! That mighty wave.
Devotion aye! Thar’ seamen crave.
So starboard ho! That foreskin stench.
Afore away! Thou thirst will quench.
Labia-ha! It rests aft there.
Twelve knots hurrah! My bottom’s bare.
We love it so! That cheesy stuff.
Sail schooner hey! Can’t get enough.

(Repeat)