Yet Another Post About Cack

Whilst lunching at my favourite inexpensive Mexican hole the other day (and no, that is not a euphemism for going down on a cheap hooker,) I couldn't help but notice the extraordinary length of time one elderly gent spent in the toilet. It's a small restaurant and only has one toilet that serves both men and women, so if someone goes in there for any length of time, a line will soon form, especially during busy periods. Luckily, the place was quite empty and only myself, this old lad, his wife and another couple were there. I usually avoid this particular toilet as it is quite unsavoury and not at all appetizing (although there has been many a time when I have had no choice but to use it), while I think this is generally a good policy it has led to several "photo finishes" upon my return to the relative sterility of the work bogs. But that is another post entirely.

Anyway, this old lad went to the bog just as I was starting to eat my bowl of Posole. They are big bowls of steaming hot soup and usually take me a good 20-25 minutes to finish. I was almost done with it before I realized that the old man had not returned, so he must have been gone at least 15 minutes. I looked over at his wife who was reading a book, seemingly unconcerned by his extended absence. She must be used to it I thought. Another 5 minutes passed by and still no sign of the old geezer, I was getting concerned. How horrible would it be if he had died in there?

I had done a post a couple of months ago about a bloke who died on a bookies bog (still no word on the cause of death in that one) and so I found this situation naturally enthralling and needless to say would have to stick around past the end of my lunch time to find out. After a few more minutes, his wife got up and went to look for him. I was sure she would return screaming for help and readied myself with camera phone, just in case. Sadly Happily, a few moments later they both returned, him red faced and sweating, her shaking her head.

What I don't understand is how can some people possibly take so long in the bog? I'm not going to suggest that he was rubbing one out, he didn't seem the sort, but why the fuck did he go in there if he wasn't ready? I know some people who take like 10 minutes to have a shit. I'm in and out in under two minutes unless it's one of the sticky variety that takes forever to wipe clean. I also know people who can go a day or two without shitting when I'm in there 3 times a day guaranteed. You can put the rent money on it. It's a dead cert.

Whatever you do in the sanctity of your own shithouse is your business (Boom, Boom!) and who am I or anyone else for that matter to question it. But please, when in public places, especially if it's a one stall mexican shithole that serves food of a highly dubious quality, don't hog the bog cause you can be sure there will be someone who really needs to use it more than you do. Play the white man and wait until you are ready.

Da Shizzle

When I was a lad, there was dog shit everywhere. You couldn't have a kick about in the street without kicking a greasy dog slug. I remember having to climb a fence to get our ball back and as I jumped down off the other side, I landed on a skittery turd and slipped, landing in 2 or 3 more when I hit the ground. It was all over my clothes, in my hair and on my hands. The other kids laughed at me and called me Scooby Poo until the day we moved away. It was a fuckin' nasty council estate in the one of the worst parts of Wigan, packs of dogs roamed the streets, shitting and fucking wherever they wanted. The dog wardens stayed away cause they got pelted with bricks by all the kids, as did the firemen and the ambulancemen. Predictably, the authorities were not too concerned about the dog shit problem in Platt Bridge in the 70's.

The problem still exists today, but it seems to have spread across the entire country.....

A couple from South Yorkshire have labelled Bridlington the 'Dog Mess Capital of Britain' and have vowed never to return. I suppose there isn't any dog shit in Sheffield then.
Eddie and Dorothy Freeman have visited the seaside town for the past three years but Mr.Freeman exaggerated "This year we could not walk five yards without seeing dog muck.....It looks like elephants have been here, not little dogs."
Mrs. Freeman also said the maximum she could walk without seeing a turd was five or eight steps. Five or eight? Not five or six or seven or eight.....
A spokesman for the Council said "It is regrettable that (they) feel unhappy about the amount of dog mess in Bridlington......Though we can't prove it beyond doubt, the number of complaints about dog mess in the northern part of East Riding suggests that there is actually less than before." Maybe they should create a job or two, County Dog Cack Monitor, responsibilities include counting, recording and disposing of canine feces. Experience not necessary, will train. Batchelors degree preferred. Previous applicants need not apply.

Also in East Riding, an anonymous dog walker who did not want to be named complained about the state of a Driffield field, "It is absolutely caked in dog muck down there. You can't walk around the path with out standing in it and my dogs are playing and ending up rolling in it." I find this a little far fetched also. Dogs never, never, ever even step in dog shit let alone roll in it. It's like dog shit gives off a hum only they can hear, like a warning beacon.

In Kettering, some anonymous crusader has been attaching notes to piles of dog shit in an alleyway near the General Hospital, telling dog owners to take their dog cack with them. No reports yet on how well this tactic is working although I doubt many people are stooping to read the scribbled maniacal rantings of an angry pensioner while they wait for Bingo to bust out a log.

Meanwhile, wardens cleared away 30 bags of dog eggs in just one day from Burton Latimer graveyard. The bobbins were picked up from on top of and around graves. Usually wardens only remove one or two bags a month so they are either going to have to up the order for bin bags if they are going to keep up with that kind of pace.

In Morecambe, Heather Bradley of Sandylands Promenade wrote a letter to her local rag complaining that on a recent walk from Sandylands Promenade to the Battery, she counted 25 piles of dog doings. She made a point of not blaming the dogs but the owners. Not only can she count, she knows that people are (generally) smarter than their dogs.

Finally, to Sunderland where one dickhead who has been accused of allowing his dog to do it's business on a children's play area is refusing to pay if he is convicted and fined up to £1000, he says he would rather go to jail. "I'm not going to pay a penny because I am going to stick up for my dog's rights," said Colin Edgerton. "I'm not going to be bullied into paying for something that my dog has never done. If Sophie could speak she would defend herself," the fuckin nutcase continued. He also claims that it wasn't a childrens play area at all and that the dog wardens had no evidence. "It's just a field where people take their dogs. Most of the time you have got to watch your dog because it is full of cans and needles," the animal loving Edgerton ranted. "It's got nothing to do with kids, it's just a money making scheme."

Also in Sunderland, a group of lonely pensioners who live in Planet House, a block of flats in Sunderland city center (Location, Location, Location!!!) don't have any dog shit to complain about. Instead they are fed up with having to "wade" through a pile of pigeon muck every time they leave their home. A 70 year old resident of Planet House doesn't blame the pigeons, she blames the shoppers visiting the Market Square who feed the pigeons. Pigeon shit poses a hazard to pedestrians, as footpaths and stairways are made slippery by it's presence. This leaves the already unstable and doddering old folk especially vulnerable to falls and the obligatory broken hip followed by certain death, that is if the bird flu doesn't get them first.

I'm sure I had a point when I started writing this but it seems to have deserted me. It'll come back to me at some inopportune moment no doubt.

Pooping Outdoors

Have I mentioned my enjoyment of doing my business outdoors? Probably not as it's not a topic most people care to discuss. When I lived in the great North West of England, I, like many of the locals enjoyed regular nights out involving the drinking of several pints of mild followed by a healthy curry to purge the system. These nights typically ended in the small hours and as the buses stopped running at 10pm and being banned by all the local taxi firms, I was left with no choice but to walk the 3 miles home from my inn of choice. Naturally, it wasn't long before a cack was needed.
Luckily, my route home was through a rural area lush with vegetation providing me with an abundance of nature's bog roll, the doc leaf. It's size, thickness and flexibility make the doc leaf an adequate replacement in the absence of Andrex and infinately better than that scratchy medicated Izal stuff my Grandma's 90 year old cousin used to buy. Anyway, since moving stateside I have had to contain myself and learn to practice greater control, due mainly to the poor growing conditions for the doc leaf. It would seem they do not do well in such a dry climate as I have yet to see them anywhere and I am considering consulting the local garden center for advice now that Gardener's Question Time are refusing to take my calls.
I miss the oneness of it all, the closeness to mother earth, the serene feeling one achieves by giving back to the earth what you have taken and stripped of all nutrients and goodness. It's hard to explain.
I just don't trust these foreign plants, not to wipe my arse on. Some of them have sharp micro spines invisible to the human eye. Some cause unsightly skin complaints when you touch them. An uninformed layman such as I would do well to avoid using them for such a purpose as there would almost surely be an unpleasant trip to the A&E involved.
I'm not a prude, but I'm not comfortable with the idea of unknown doctors poking around my ring piece while a bunch of medical students look on trying not laugh at my big hairy white arse. I think the answer is to make such a situation as unpleasant for them as it would be for me, or at least diffuse the tension by shoving a lego man up there before going in. That way everybody gets a laugh and goes home with a good story to share over dinner. I know this tactic may shock some people and may even solicit accusations of gayness, so instead of a lego man I will use a lego woman, if there is such a thing.
I shall visit the lego store tomorrow!