dangerous walking

My company missed the memo that says motorcycle parking is always close to the door so when I ride the motorcycle in to work, I get to park at the very back of the parking lot.  That, in and of itself, is a lot of fun but but even more fun is the fact that sometimes I forget how long the parking lot is and on my way out of the office I put on my helmet about 10 yards out the front guard shack.  If I were parked where normal motorcycle parking is, I would be putting on my helmet just as I got to my parking space.

 

But I'm not.

 

Which means I get to wear a helmet as I walk the remaining 137 yards to where my bike is parked.  I like to pretend that wearing the helmet makes me safer because we have an extraordinarily dangerous parking lot, as though out of nowhere light posts could fall on my head or I could fall into a sinkhole or a maniacal disgruntled employee will try to run me down and only by wearing a helmet will I be safe.  But really it's no more dangerous than any other parking lot and probably even safer than most.  So I just look like a dork.

 

As a note: riding a motorcycle is not nearly as cool when you look like a dork.

 

As another note: this blog entry is not about poop.  You're welcome, Christen.

return fire

I just had a poop emergency. I had to pull into a gas station and just barely made it before utterly destroying their toilet. I felt bad afterwards so I bought a dollar candy bar. I definitely did not buy a compensatory amount of merchandise. It's the cheapest toilet I have ever destroyed.

I was feeling really bad for Gas Station Guy Ben because if his sense of smell is even a fraction that of a dog, his eyes will have begun bleeding long ago. And he was alone in there so there's a fair chance his curled up body, with stale licorice sticks shoved up his nose, won't be found until tomorrow. But now that I think about it a little more, I like to think this is my own little way of gas price inflation payback.

Fighting gas with gas. It's brilliant.

personalized gift

People say the best kind of gifts are the ones that come from the heart; the homemade gifts that really show you put some thought and deliberation into whatever present you're bestowing upon the gracious receiver. I don't necessarily agree with this philosophy. I think guns are a way better gift than something homemade. Unless it's a homemade gun. That's a pretty good gift.

However, if make the fairly good assumption that I have no idea what I'm talking about and pretend just for a minute that homemade, heartfelt gifts really are the best kind of gift, I would like to say that if any of you get a sweater from me for Christmas or your birthday or some other momentous occasion in your life, you can be rest assured that it will be the best, most heartfelt gift you'll ever (ever) receive.

Because I'm going to make it from my back fur.

You're welcome.

flatulence breakdown

I read once that dogs have a sense of smell anywhere from 10,000-100,000 times more sensitive than that of a human.  This allows them to not only smell much better than we do and to smell things we would never normally be able to smell, but to distinguish between smells much better than we do as well.  The example I remember was that of a chocolate chip cookie: we smell the chocolate chip cookie as a whole, dogs can smell the individual ingredients of the chocolate chip cookie - the flour, the sugar, the baking soda, and eggs all come out as individual smells to a dog.  This is why they're able to locate individual scents within a whole conglomeration of different smells.

 

So this raises the question, if a dog truly can smell individual smells as outlined, what do they smell when you flatulate?  What kind of farticulate breakdown would that result in?  Bruce seems to become rather interested in my buttock area whenever I happen to 'vent' (which is a VERY rare occurrence, I assure you, and when it does happen, it always smells like daisies in the breeze), so it's kind of an interesting question.

 

Also, I'm pretty sure they can't smell 10,000 times better than humans because if they could, Bruce would be dead.  The only time I've seen him be uninterested in chasing a ball was after another member of my household (who shall remain unnamed to protect her identity) pootered.  Bruce made a very firm decision to sit on the other side of the room until he moved into the kitchen.  He's a pretty smart dog.

Fun at the Mall of America aquarium