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Twitter’s new side project, Shitter.com, recently went live. The new site was aimed for the “likes to microblog about pooping” demographic of Twitter users. In a press release last Thursday, Twitter said Shitter “would be lucky” if “even two or three” users sign up over the next year. Shitter has already secured advertising bids from Fiber One, Ex-Lax, and Pepto-Bismol. Poop
I posted this while pooping. I’m sending you this e-mail because I just bought ebay item number 190353755240 (“FAKE POOP, PARTY FAVORS, FUNNY GAG GIFT FAKE HUMAN POOP”) from you for the Buy it Now price of $4.99 and I just realized that your shipping price is $68 for standard FedEx ground shipping. Now, I’ve done some research and found that for a standard fake turd the largest weight I could find was 0.74 pounds. And in your description it says the turd is about 4″ long so there are no concerns of dimensions that would drive up the shipping costs. This leads me to believe there was a mistake on your part, possibly a typographical error. Please correct this for me so that I can go ahead and let Paypal send you my payment. Thank you,
5/4/49 My God, I tell you, space is boring. I enlisted for the action of a deep space exploration mission. I never expected that a deep space exploration mission would need latrine duty. I certainly never expected to be personally responsible for cleaning it. Maybe someday, with a bit of luck, I can become Sanitation Officer, promoted through my own merits. That is my true dream. Not cleaning up shit, but telling others to do it for me. One thing’s for sure, in the meantime, this trip isn’t about to get more interesting, and my job couldn’t possibly get more difficult. Certainly it will not do so even if we pick up aliens whose specialty is pooping everywhere.
Babies look stupid. When they’re really young, they have no control over their bodies. Ever get a muscle spasm? It’s a neural misfiring; your brain is not hooked up to its equipment quite right. Well, babies’ whole bodies are like that–they’re one great big, loud, pooping muscle spasm. In early childhood development, the brain spends its time taking in as much information it can about the world around it, and rewires itself accordingly. But before that finishes, babies look like idiots. I’m an Ebayer. It’s like an addiction, and I get obsessed with it periodically. On one particular trip through the Tubes, I found this clothing store which proclaimed: “We work tirelessly to bring you the latest in fashion.” Which upon further examination, appears to be like a Dollar Crapticle saying they work tirelessly to bring you items of the highest quality.
Bethesda, MD – A local social gathering in Bethesda yesterday featured an unusual guest. A Mongolian Yak was invited through a postal error. “The yak showed up at the door, and I was like ‘What are you doing here?’ but he showed me an invitation and I had to let him in.” It turned out to be the best thing that could have happened to Dana Yamnitski’s party. I wish my computer would get it. That little music-note on a CD icon starts bouncing and I know what it wants. “A new version of iTunes is available. We’ll have another one in 10 minutes. Do you want to update now?” No. I hate updating. It interrupts important things that I do like looking at porn, refreshing the Forums index to see if anyone has said anything in the last 15 minutes, and re-reading old webcomics. If I actually updated everything exactly when everything wanted me to update it, I’d spend all my time updating and none of my time doing anything else, like eating, pooping, sleeping, and throwing goats at people at the carnival (it’s not funny ’till you picture it.) I don’t get it. How do you have that kind of time? I go in, I poop, I’m done. Bam. It’s not like firing a gun, point and click, or anything, not instantaneous, but I certainly don’t have the time to grab reading material. I know people who finish books on the pooper. And only on the pooper. I must be missing something.
Last time, I reviewed a pair of horrible online catalogs, but they had way too many hideously stupid items for sale for me to possibly cover in one update. Even today, I’m nowhere near done ripping Carol Wright a new one, but this update ought to bring us one step closer to, at the very least, giving her an enema. Since I’ve gone to all the trouble of getting on my rubber gloves and getting her to bend over, you only have to sit back in your comfort wedge and enjoy the show.
I’m wearing my cookies now… It’s not uncommon. Y’see, they told me I was out of pigeons. Yeah. Pigeons. Goddamn it! YARRRRGH! Okay, so I went down to the park to feed the pigeons. Well, first thing’s first, right? Okay, so I was looking for a good park, so I heard about Menlo Park, right? Yeah. I get there, fucking thing’s a town. Menlo Park isn’t a park at all. It’s a goddamned town. So eventually by driving around I find myself a park. A nice, big, tree-filled park. I get out all of the cookies I brought to feed the pigeons. A big bag of them, from A&P. Oatmeal Raisin. They always seem to do well. So I open up a package and start throwing chunks of them out onto the pavement, in front of my bench. It relaxes me, feeding the pigeons. I sat there for an hour. No, an hour and a half. No pigeons. Not a single one. What the hell? |
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