Dog Poop Will Turn Your Roomba Into A Ruindba!

There’s a story going around Facebook that reminds me of something that happened to us when we had Trix that I somehow never put up here. Maybe it was waiting for its perfect moment.

One day, on a whim, I bought Trix a new puzzle toy. The dog is supposed to roll the thing around and get food out of it! Fun fun fun! It was called a tricky treat ball, and they should have called it a not for Trixie treat ball!

I put Trix’s meal in it and gave it to her. Then Steve and I sat down to eat our own supper. They said the dog could have hours of fun with this thing, so I figured I wasn’t being a jerk for not supervising. After a few minutes, I noticed that the sounds coming from the ball sounded less like bat, bat, crunch, crunch, and more constant and much, much quieter. When I went over, I found Trix holding onto the thing that should have been a ball…only now it was a misshapen mass, and the whole top had been ripped off somehow. I also realized that if I took the mass that remained and tried to shape it back into a ball, it was not nearly the size of the original ball…uh-oh.

At first we hoped that we just had to go on a massive tricky treat ball treasure hunt, and we would find pieces everywhere…but we were not finding many pieces…which led us to the horrible conclusion that Trix had eaten the missing pieces! We were especially worried about this because the next day, we were supposed to be going to a big office party with folks from my awesome job. I had only started working there on a regular basis shortly before that, so I was feeling pretty new. The last thing I needed was for my dog to have a massive puke or poop accident at this fancy place. Plus, this was in the era where work and home were about 35 minutes’ drive from each other, so it wasn’t exactly trivial to get our asses home if necessary.

Through the next day, Steve would sort of look for tricky treat pieces as he went about his regular daily routine, and I was watching Trix’s poop to see if it was looking less…well…normal. We weren’t finding any pieces, but things were looking pretty ordinary. So we went on with the plan.

Trix got through the whole party and I never would have known anything was wrong, so I breathed a sigh of relief. We came home, and after changing into more comfortable clothes, we both fell asleep in the living-room. And a few hours later, we…found the rest of the tricky treat ball. To be more accurate, Trix produced it.

I still don’t remember this part, but at one point, some part of my brain must have heard Trix throwing up, and while most of me was still asleep, I uttered the words “Are ya ok? Are ya done pukin’?” At the same time, Steve had come to his senses enough to notice an unpleasant smell nearby that he could not identify. As soon as I uttered the words “Are ya done pukin’?” he was wide awake. “Puke…puke…pukin’?! Who’s pukin’?! I’m not pukin’! Oh…that smell…oh!”

So, although we did not have a dog poop-filled house, like in this sad tale below, there was definitely some 3 a.m. dog accident clean-up to be done. At least no electronics were sacrificed in the process, like happened to this guy’s poor roomba.

So, last week, something pretty tragic happened in our household. It's taken me until now to wrap my head around it and…

Posted by Jesse Newton on Tuesday, August 9, 2016

Every Rule Has An Exception, The Breastfeeding Is A Wonderful Thing Edition

I’m a guy. For obvious reasons, I will never breastfeed a baby. Some may argue that this fact should disqualify me from talking about or judging anyone who might one day do so on the subject at all. But I know when something sounds creepy and weird, and this, this sounds creepy and weird.

The breastfeeding incident occurred at a Toronto house party. It was an in-between sort of evening, neither a rager nor a formal dinner party – the sort of casual and expensively lubricated early-evening-into-night gathering that exhausted people in their 30s with small children tend to favour.
I was about 25 and did not have a baby – or even a boyfriend – at the time.
And I was broody in the way that young women in their late 20s often are, before they realize that turning 30 is just the beginning of something rather than a vertiginous cliff off of which unlucky young women fall to die alone and be forgotten.
I was feeling a bit glum and distracted, so I’d wandered upstairs in search of a bathroom in which to reapply my lipstick and check my phone for random texts from inappropriate men (this was before Tinder). I walked into a bedroom with coats piled high on the bed and noticed that in the corner, sitting wide awake in a little portable car seat, was the cutest baby I’d ever seen. On the table beside him was a monitor. I smiled at the baby, the baby smiled back. Now this was a connection.
I leaned over and gingerly picked him up and then sat down in a chair to give him a cuddle. He felt gorgeous in my arms, all warm and lumpy and milky-smelling in the way small babies are. Somehow, my pinky finger ended up in his mouth and I was astonished at strength of his sucking reflex. “C’mon lady,” said his eyes. And I suddenly knew what he wanted. And I of course wanted to give him what he wanted. The only problem was, I had no milk. But would it be so bad, I wondered, if I just tried it out – just for a minute – just to see what it felt like?
I looked at the baby monitor as if it might be watching me, but thankfully this was before monitors had cameras.
Then slowly, carefully so as not to jostle the infant, I began to unbutton my blouse. Just as I was reaching into my bra, a shortish man with in a navy suit walked into the room.
“Oh um, hello!” he said, in a friendly, upbeat tone that could not entirely conceal the fact that he was flummoxed to see me sitting there with my top half unbuttoned holding his baby.
“I see you’ve met my son. May I take him now?”
The man, of course, was Michael Chong. I never caught the baby’s name. Mr. Chong took his son, bade me a swift and polite goodbye and I didn’t see him again for the rest of the party – probably because he left sensibly with his family an hour later while I no doubt hung around talking nonsense until after midnight.

That’s part of a column that was published to and later deleted from the Globe and Mail website. Regardless of how true the story is (there’s some question about it) and putting aside how any of you might feel about breastfeeding other people’s kids with permission which seems to be the larger point of the article I think, I have a question for the ladies. Is this normal? Even a little bit? Do you ever, when holding someone’s child, think to yourself he looks hungry, I should try to give him a snack? Have you ever gotten past the thinking stage? Or am I, a person who I will remind you all once more is a guy, right to think that this is straight up fucked?

Update: I left this as a comment, but I figure I should stick it here just in case our comments ever explode and we lose tens of thousands of them again.

We’ve now hit the other newspapers are writing columns about the column stage, which brings us this bit of ewww from the National Post. I think it pretty much misses the point entirely. I say pretty much because there is a bit of an acknowledgement that you probably shouldn’t do that, but the whole thing about men’s ideals and sexual objects and covering up and not talking about it and all that is totally not everyone’s problem here. You’re feeding another person’s kid without asking. That’s wrong. Hell, I don’t even like picking up someone’s baby without asking them first just in case there’s a reason I shouldn’t, and I love kids. I can’t imagine doing something this personal unwanted.

Who Wants Some Facon?

And now, Brother Brad is here to tell you how to make vegan bacon in case that’s a thing you’d like to do for some reason.

It seems that a Brainiac named Johan Lundstrom, in some basement lab somewhere has come up with something they’re calling vegan bacon

If the very mention of the word vegan has you running in the other direction, we might as well run together.

If you are one of those whackjobs that is in to that sort of thing, what is wrong with you, Umm, I mean, here’s how the stuff is made. It’s not as frightening as I would’ve thought, but still.

  • 2 cups unsweetened coconut flakes
    coconut flakes in a stainless measuring cup
  • 2 tablespoons tamari, soy sauce, or amino acids
  • 1 tablespoon neutral, high-heat oil of choice
  • 1 tablespoon maple syrup
  • 1 tablespoon apple cider vinegar
  • 2 teaspoons smoked paprika
  • 1 teaspoon white miso
  • Freshly ground black pepper to taste

How to Make Plant-Based Bacon

  1. Preheat your oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit.
  2. In a medium bowl, stir together the tamari, oil, maple syrup, apple cider vinegar, smoked paprika, and miso.
  3. Pour the coconut flakes into the bowl and stir gently to combine.
  4. If you’re feeling patient, letting the flakes marinate for five minutes will yield a richer flavor.
  5. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper and evenly spread the flakes across it. Try to keep the flakes from clustering together.
    marinated coconut flakes ready for baking
  6. Place the tray in the oven and bake for 5 minutes.
  7. Remove the tray, stir the flakes well, and again, ensure they’re spread evenly across the sheet before placing back in the oven.
  8. Next, bake the flakes for 9 – 12 more minutes, removing the tray from the oven every three minutes and stirring the flakes. This will ensure the flakes crisp up evenly and prevent burning. Coconut flakes can burn quite easily!
  9. Time will vary depending on your oven and how crispy you like your “bacon.” We like the flakes to be mostly dry, golden on the edges, and crisp to the touch.
  10. Fans of crispy bacon, allow the flakes to cool on the sheet for ten minutes. If you like your bacon chewier, use it right out of the oven or remove from the sheet to cool.

There is a small part of me, a very small part, that almost wants to try this just out of curiosity. It’s never going to happen, but I’d be interested to hear if any of you took the plunge.

Eat up!

Let’s Read About People Crapping Themselves For A While

I don’t know why, but stories about people shitting themselves are almost always funny. It’s a fact. A clinically proven one, even. Hey, if everyone in a commercial can throw out that phrase regardless of it’s truthfulness, why can’t I?

Anyway, here’s a collection of stories about doing just that that some folks sent to Deadspin. And here is a sample, in case you somehow don’t understand what you’re in for.

So, I was very young, maybe four or five, and a bunch of my family (immediate and extended) were staying at a Howard Johnson’s for who the hell knows why, because I was really young and only cared that we were staying somewhere with a pool.
Anyway, at some point, almost all of us are in the pool area. The kids are in the big pool and the adults are hanging out in the hot tub. I’m swimming and having a generally great time, as young kids in pools tend to do. Then…I realized I needed to take a crap. Here’s my dilemma: if I go to the bathroom, that means that I will have to leave the pool to do so, and that, my friend, was clearly not an option. So, I did the only logical thing I could do: dropped my shorts and pushed that log out underwater. I figured it was the perfect scheme because nobody would know what I was doing. One problem: it was a floater. That damned thing immediately bobbed right to the surface—I felt it as it grazed my back on the way up. I pulled up my shorts, turned around, and immediately pushed it back underwater with both hands. But, it stubbornly refused to remain submerged and popped right back up to the surface again.
So, now I knew I was screwed and I had to act fast. I scooped the poop up with both hands and dutifully went over to my parents at the hot tub because obviously they would help me—that’s what parents do. Unfortunately, they both developed a sudden case of temporary, traumatic, amnesia, and didn’t seem to know who I was. None of my aunts and uncles could seem to remember me either, so it must have been contagious. After a minute or so of trying to get help from the grownups, I realized I was on my own. So, I went looking for a place to dispose of my payload that would be as short a trip away from the pool as possible. I don’t recall if I had actually left the pool area or not, but in a short time I came across one of those wall-mounted ash trays—the kind shaped like a bowl that had a button to push and the ash tray would open up and the cigarette butts and ashes would fall into a chamber below. PERFECT! I dropped that sucker onto the ash tray and pushed the button so that it would disappear. Except, I was too young to understand concepts like relative size. Even though the ash tray opened, the turd was too long, and it just hung there, stubbornly. At this point, I decided that this was good enough. I had gone above and beyond the call of duty and I had lost precious pool time to make up. So, I left it there, went back to the pool, cleaned my hands once I got back in, and all was well.

Little Green Gag

Here’s another case of weaponized barf in a cab to go along with the one from earlier this year. It reads nearly identically to that one aside from a couple of small details, leading me to wonder how common this actually is. Not somebody tossing their shooters in a taxi since I know that happens more than you’d think, but getting so mad at the completely justified extra charges that you feel you have no choice but to toss them again.

Police say early Sunday morning a taxi driver picked up a woman who grew nauseous and was provided with a bag to vomit into during the ride home.
Upon arrival, the passenger continued to throw up on the exterior of the vehicle and when the driver requested a cleanup fee the woman became abusive.
Police say that included throwing the full bag of vomit on the driver, covering his clothes, phone, car seat and floor mats.

Selena Narayan-LaChapelle was charged with common assault and was scheduled for a court appearance yesterday.

The fare including VST (vomitous scrub tax) was paid by members of her family.

United Breaks Stomachs

A couple celebrating their anniversary got a lovely present to mark the occasion thanks to a United Airlines airplane cleaner who didn’t quite live up to his job description.

A couple on their anniversary trip to Hawaii said they found a full barf bag in a blanket in the seat-back pocket in front of them, reports CBS Sacramento, and naturally, they weren’t pleased to have to deal with someone’s bodily fluids.
The woman said when she handed the bag over to a United Airlines flight attendant, the contents spilled on both her and her husband’s clothes. Though the attendant offered them new seats, it was too late, she says — the smell was already on their clothes and they had to endure it for the rest of the flight.
“Smelling that smell on us and around us was just totally, totally disgusting,” she recalls.

After getting pretty well nowhere reporting their experience directly to United, they took their story to their local news’s consumer justice getter guy who scored them a $300 flight credit that they probably won’t use because, as the female victim quite reasonably states, “I’ve lost a lot of faith and trust with the airline.”

And lunch. Don’t forget lunch.

Attention Kmart Shoppers. Check Out Our Current Brown Light Special

Why you would not only feel compelled to piss and shit in a box of security tags behind the counter at Kmart but then actually go ahead and do it is a mystery for somebody else to unravel, but what I would like to know is why, once you have determined that the above must take place, you would pick a Kmart where you shop regularly and then leave your name with the people at the customer service desk because you went in to return something?

Melissa Jacobson, 49, was busted Monday night after she allegedly slipped behind a cash register at the Racine business and urinated and
defecated in a box full of store security tags.
At the time of her arrest, Jacobson was wearing a shirt with a picture of a dump truck and the phrase “Dropping A Load,” a cop noted.
Alerted by a “funky” odor, an unfortunate Kmart employee discovered the soiled cardboard box, which was leaking urine, according to a misdemeanor criminal complaint filed yesterday against Jacobson.

If I wasn’t going to post this before (I think I was), that shirt put it over the top. Where would one even obtain such a garment and more importantly, why? Well, unless it’s her official I’m gonna go shit in a box outfit. that seems logical.

Jacobson, who was at least nice enough to clean herself up afterwards with some paper towels she found underneath the counter, was charged with disorderly conduct and two counts of resisting or obstructing an officer.

Creamy Chocolate Kill?

I figure I’ll write about Timmy’s since it’s Canada Day. It seems appropriate.

A little while ago, Tim Horton’s came out with…something…called the Creamy Chocolate Chill. Wow, something is wrong with me…I’m blogging about some random food product. But there are two reasons I want to, so bear with me.

When I first heard about it, I didn’t even know what it was. Was it some kind of cake? Maybe it was a frozen treat? All the commercials would say was stuff like “It’s rich, it’s chocolatey! It’s a Creamy Chocolate Chill.” Someone would be sitting there going “mmmm mmmmm mmmm!” but that was about it. If you couldn’t see it, you had no idea what it was.

I went to the Timmy’s website, and I was able to figure out that it was a drink because it was under the drinks section, but this was all they wrote about it.

A delicious combination of real cream and layers of chocolaty goodness. It’s the perfect summer treat that takes chocolaty to the next level.

I still wasn’t quite sure what this was all about, so I decided to get one, and I got one for Steve too. I had a pretty goofy conversation with the Tim’s lady. It consisted of me saying “I have a question about your Creamy Chocolate Chill. …What is it?” So am I slow? Did anyone else wonder what the heck this was who couldn’t see the picture to get the big hint?

But maybe it was all a trick to get us to go buy them. Maybe I’m just one of their many sheep who fell for it…because once I bothered the lady to ask her to describe the thing, I almost felt committed to try one. So maybe they’re smarter than I think and this was all done on purpose, but somehow I doubt it.

And what did I think? Uuuuuug! Who enjoys this? As I was drinking it, I thought I needed to sing a song to my pancreas so I didn’t develop Diabetes on the spot.

They weren’t kidding when they said they were taking chocolatey to the next level. Holy crap, it was like drinking a cup full of syruppy cream. Every now and then I’d hit a chunk of chocolate stuff that was kind of good…but mostly, it was too much, and I’m’ a person who loves chocolate.

Steve agreed with me, and another friend said the same thing, so I know I’m not a weirdo.

So they may have gotten me once, but I don’t think I’ll buy another one of those suckers ever.

Beat Off In The Coffee While You Still Can, Guys

There’s an update to a story we brought you last year.

John Lind, the fellow who professed his love for a woman by repeatedly firing his non-dairy cannon into her coffee, had his charges dismissed because while totally fucking disgusting, what he did isn’t technically against the law…yet. The State is working on closing that loophole as we speak though, so hopefully his brush with the law and everything on that poor girl’s desk was enough for him to learn his lesson and just write a letter like everybody else next time.

A Blaine man was initially charged with two gross misdemeanor counts, one of fifth-degree criminal sexual conduct and one of attempted fifth-degree criminal sexual conduct, after an Aug. 26 incident in which he allegedly put his semen into a co-worker’s coffee.
The charges were dismissed in November by a Ramsey County judge, who said the crime required nonconsensual touching of the victim’s intimate parts.
Under the bill, sponsored by Rep. Debra Hilstrom, a prosecutor from Brooklyn Center and Sen. John Hoffman of Champlin, placing bodily fluids in a substance intended for human consumption would be a misdemeanor.
It would become a felony if someone ingests it without knowledge of the adulteration, with escalating penalties if it’s done for sexual gratification or if the victim is a child.
The bill passed Wednesday in the House Public Safety committee and heads next to the House floor.

If You Get It Up One More Time, You’re Going Down

This is hilarious. Dangerous and awful, but hilarious.

An officer was flagged down about a man trapped in a portable toilet near the Eastbank Esplanade at 8 a.m.
The Honey Bucket’s door was against the ground, so Portland Fire & Rescue personnel responded to lift it back up and free the man who was inside.
The 48-year-old homeless man was not injured, according to police, but he was covered in “fecal matter” and waste from the tank of the porta-potty.
An anonymous homeless person approached the crews at the scene and said the man had been in the porta-potty with his pants around his ankles, “pleasuring himself” as he held the door open.
The witness told officers that other homeless people in the area were tired of the man’s behavior, so they knocked over the porta-potty and ran away.

None of those people were found, and for whatever reason (probably the old I think he’s suffered enough for one day), the…um…victim? was not charged. Police were nice enough to find him some clean clothes, however.