Seven 9s and 10s

Showing 48 posts tagged poop

Frontiers in Zoology | Abstract | Dogs are sensitive to small variations of the Earth's magnetic field

dddealz:

Results: Dogs preferred to excrete with the body being aligned along the North-south axis under calm MF conditions.

In case you ever wondered if there’s scientific reason behind a dog’s pooping stance preference.

Now I wish my toilet could freely rotate around its vertical axis. Damn.

(via dddealz-deactivated20140321)

trelvix:


Don’t Walk
“Here’s something,” he says. “What if you were crazy into geo-location and dog poop?”
They’d just avoided stepping in a pretty respectable heap-o-turd as far as city poop goes. They’ll walk home well after dark and who wants to track city poop all up in their digs? 
He don’t.
“Get the coordinates on that dog mud,” he’d told her. “It’ll behoove us to steer clear of the miasma on the way home lest we track city poop all up in our digs and who wants to do that? I don’t.”
“I give up,” she replies, reluctantly and with the sort of “Shut up, please,” sigh that most guys wouldn’t miss in a Typhoon.
“Maybe start a blog.” He’s thinking aloud.
“You would want to roll it out in iterations. You could start with simple GPS coordinates of city poops; maybe add some pictures and time-lapse video,” he says, just throwing it out there.”
“Eventually you could take it social.”
“Like comments?” she asks. “Because I have a comment…”
Comments aren’t social. Shut up.
“No,” he tells her. “Let’s say you find a series of turds that bear uncanny resemblances to Civil War battlefields. You could ask your followers to vote on which battle they would most like to see recreated on mountains of dog-butt rope and then whenever a winner floats to the top you paint faces and uniforms on a bunch of wee army men and you just blow that shit up. You could play patriotic music or have various stuffed Abraham Lincolns observing from unusually austere chairs. Pat Robertson could voice-over the whole thing. He’s available. It would be fucking wicked. Ken Burns level.
“But with army men climbing piles of dog poo on Madison Avenue and you making war sounds with your mouth?” she asks.
Okay. It sounds crazy when she says it. But then most things do.
“Exactly,” he tells her. “Could you note the idea and remind me to explore it further after this evening’s events?”
“Certainly,” she agrees. “Idiot.”
——-
Trelvix Safari: #318. Idiot Dialogues.
NYC
{…via trelvix-à-go-go - blurry bits of my life through phone pictures… }



I’d had this draft saved for months. It was one of the countless posts that he deleted shortly after posting it.
I’ve never been a big fan of reading. The best compliment I think I can give to his memory is that I always looked forward to reading his words.

trelvix:

Don’t Walk

“Here’s something,” he says. “What if you were crazy into geo-location and dog poop?”

They’d just avoided stepping in a pretty respectable heap-o-turd as far as city poop goes. They’ll walk home well after dark and who wants to track city poop all up in their digs? 

He don’t.

“Get the coordinates on that dog mud,” he’d told her. “It’ll behoove us to steer clear of the miasma on the way home lest we track city poop all up in our digs and who wants to do that? I don’t.”

“I give up,” she replies, reluctantly and with the sort of “Shut up, please,” sigh that most guys wouldn’t miss in a Typhoon.

“Maybe start a blog.” He’s thinking aloud.

“You would want to roll it out in iterations. You could start with simple GPS coordinates of city poops; maybe add some pictures and time-lapse video,” he says, just throwing it out there.”

“Eventually you could take it social.”

“Like comments?” she asks. “Because I have a comment…”

Comments aren’t social. Shut up.

“No,” he tells her. “Let’s say you find a series of turds that bear uncanny resemblances to Civil War battlefields. You could ask your followers to vote on which battle they would most like to see recreated on mountains of dog-butt rope and then whenever a winner floats to the top you paint faces and uniforms on a bunch of wee army men and you just blow that shit up. You could play patriotic music or have various stuffed Abraham Lincolns observing from unusually austere chairs. Pat Robertson could voice-over the whole thing. He’s available. It would be fucking wicked. Ken Burns level.

“But with army men climbing piles of dog poo on Madison Avenue and you making war sounds with your mouth?” she asks.

Okay. It sounds crazy when she says it. But then most things do.

“Exactly,” he tells her. “Could you note the idea and remind me to explore it further after this evening’s events?”

“Certainly,” she agrees. “Idiot.”

——-

Trelvix Safari: #318. Idiot Dialogues.

NYC

{…via trelvix-à-go-go - blurry bits of my life through phone pictures… }

I’d had this draft saved for months. It was one of the countless posts that he deleted shortly after posting it.

I’ve never been a big fan of reading. The best compliment I think I can give to his memory is that I always looked forward to reading his words.

(via trelvix-deactivated20140814)

I am only just a girl from Iowa with a nursing degree, but I’ll describe this to the best of my ability.

monkeyfrog:

The UPS truck came up our lane. It had to go slowly, because we still don’t have gravel and there are a few muddy waterholes. 

Chuckie heard the tell tale engine sound and woke from a sound chair nap. He began barking and leapt into action, running from the living room to the back door like a fucking nut job as he is wont to do.

Chuck woke Duffy up, and Duff began the reflex second dog bark. He also jumped down and looked a little dazed while barking intermittently.

The Big Brown truck pulled up and backed in toward the garage so he could pull straight out to leave. They don’t usually do this, but whatever. 

By now Chuckie is flinging his body at the door and running back into the living room by turn, of course still barking his head off.

The delivery man had a huuuge box, maybe 4’x2’. He kind of walk/ran up onto the deck at which time Chuckie’s frenzy reached a whole new level. As he barked and flung himself against the back door,

A LONE POOP SHOT OUT OF HIS BUTT

and onto the kitchen floor. 

Duffy and I looked at each other. Duff was all like, “Uh oh. IT WASN’T ME.” 

Chuckie just kept flinging.

The end.

Perfect.

High-res GPOYW
Laughing is pretty awesome. Recently I’ve started to dedicate time each and every day to make sure I read, watch, listen to, or participate in something that makes me laugh.
Tonight I was encouraged to make up a song about why I think dogs are so funny while they’re pooping. When I asked what the dog should be named, “Poop Queer” was shouted out… and his doggie-girlfriend was named “Sparkles.” She earned that name because she ate glitter for breakfast. The rest of the song just kind of wrote itself.

GPOYW

Laughing is pretty awesome. Recently I’ve started to dedicate time each and every day to make sure I read, watch, listen to, or participate in something that makes me laugh.

Tonight I was encouraged to make up a song about why I think dogs are so funny while they’re pooping. When I asked what the dog should be named, “Poop Queer” was shouted out… and his doggie-girlfriend was named “Sparkles.” She earned that name because she ate glitter for breakfast. The rest of the song just kind of wrote itself.

With all the political posts today, let me direct you to a really serious topic: MOVIE TITLES THAT CAN DOUBLE AS MOVIES ABOUT POOPING:

tj:

aimee-b-loved:

beefranck:

robthebankeriii:

thejohnblog:

Eyes Wide Shut

The Blues Brothers

The Green Mile

How To Train Your Dragon.

(your turn)

The Big Lebowski
Scream
Like Water for Chocolate

I WAS GONNA SAY SCREAM TOO!!!! 

*sibling high five*

Children of the Corn.

Honey I Shrunk The Kids

(BTW I think “Children of the Corn” wins)

Pi

(via tj)

Truthful Tuesday

People with good eyesight: you will never experience the indescribable terror of bending over to pull up your pants in the bathroom and then suddenly feeling your glasses sliding off your head.

People with bad eyesight who wear glasses with straight temples that don’t curve down behind the ears are probably the same kind of people who like to go BASE jumping and eat deep-fried insects and step on all of the sidewalk cracks.

Letting Pooping Dogs Poop.

btothed:

I will never not find a pooping dog funny.

Pooping dogs always have that look. That look of knowing. Knowing that what they’re doing looks awkward. And frustrated that while we get to go barricade ourselves in a room somewhere while we vacate our bowels, dogs instead are paraded around in the open and forced to do their business in front of a public’s very watchful eye.

I’ve never not seen that look in their eyes.

The rumpled eyebrows that are equal parts grunting-induced and “really? You’re just gonna stand and choose this very moment to lock eyes with me?”

A pooping dog looks like a muscle-headed body builder in the middle of a flex during a competition, hunched over and contorted in an unnatural pose while grunting.

Like baseball players, pooping dogs have difference stances.

Some will just stand in the batters box, get it done, and walk away trying to forget what they just were relegated to doing. Others do what I like to call Shit Walker, Texas Ranger [for those of you who are Chuck Norris fans]. These dogs look like they’re done going, but then begin walking around the lawn and finishing their business still half-humped over and half-walking. Then, of course, you have the dogs that finish going and let you know they are done - by doing their impression of a bull. They finish, move forward a step or two, and then violently kick their back feet a few times to kick up grass partially to cover their dookie, but mostly, to show their owners who is boss.

Eight or eighty years old, it won’t matter.

I’ll still laugh at a pooping dog.

Ask anyone who knows me and they will tell you how often I talk about dogs pooping. Bruce hit the bullseye with this post.

The look in their eyes, man.

The. Look. In. Their. Eyes.

Dude, you sat next to ME in your couch for four days. And we went to Wegmans, TOGETHER. And I pooped, in YOUR toilet. I don’t see how this Albino dude could top that.

Asked by guillee

This is months old and I don’t even remember what this response was for (something about Steve Albini), but “And I pooped, in YOUR toilet" is a good point and I’m pretty sure it’s some sort of social contract that I’m obligated to fulfill.

High-res A panoramic image of my favorite restroom in the school district at which I work.
Single-user.
Locking door.
Ample space (for napping or exercising).
Abundant lighting (great for analysis).
Wall handles for those difficult moments.
Multiple power outlets that allow my electronics to charge while I poop. Also handy for days when I need to set up a workspace outside my office.
A personal fire alarm so I’ll never have to worry about dying on the toilet while the burning building collapses around me.
A child-height mirror that prevents me from seeing my face.
A little desk on which I can place my stuff and/or enjoy a quiet lunch.
A little chair where people can sit and watch me.
An exterior door located directly outside, allowing for a swift and anonymous escape.

A panoramic image of my favorite restroom in the school district at which I work.

  • Single-user.
  • Locking door.
  • Ample space (for napping or exercising).
  • Abundant lighting (great for analysis).
  • Wall handles for those difficult moments.
  • Multiple power outlets that allow my electronics to charge while I poop. Also handy for days when I need to set up a workspace outside my office.
  • A personal fire alarm so I’ll never have to worry about dying on the toilet while the burning building collapses around me.
  • A child-height mirror that prevents me from seeing my face.
  • A little desk on which I can place my stuff and/or enjoy a quiet lunch.
  • A little chair where people can sit and watch me.
  • An exterior door located directly outside, allowing for a swift and anonymous escape.