American(!) Bathrooms of America(!)

Throughout my short life, I've made quite a few mistakes.  And judging by the timing of the publishing of this post, I'm assuming that you, the reader, think this will eventually lead to some New year's resolution.

Well, I'll break it down for you right away.

New Year's Resolutions number one:  Avoid Gas Station bathrooms like the plagues you could get from sitting on those dirty toilet seats.

What?  Another post dedicated to the fine (kinda not really) art of toilet jokes?  Wasn't this once a classy blog?

If you just asked that, I think you should really reconsider what "classy" means.

If you managed to make it past that horrible introduction, I'm sure you can get the basic jist of my post this time.  If you have yet to, well I'm going to anyway!  Don't you feel special?

The correct answer is yes.

'Twas the Night Before Christmas [Revised]

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through my home
Every Creature was stirring, down to the dogs and their bones
Stockings weren't hung by the chimney with care
(We had no chimney, so we made do with the stairs).

Dad sat at the Twittersphere, eyes all agleam
As visions of tweets danced all across his screen
My mom read a book and as I wrote a blog
My sister yelled at me that the toilet was clogged.

When up on the roof there arose such a clatter
I looked up from my plunging to see what was the matter
Away from the crapper I flew like a flash
I hit my knee on the doorway and got quite the gash.

Flashing lights from the roof cast an eerie red glow
On the dead brown grass and the distinct lack of snow.
(Come on, it's December!  What's up with this weather?
Jack Frost, you better get your act together!)

...And That is How I Know My Mother Loves Me

A couple days ago, my mom called me into the room where our family computer is stationed.  That's right.  We only have one computer in our entire house.

I have no laptop.

I am the 1%.

And I think that I'm using this joke in the wrong way.

And that, my friends, is how you kill a joke that was not even remotely funny in the first place.

My Love-Hate Relationship with Farting Basset Hounds

The following comic features me, my Mother, and my Basset Hound from Wisconsin.  His name (quite fittingly) is Cheese.

This happens a lot more than you'd think.

It's Not Just One Big Poop Joke, I Swear

Before I begin this, let me reassure you of a couple things.

1. This post may be dedicated to a failed attempt of a bathroom, but I will do my duty (teehee) to refrain from using too many poop jokes.
2. I could swear on my family's old dead dog's cremated remains that this account is true in the fullest.
3. I probably lied about point number one.

So let's get started here.

See, I'm on my school's speech team (AKA Forensics, and not the sweet crime kind playing The Who during their introductions), and for a good chunk of my winter, I wake up early every Saturday morning, put on a fancy business suit, and proceed to act my ass off in order to win trophies to make me feel a lot better about myself.

Yes.  I said early Saturday mornings.  And I'm a morning person, so it really is early.

I'm talking 5:30 AM.  Every week.

I never said it was sane.