An Ode to the Commode

By definition: 

Shitteau (shë-tõ) (noun) An elegant and clean place for taking a dump. Most often discovered by surprise. A shitteau can be identified by cleanliness, choice toilet paper, air freshener or candles and a nice array of reading materials.

If you find a shitteau, enjoy it, especially if you’re on the clock. There’s nothing better than getting paid to take a shit. And now you have a word to describe the sanctuary you’ve defiled. 

New Official Beer Glove T-Shirt Idea

Drunk isn't always bad. 

Bad always isn't drunk. 

Cougar Sighting

There's nothing better than enjoying a holiday weekend  - with friends - at a winery - celebrating a marriage - drinking cheap wine - eating salt & vinegar chips - watching 5 late 30-somethings tear up the dance floor in their new designer jeans. I love designer jeans as much as the next guy, but I think I love fake boobs more - not all the time - just when I'm a spectator. 

If only Mieka's phone was like an HD video camera. But I'm sure that footage is out there somewhere because there was a creepy guy with a video camera standing at the edge of the dance floor recording the entire spectacle. Unfortunately, we didn't get a picture of him. It would've really completed the recap. 

TVI Recap

Hopefully this one isn't muted. 

Thanks a bunch, YouTube. 

I'm Pissed at Flight of the Conchords

So we went and saw Flight of the Conchords at the Fox in St. Louis. Good show. Funny banter. Funny songs. Hard to follow some of their banter. They mumble a lot. Overall a good experience. I laughed on several occasions. 

Here's why I'm upset: so I've seen a lot of their concert posters from shows in other cities from some artists I totally dig. I was hoping to hit the jackpot and find a sweet print at the show in STL. Now, I'm not saying it's not cool, it's just not as cool as some of the other stuff that's out there. I still bought one. I'm just not completely thrilled about it. Kinda the same way I was disappointed in the DMB poster that was sold at the first outdoor concert in the new Busch Stadium - totally sucked. But at least it had the arch in it (that's sarcasm).

Above are some of the FOTC posters I've had an eye on. Guess witch one they sold in STL? (which/witch ... in roller skates)

I Kill the Bus Driver

Sweet print by Ryan Milner. Just picked it up for $25.

Angry Ninja Pizza Slice

I will cut through your colon like a runaway pepperoni freight train.

The Most Sexual Concept I've Written This Week

Network Prophylactic, aka. The Digital Jimmy
In a world where getting down to business can happen at a moment’s notice, you don’t want to be whoring your information out to any Tom, Dick or Harry who wants to jump into your server bed.

Protection is essential to keep your server safe, secure and clean. You can’t wish away an accident the day after it happens. So be prepared and be smart. Now you can prevent data leakage without giving up the sensitivity. Make sure you always have a digital jimmy.

I Forgot I Had a Blog

More, new random thoughts to come. And yes, I will be posting the work I've been doing on the Taco Bell DDT Melt.

Best Fucking Dessert Ever!!!

If I could get my dentist to pull all of my teeth and put little bitty pieces of this dessert in my mouth where teeth would be so I could chew on this delight all day long, I would pay him $1million. Words will not do this super-calorie contraption justice. They call it a White Chocolate Turtle Brownie (or something like that). Imagine a hot sugar cookie with white chocolate chips in it, topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, and drizzled in caramel. It's making me hungry just thinking about it.

The server said we couldn't have the recipe because some old lady comes in everyday and makes them. He doesn't even know how it's made. I call him a liar. Anyone who works in that restaurant is out of their flipping minds if they can't see the goldmine right under their noses. All they need to do is capture the info. How hard is it to torture an old woman anyway? I could break her will (and maybe a hip) in seconds....not that I'd do that for a dessert recipe. Or would I?

If you're ever in the neighborhood of South St. Louis City, visit Sydney Street Cafe. The food and service are phenominal, but this dessert takes the whole experience over the top.

Here are some ways I'd describe it: Chocolate A-Bomb (even though there's no true chocolate in it, but the taste hits like Hiroshima). The Super Crunch (well.... it's not really crunchy, but with the speed at which I chew when it's in my mouth to squish out every last bit of flavor, I've gotta imagine something sounds like it's crunching).

If I could bathe in it, I'd use a spoon as a loofa. If I could ride it, I'd take the scenic route everywhere and never roll a stop again. If I could work for it, I'd joyfully wake up at 5am every morning and put in 20 hour days (hey, a man's gotta get his beauty rest). If I could reproduce with it, I'd keep it barefoot and pregnant because I'd always be balls deep in its caramelly icecream mounds.

The joy I have found in this dessert is like nothing else in my life. Not the joy of nailing a trifecta with three long shots. Not the love of my fiance. Not the sweet release of a 17-beer piss. Nothing. This is the best fucking dessert ever. And I urge you all to forget you've ever heard about it. I want it all for myself.