No Fat Jokes

I don’t make fun of fat people for a number of reasons.  Principle among those reasons is that fat people are bigger than I am.  They can squish me.  If the world were truly a Darwinian playground, fat people would rule us all.  We would most fear fat people wearing big shoes because they could step on us.  The fattest fatties with the biggest feet would be our kings and queens.

Instead, we treat fat people like shit.  We call fat people “obese,” which is not so bad because “obese” is just a word that means “fat.”  But we call the fattest fatties “morbidly obese.”  Is that very nice?  I mean, look up the word “morbid” on dictionary.com.  That is just plain old disrespectful.  We don’t have a nasty-assed name like that for any other group.  For instance, you don’t hear people calling old folks “cadaverously old” or “lifelessly geriatric” or anything, and that is an accurate description of somebody whose social security number is in fucking roman numerals.  Meanwhile, we could kick old people’s asses!  I mean, the skinniest person could step on any human fossil and squish it.  And let’s face it: we all look at grandma every now and then and wonder whether she is good for anything at all, and follow that up by briefly musing about whether she contains any nutrients we could use.  But we treat her nice anyway and smile as she tells us about how, when she was just a girl, she ate nothing but broken glass for an entire winter and wore red potato peels in her hair just to be fashionable.  Yeah, right, granny.  Still, we don’t even accurately call old people “delusionally old” or anything.  But it’s okay to call fat people “morbidly obese?”

We should respect fat people.  They are bigger than we are!  They could squish us!  And, if we keep disrespecting them, they will squish us.  Listen, we have all heard news about people so fat that they can’t fit through their front doors to leave their homes, and that may be all that saves us from their wrath. 

When you think about it, it’s got to suck to be so fat that you can’t leave your home.  And there must be some particular day when that happens.  Like, you get dressed to meet some friends to go see a movie, and then you get to the front door and you just can’t fit through it.  You can’t get outside.  So, you call your friends and you have to tell them. 

That has just got to hurt, and there must be some anger behind that.  Even worse, imagine if you go out to have a disgustingly colossal dinner befitting a behemoth such as yourself and, when you get home, that’s when you can’t fit through your front door!  You’re just stuck out there on your front lawn wondering whether the lawn gnome tastes good.  Think about that the next time you presume that fat people don’t want to squish your skinny ass.

And what if all the fattiest fatsos got together tomorrow?  I don’t mean got together in the same place, because where would they all fit?  But I mean, what if they started their own social networking site, FatSpace or WhaleBook or something?  What if they all decided that they were going to squish us?  What could we do?

Very fat people are like superheroes.  They can absorb bullets.  They can flatten cars.  Yeah, they’re not so fast, but what does that get us?  Even if we could catch them and somehow wrestle them to the ground, handcuffs won’t fit on their bulging wrists.  And what jail cell could hold them?  Already, we let fat people out of prison because they are too fat for us to hold them.  Hey, this woman got house arrest — because she was too fat to leave her house anyway — after she killed a two-year-old, probably to make a sandwich!

So, don’t fuck with the fatsos.  They are not even the minority anymore.  I suggest that, before they organize the Million Pound March, we start to show fatsos the respect they deserve.  For instance, instead of calling them “morbidly obese,” why not “godlike obese?”  And maybe we should all follow Eddie Murphy’s and Tyler Perry’s lead, spending half of our lives in fat suits and making believe it is inexplicably funny.  Hey, Tyra Banks wore a fat suit for one day and she cried so much that genuine fatties in the audience of her show who wore a flesh-and-bones fat suit 365 fucking days a year consoled her.  Poor, skinny supermodel Tyra!

By “don’t fuck with the fatsos,” I don’t mean “don’t fuck the fatsos.”  There are a lot of dudes out there who are into fat chicks and vice versa.  More power to you!  There used to be a myth that all fat people were as happy and jolly as Santa Claus getting a Christmas blowjob, and that has been replaced with a myth that all fat people are depressed and lonely.  I suspect that, just like other people, fat people might just experience a full range of emotions.  In fact, fat people probably experience emotions more intensely than the rest of us, if you count hunger as an emotion.  Whether that’s true or not, to whatever extent we can, we should strive to keep fatties happy and satisfied so they don’t decide to squish us.  So, please, fuck fat people.  Fuck away.

Like many other people, I used to have a bias against fat people, with the slightly fat drawing less derision from me than the very fattiest fatsos.  I thought that making fun of fat people was okay.  Now I realize that this was nothing more than prejudice.  I don’t make fun of them anymore.  Yes, it’s true that every one of us knows a fatty we can track walking down the street by looking at satellite images on Google Maps.  Just don’t bring it up to them anymore.  And, yeah, we all know some fatsos who call restaurants and, instead of requesting reservations, get competitive bids.  Fine.  Just keep it to yourself.

I know that it sucks that we can hardly make jokes about anybody anymore.  The sense-of-humor deficit seems to be growing and growing.  Well, that’s a fact, and your jokes had better reflect it.  We can celebrate our differences as long as that celebration is somber rather than funny, or as long as we are celebrating our differences from able-bodied, very normal white dudes.  All I can say is that you had better realize this, too.  Otherwise, you might just get squished. 

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Political Comic

Lest you think that all stoogepie does is watch porn and eat cake, here is my first (and likely my last) political cartoon.

In case you don’t recognize them, one of the three senators depicted will be the next president of the United States unless a snowball’s-chance-in-hell third-party candidate wins.  Or unless, far more likely, martial law is imposed and elections are put off until there is even more peace on earth and good will toward men than we already have right now.

There.  I have earned some credibility.  Stay tuned for more porn and cake (unless I think of something really fucking hilarious to say about the subprime mortgage crisis).

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More Assholes, Please

I read a wonderful news story the other day about a woman who went into a hospital in Germany for leg surgery and was unwittingly given a new anus.  That would be her second asshole.  The woman plans to sue the hospital.  Now, this mistake has been widely covered in the news and on the internet, but as far as I have been able to discern, nobody feels the way I do about this.

This woman now has two assholes!  Why the fuck is she suing the hospital?  Because she is now worth a goddamn fortune to the porn industry?  Because she is a surgically enhanced wonder woman?

As I understand it, only one of her assholes is used for shitting.  The other one is free for fucking all the time.  And, hell, both of her assholes can be used for fucking!  While admittedly it would be a challenge to choreograph, she can do quadruple penetration!  She is a walking goldmine!  I’m sure she has gotten many offers already, from the porn industry as well as imaginative individuals.

What I propose for all of you is that we work together to try to make this whole getting-an-extra-asshole thing more popular.  You know, only a few decades ago, no women shaved their cunts.  Few women in the western world got tattoos.  Even fewer had their eyebrows or their tongues or their nipples pierced.  Today, you can’t go fishing without snagging your line in the clit ring of somebody standing behind you.

And assholes really are the next big thing in terms of body augmentation.  Anal bleaching is all the rage in asshole technology.  Who wants your asshole to look all brown and crinkly?  You want your asshole to look pink and youthful and invitingly fuckable.

If a woman wants for her one asshole to look pink and beautiful, why wouldn’t she want two pink and beautiful assholes?  One would be brand new!  And two are always better than one.  It’s also practical.  After all, only one of those assholes would be used for shitting.  The other asshole would always be ready for lubing up and fucking.  This would eliminate that whole shit-on-your-dick problem that sometimes accompanies anal sex.  It also might convince normal women (with two assholes, I mean) that ass-to-mouth is a bit more palatable.

Porn stars should start this trend because they have the most to gain, and they really are the pioneers in sexual body modification.  I mean, porn stars were the first to shave their cunts.  If you watch old porn from, say, the seventies, all the women have hairy bushes.  But, by the eighties, porn stars were shaving and sculpting their pubes, setting the stage for a revolution in female pubic hair.  And let’s face it: bald cunts are just better than hairy ones.  Thank god for porn!

Porn stars should pave the way here, too.  In fact, porn stars have every reason to take this trend to a whole new level.  After all, one asshole is fine but two assholes are way better and more profitable.  It only stands to reason that three fuckable assholes are even better still.  And I don’t see any reason that these new assholes need to be placed in the region where nature places assholes, especially if they are just for fucking.  Why not put fuck-ready assholes on other parts of the body?

For my money, the place that would be most sexually arousing for a brand new asshole would be the back of the head.  Yes, this would require drilling through the skull to make a fleshy area for the new asshole.  But, after the drilling is done, I don’t even think you would need to remove any brain matter or anything.  I’m no doctor, but if you look at the brain, it looks like it’s split just perfectly for fucking and it also looks all wet and inviting.  In fact, it looks a whole lot like an ass!  Of course, even if the brain can accommodate normal cocks easily, in porn the dudes have massive cocks.  So it’s possible that when your brain is getting fucked by one of those colossal pricks, you might feel some sinus pressure and maybe your eyes would bulge a little, but I bet there would be no permanent damage and it would be so fucking intensely hot!  Seriously, imagine a hot porn star giving head to one dude while another does the back of her skull.  I would pay damn good money to see that!  Real skull fucking!

Of course, porn stars could also get new assholes in other parts of their bodies as well.  In the porn business, I figure each asshole is value added.  So, replacing your belly button with an asshole might be a good idea, for instance.  But it also seems that there would be a point of diminishing return.

It works just like other body augmentation.  I mean, you’ve undoubtedly seen women in titty mags with freakish, mammoth, cow-sized fake tits that hang like swollen condoms from their chests.  And you’ve seen at least one chick outside of a nightclub with twelve piercings in each ear and a bar through her nose surrounded by loops through her nostrils, and with six or seven loops lined up on her eyebrows, and maybe a lip piercing or two as well.  After you get a certain number of piercings, it starts to look like they actually serve a purpose: like if you took all that metal off your face, your face would just fall right off and flap around in the wind like that plastic bag in American Beauty.  Do you see the problem of diminishing returns?

The same is true of extra assholes.  One or two extra assholes is great, but ten is just bizarre.  That’s too many assholes.  For your reference, I have made a handy chart.

Keep in mind that location is everything.  Like I said, an asshole on the back of the head would be a beautiful thing.  But if, for instance, you drill your kneecap open and put an asshole on your knee, that isn’t much good for anything unless you have one of those dogs that likes to hump.  Location, location, location.

So, if you’re a porn star and would like to talk to me about this or anything else in the world, email me.  Or just go get those extra assholes.  It’s like money in the bank.  If you’re not a porn star, why not consider getting an extra asshole or two for your husband’s or boyfriend’s birthday?  Trust me, he’ll love it and so will you.

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Mister Shorts Number 2

Here is another Mister Shorts comic.

That crazy Mr. Shorts!

What will Mister Shorts do next?

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Bad Ideas Number 1

This is not one of those touchy-feely blogs where I write about me and what I eat and that funny thing my cat does.  But sometimes I can’t help but write about me.  When I do write about myself, you can pretty much expect for it to be a lot like this blog entry.

This morning I took one of those shits that really, really smelled bad.  It smelled like a homeless person had crawled up my ass in the middle of the night, vomited a couple of times, then died and started to rot.  A French homeless person!  And it had the consistency of play-doh.  You know, one of those shits where you feel so like you’re squeezing a tube of toothpaste that you try to bend your neck a lot to get the last bit out of your ass.

I am somewhat comforted by the fact that many men take bad, stinky shits every now and then.  I know because I go to public restrooms on occasion.  And public men’s rooms stink.  This morning, my bad crap was in my own bathroom.  But more than once, I have been forced to take bad shits in public restrooms.  I apologize to you all.

What I don’t understand are the guys who have no problem using public toilets just like they are at home.  They grunt and fart and moan as they take the smelliest crap ever, and then when they have finished and stand at the sink next to you, they say something to themselves like, “But, damn, that was a good burrito.”  I used to work in an office with a guy who brought the newspaper with him every morning.  Then, sometime after lunch, he would grab his newspaper and head for the toilet.  It was shittin’ time!  As he headed down the hall, New York Post under his arm, every man in the office would take note of the time.  We all knew to avoid the bathroom for at least a half-hour, but preferably for an hour.  I don’t know what Mr. Shittin’ Time ate, but he regularly took shits that smelled like the fucking morgue.  The Paris morgue!

I, for one, do not like taking shits in public restrooms.  It’s just not my thing.  But when I do have to shit in public, I try to make it quick and quiet and I prefer that nobody else is in the restroom.  And I do not use one of those paper seat covers.  First of all, they add precious time.  If I am alone, I have to hurry before someone walks in.  Second, do you really think those paper things do anything?  Let’s get this clear: it is next to impossible to get herpes from a dry toilet seat.  And, if you are plopping your ass onto wet toilet seats, do you think a piece of tissue paper will save you?  (I’m sorry, but this dude who talks about how he got herpes from a toilet seat forgot to mention the sound ass-fucking he got right before he used the toilet, and now he needs to spread and perpetuate his fucking lie so that his wife believes his bullshit.  Those are the people who get herpes from toilet seats.)  Must I disabuse you of all your myths?  Even if you’re afraid of herpes because you don’t consider stoogepie’s well-researched medical advice trustworthy, your little flimsy tissue seat cover will not save you.  Here is why: splash-back.

Every now and then, when you take a dump, the turd falls from your sphincter with a delightful confirmatory splash only to send water from the toilet bowl shooting right into your exposed asshole.  And then, toilet seat cover or not, you are left wondering what dreaded species of gonorrhea or flesh-eating virus has just begun to multiply up your ass.  At those moments, herpes doesn’t seem so bad.  Toilets don’t need seat covers.  Toilets need splashguards.  Splash-back scares even me.

If I did use toilet seat covers, I would only use these awesome Dora the Explorer toilet seat covers by Neat Solutions.  Not only do they have a plastic barrier on the bottom, they also have adhesive tabs to keep them in place.  Best of all, you get to sit on Dora’s face while you take a dump!  Explore this, Dora!  ¡Explore esto, Dora!  Splash!

Dora still can’t protect you from splash-back. 

What I really love about Dora, though, is that she encourages kids to use toilet seat covers.  I’m betting that adults have generally clean asses and thighs.  But kids are walking germ factories!  They touch everything and put their mouths on everything, and they do this after they crawl around on the floor, stick their fingers up their assholes, and lick and taste everything.  (By the way, if you are of legal age in your particular jurisdiction and this description fits you even remotely, please email me.)  This is perfectly healthy for kids.  In fact, according to Science Daily, all those germs may be good for kids because children are an entirely separate and superior species.  But it’s great that kids use toilet seat covers because we adults need protection from them.  So, I’m glad that Dora is there for us.  She’s got our asses covered.  ¡Explore esto, Dora!  Splash!

But, as long as kids use Dora, I will keep not using toilet seat covers.  I mean, if I were worried about germs, I might use toilet seat covers in my own bathroom.  I have lived in my apartment for several years and have had many guests, and I don’t think I have ever cleaned the toilet bowl seat.  Or the bathroom.

Anyway, I did not intend to write this much shit about shit.  This post was supposed to be about my bad ideas.  But my bad ideas have to do with shit.

See, I did not explain the background before.  The day before yesterday, I bought a $7 steak for dinner.  In New York City, in Manhattan, I bought an entire steak with steak fries and a shitty salad for $7!  I was proud of myself.  So, anyway, I ate half the steak, then I went to bed.  When I woke up yesterday morning, I took a normally stinky shit.  Not abnormally stinky.  Everything was fine.  But I also realized that I had left the steak sitting on my coffee table overnight.  I had forgotten to put it in the fridge.  So, I did what most people would do.  I carefully closed the container the steak had come in (which I had eaten out of — why waste a dish?) and threw it in the trash.

Then yesterday, while I was at work, instead of my usual daydreaming and work avoidance, I found myself thinking about the steak.  Why had I thrown it out?  I mean, it was only exposed to the living room elements for a few hours.  I probably could have thrown it in the fridge and eaten the rest of it for dinner.  That would have saved me from having to buy dinner that night.  And, slowly, this thinking turned into wondering whether, since I was by then convinced that the steak would have been fine in the morning having been left uncovered, it would be okay to fish the leftovers out of the garbage and eat them without refrigeration.  After all, the leftovers were covered.  And besides, I would microwave the steak before eating it, and microwaving kills germs, right?  And, although it was impressive enough that I could get dinner for one night for $7, how fucking awesome is it that I could eat for two nights for only $7?

After a full day of thinking this while pretending to be a hard worker and a good noodle, I went home and fished the $7 steak out of the garbage, nuked it for a while, then ate it.  What came out of me the next morning was the putrefied shit about which I have already written at length.

So, bad idea number one was pulling the $7 steak out of the garbage and eating it.  A rule, for those of you into such things, is that it is a wonderful thing to find a $7 steak that is palatable and does not make you sick.  It is another thing entirely to fish half of a $7 steak out of the garbage and eat it.

That was lesson number one.

Now, as you can see, I believed that there was a connection between what I had eaten the day before and how my shit smelled.  This connection may seem obvious to you.  If so, good for you.  I had to look it up on the internet because I have an inquisitive mind.  If I eat a t-bone, why wouldn’t my shit smell like steak, maybe with some bacon and a baked potato on the side?  So I googled it to see whether, in fact, there were certain foods you ate that made your shit stink.  The google search contained the words, “shit,” “stink,” and “eat.”

It’s that last word, I now realize, that got me into trouble.

In case you have not already figured it out, I do not have any filters on my computer.  If I did, I would not be able to surf the web for porn.  You don’t have any filters on your computer either, or you probably would never have made it to this website.

I also want to say, for the record, that I am all about fetishes.  Fetishes are just fine with me.  I have tried some fetishes and they are good.  For instance, BDSM?  Good!  Rough sex is better than Hello Kitty sex any day.  In fact, often when I masturbate, just to keep things interesting, I punch myself in the face a few times.

But, people, there is no way that shit tastes good.  There.  I said it.  Shit cannot taste good.  Notice that I did not say, “Shit does not taste good.”  I did not say that because I have never, in fact, tasted shit.  I never intend to eat shit.  Shit-eating is not on my bucket list.  But, come on.  I can state some things without having tried them personally.  For instance, being scalped does not feel good.  Having your testicles bitten off by a weasel does not make you feel happy.  Oprah’s feet stink.  And shit cannot taste good.

Lesson number two: never, ever follow a bunch of links that are about eating and shit.  All shit stinks, so that was a throwaway search term.

Folks, please stop eating shit.  If you are not going to stop eating shit, then have the self-respect not to post pictures of yourself eating shit on the internet.  I mean, fucking is fine and is perfectly normal behavior.  You need not be ashamed of posting pictures of yourself fucking on the internet.  Nor should you be ashamed of any of the fucking spin-offs in which you engage: blowjobs, ass-fucking, DP, girl-girl action, you wearing pig tails in your hair and up your ass, baby Jesus buttplugs, whatever.  Post away!  I am happy to see your pictures.

But you shit-eaters need to stop.  This is not the first time that I have come upon your nasty shit-eating in my innocent searches for porn and other knowledge.  I often have my porn with cake, and you ruin both for me.

That’s all I have to say about that.

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