Don't come to Montreal, we've got the GASTRO!!!
Cat, our morning guy brought up an interesting point the other day. He's a western kid, and he has never heard the term 'gastro' outside of Montreal. Gotta tell you I haven't either! Gross word, isn't it? GASTRO. I also hate it when restaurants advertise their meals as "gastronomic". It sounds NAST.
Anyway - this city is dealing with a big ol' epidemic of Norwalk virus. Basically, you get a fever, the pukes and the bum coffee for a few days. Tons of people at work have been taken down by this thing - and 20-some area hospitals have been trying to control the outbreak. Gah. Even writing about it makes me feel nauseous.
Anyway the outbreak is unusually widespread and the best way to protect yourself is to wash your hands and stop licking doorknobs--at least til we ride it out. Fight the good fight, citizens! And long for the day you can touch the homekeys with your tongue again.
Where's my bubble?
Showing posts with label Farts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Farts. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Another day, another poo post.
I just found something I wrote, like 4 years ago. I think I sent it to a friend of mine who was suffering the squirts and the barfs at the same time.
*****
Dear Valued Customer,
We here at Dewy Cheatum and Howe Insurance understand you have the shits. This is why we have taken this op-poo-tunity to inform you of a few changes to our insurance policies, specifically with reference to anal and oral leakage.
It is estimated that in 2002 alone, over 1/3 of claims filed were based on injuries (physical and emotional) sustained while experiencing some sort of gastric upset. Take, for instance, the case of Jim Thornton. A young man who caught a flu bug the night before a big job interview. In the interview, when asked what skills he could bring to the workplace - Jim promptly responded with a steaming pantload of diaper gravy. Needless to say, Jim didn't get the job. And he was left with a hefty cleaning bill for his soiled trousers.
Luckily -Jim didn't have to pay that bill. He had already compared insurance policies and found that only Dewy Cheatum and Howe Insurance offers the no-hassle "Shit My Pants in Public" Package - covering all cleaning expenses, therapist charges for emotional damage and a monthly severance*, payable until the day of re-employment.
Please take a moment to read our enclosed pamplet, detailing our other popular policies - geared to meet your specific needs. And don't forget when speaking with our phone representatives to ask about our special offers for first time clients. Ask for them by name:
The Hershey Squirt Guarantee
Poop and Puke Policy
Barf Burp Benefits
I Touched Cloth, Clause
During the cold and flu season, you have nothing to gain but peace of mind when it comes to making your excretions work for you. At Dewy Cheatum and Howe, our mandate is based on three simple points:
*Do we offer competitive quotes?
*Do we provide you and your family with the protection and security you need?
*Do we understand that a life with the runs is still worth running?
You best your ass.
Sincerely,
Dewy Cheatum and Howe, Inc.
*May be paid in rubles.
*****
Dear Valued Customer,
We here at Dewy Cheatum and Howe Insurance understand you have the shits. This is why we have taken this op-poo-tunity to inform you of a few changes to our insurance policies, specifically with reference to anal and oral leakage.
It is estimated that in 2002 alone, over 1/3 of claims filed were based on injuries (physical and emotional) sustained while experiencing some sort of gastric upset. Take, for instance, the case of Jim Thornton. A young man who caught a flu bug the night before a big job interview. In the interview, when asked what skills he could bring to the workplace - Jim promptly responded with a steaming pantload of diaper gravy. Needless to say, Jim didn't get the job. And he was left with a hefty cleaning bill for his soiled trousers.
Luckily -Jim didn't have to pay that bill. He had already compared insurance policies and found that only Dewy Cheatum and Howe Insurance offers the no-hassle "Shit My Pants in Public" Package - covering all cleaning expenses, therapist charges for emotional damage and a monthly severance*, payable until the day of re-employment.
Please take a moment to read our enclosed pamplet, detailing our other popular policies - geared to meet your specific needs. And don't forget when speaking with our phone representatives to ask about our special offers for first time clients. Ask for them by name:
The Hershey Squirt Guarantee
Poop and Puke Policy
Barf Burp Benefits
I Touched Cloth, Clause
During the cold and flu season, you have nothing to gain but peace of mind when it comes to making your excretions work for you. At Dewy Cheatum and Howe, our mandate is based on three simple points:
*Do we offer competitive quotes?
*Do we provide you and your family with the protection and security you need?
*Do we understand that a life with the runs is still worth running?
You best your ass.
Sincerely,
Dewy Cheatum and Howe, Inc.
*May be paid in rubles.
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Somebody's Baking Brownies!
A while ago, I was asked to contribute funny radio stories from my career for an upcoming book. I was jazzed. Unfortunately, I didn't make the cut. It could have been the fact that the story I submitted was about farts. Anyone who knows me just a little, knows that my sense of humour is nothing but base and immature...and yes, that encompasses farts. So - since I no longer have no tangible pages on which to share my tale, I will share it with you here and perhaps save this number for my own book someday (Pfft!).
And yes, in case you're wondering, the story you're about to read is 100 % true.
*******
Years back, I bought a radio colleague of mine a gag gift. It was an aerosol can labeled 'Fart Spray'. Designed to generate "imitation fart smell" and of course, subsequent hilarity. At the time, we both worked at the same radio station and decided we'd treat our officemates to an early-morning olfactory assault. My friend strolled casually through the building misting the Fart Spray through the halls.
We were both on the air at the time. Our studios were next to one another. Mine, with a large window facing the front reception area. I giggled to myself, imagining people laughingly throwing blame at one another and trying to peg the culprit who didn't have the decency to at least light a match. What happened instead, was something totally unexpected.
In moments, I saw people scrambling for the outside door. To say their reaction seemed extreme was an understatement. They couldn't get out fast enough! They were charging out of the building - every man for himself - clearly panicked. I saw people with their hands covering their mouths. A few pounded their fists on my window as they flew by, gesturing wildly for me to follow them out.
Turns out 'Fart Spray' bears a strikingly similar smell to that of sulphur. What we thought would be an innocent practical joke turned out to be a perceived gas leak. When I realized what was happening, I tried to communicate through the window that everything was okay, but naturally no one wants to stop and play charades when they're seconds away from being engulfed in an explosive fireball. So, I beelined for my friend's studio where he too had just clued in. Frantic, I told him we had to confess. But before he could open his mouth, our normally sweet and mild-mannered General Manager burst through the door.
The exact words of a man who I'd never heard swear before were, "Get the fuck out of the building, she's gonna blow!"
Now tell me - how can you stop to correct a man (no less your boss) when he has just run back into a ticking time bomb to save your life? The short answer is, you can't. We shut our mouths and allowed ourselves to be herded towards the exit.
That's when I heard sirens.
Three wailing fire trucks pulled up and uniformed firefighters in gas masks poured out. We stepped into the daylight, and as my eyes adjusted, I noticed people. Lots of people. Lining the street, clustered together, chattering excitedly. People in the middle of their tranquil summer workday had been evacuated from neighbouring offices. Finding myself now shoved into the melee, I knew confessing was no longer an option.
My friend faked concern near the front door, quizzing the firemen each time they came out of the building and secretly praying they wouldn't find the fart spray in his locker. I - on the other hand - stood clear of the police tape and willed myself to look innocent. From across the street I watched the firemen shaking their heads in confusion unable to locate the source of the 'gas leak'. I stood with some co-workers making small talk. One guy joked, "Somebody probably just farted". In my nervousness, I laughed harder than everyone else.
After nearly forty-five minutes, a visit from the local TV news and several sweeps through the building, the firefighters concluded that someone had put a stink-bomb in the air conditioning system because the smell was so evenly distributed through the building. Though they couldn't figure out why the fumes didn't make it into either studio.
Relieved, and with a story to tell over dinner, people dispersed and returned to their regularly-scheduled workday. And after almost an hour of silence, our radio stations were back on the air - doors and windows wide open to get some fresh air inside (though the noxious air lingered for a good day or so). My friend and I returned to our respective studios to finish our shifts, feeling a mixture of relief and guilt.
And the irrepressible urge to laugh our asses off.
And that's exactly what we did. After work - clear out of earshot - we laughed til we cried and til our stomachs hurt. We laughed at the absolute insanity of it all. It seemed unbelievable that a harmless practical joke could have gotten so out of hand. And just so we didn't question whether or not it had really happened, the next day, there was a blurb in the newspaper about the 'suspected gas leak' at our radio station.
And that is the single most surreal thing that has ever happened to me. In later years, the 'true' story leaked out to a few people who had been there that day. But by that point our General Manager ("get the fuck out of the building, she's gonna blow") had moved out of the city to work at a different station. Sometimes I think about tracking him down and telling him the truth. I know he'd have a good laugh. Then again, I'd hate to tarnish the memory of his heroics that day..knowing that I knew all along what was going on.
To this day, every time I hear dead air on the radio - I can't help but wonder what's going on behind the scenes. Technical glitch? Did the deejay fall asleep? Or is there a can of Fart Spray misting up a dose of pandemonium? Likely not. But I know from experience that stranger things have happened.
And yes, in case you're wondering, the story you're about to read is 100 % true.
*******
Years back, I bought a radio colleague of mine a gag gift. It was an aerosol can labeled 'Fart Spray'. Designed to generate "imitation fart smell" and of course, subsequent hilarity. At the time, we both worked at the same radio station and decided we'd treat our officemates to an early-morning olfactory assault. My friend strolled casually through the building misting the Fart Spray through the halls.
We were both on the air at the time. Our studios were next to one another. Mine, with a large window facing the front reception area. I giggled to myself, imagining people laughingly throwing blame at one another and trying to peg the culprit who didn't have the decency to at least light a match. What happened instead, was something totally unexpected.
In moments, I saw people scrambling for the outside door. To say their reaction seemed extreme was an understatement. They couldn't get out fast enough! They were charging out of the building - every man for himself - clearly panicked. I saw people with their hands covering their mouths. A few pounded their fists on my window as they flew by, gesturing wildly for me to follow them out.
Turns out 'Fart Spray' bears a strikingly similar smell to that of sulphur. What we thought would be an innocent practical joke turned out to be a perceived gas leak. When I realized what was happening, I tried to communicate through the window that everything was okay, but naturally no one wants to stop and play charades when they're seconds away from being engulfed in an explosive fireball. So, I beelined for my friend's studio where he too had just clued in. Frantic, I told him we had to confess. But before he could open his mouth, our normally sweet and mild-mannered General Manager burst through the door.
The exact words of a man who I'd never heard swear before were, "Get the fuck out of the building, she's gonna blow!"
Now tell me - how can you stop to correct a man (no less your boss) when he has just run back into a ticking time bomb to save your life? The short answer is, you can't. We shut our mouths and allowed ourselves to be herded towards the exit.
That's when I heard sirens.
Three wailing fire trucks pulled up and uniformed firefighters in gas masks poured out. We stepped into the daylight, and as my eyes adjusted, I noticed people. Lots of people. Lining the street, clustered together, chattering excitedly. People in the middle of their tranquil summer workday had been evacuated from neighbouring offices. Finding myself now shoved into the melee, I knew confessing was no longer an option.
My friend faked concern near the front door, quizzing the firemen each time they came out of the building and secretly praying they wouldn't find the fart spray in his locker. I - on the other hand - stood clear of the police tape and willed myself to look innocent. From across the street I watched the firemen shaking their heads in confusion unable to locate the source of the 'gas leak'. I stood with some co-workers making small talk. One guy joked, "Somebody probably just farted". In my nervousness, I laughed harder than everyone else.
After nearly forty-five minutes, a visit from the local TV news and several sweeps through the building, the firefighters concluded that someone had put a stink-bomb in the air conditioning system because the smell was so evenly distributed through the building. Though they couldn't figure out why the fumes didn't make it into either studio.
Relieved, and with a story to tell over dinner, people dispersed and returned to their regularly-scheduled workday. And after almost an hour of silence, our radio stations were back on the air - doors and windows wide open to get some fresh air inside (though the noxious air lingered for a good day or so). My friend and I returned to our respective studios to finish our shifts, feeling a mixture of relief and guilt.
And the irrepressible urge to laugh our asses off.
And that's exactly what we did. After work - clear out of earshot - we laughed til we cried and til our stomachs hurt. We laughed at the absolute insanity of it all. It seemed unbelievable that a harmless practical joke could have gotten so out of hand. And just so we didn't question whether or not it had really happened, the next day, there was a blurb in the newspaper about the 'suspected gas leak' at our radio station.
And that is the single most surreal thing that has ever happened to me. In later years, the 'true' story leaked out to a few people who had been there that day. But by that point our General Manager ("get the fuck out of the building, she's gonna blow") had moved out of the city to work at a different station. Sometimes I think about tracking him down and telling him the truth. I know he'd have a good laugh. Then again, I'd hate to tarnish the memory of his heroics that day..knowing that I knew all along what was going on.
To this day, every time I hear dead air on the radio - I can't help but wonder what's going on behind the scenes. Technical glitch? Did the deejay fall asleep? Or is there a can of Fart Spray misting up a dose of pandemonium? Likely not. But I know from experience that stranger things have happened.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
Question of the Day
On the heels of a long weekend - I'm sure our collective brain is not functioning at full capacity. So, I thought I would post about something silly rather than my usual musings about politics and world events (cough, cough). Please respond to this question in a swift and honest manner.
Can you fart while sitting ON your ass?
I have had this conversation before. But I was thinking about it again on the bus this morning, when an ever-so-faint waft of bum drifted my way. Everyone on the bus at that point was sitting down. On THEIR bums (as I was on mine) and I wondered whose ass gas was so aggressive that it could escape compacted, flattened-down buttcheeks?
I think it depends on the particular brand of fart. For instance, a seepy, silent post-hangover fart might as well be called the "Houdini" because it can escape anything. Sometimes you aren't even AWARE it's escaped. But, I want to know about the "textbook fart" - the one that actually sounds like a whoopee cushion - the "hearty blat", if you will. Can you do those kind of farts while sitting on your butt?
Not me. No way. I am the obvious farter. The one who will hoist a cheek off the seat to set it free. Otherwise, I just can't do it. I have tried to remain seated while farting and it will NOT come out. When my farts have no escape route, it's like a backfiring car with nowhere to go but INSIDE. What would have been a fart cloud on the outside, becomes a dense, little fart pellet within my body. I can feel it ricochet off my innards - pinballing off each of my ribs and finally hurtling skyward to just behind my eyeballs. You will know I have held in a fart if you see my eyes bulging out slightly (I give to you, Exhibit A).
My sister can fart while on her ass. I mean, big obnoxious, noisy farts. And I don't get it. To me, it almost defies scientific principle to be able to fart that loud and not reposition any cheek surface area. Am I alone on this? Can the rest of you jerks fart while on your butt?
Can you fart while sitting ON your ass?
I have had this conversation before. But I was thinking about it again on the bus this morning, when an ever-so-faint waft of bum drifted my way. Everyone on the bus at that point was sitting down. On THEIR bums (as I was on mine) and I wondered whose ass gas was so aggressive that it could escape compacted, flattened-down buttcheeks?
I think it depends on the particular brand of fart. For instance, a seepy, silent post-hangover fart might as well be called the "Houdini" because it can escape anything. Sometimes you aren't even AWARE it's escaped. But, I want to know about the "textbook fart" - the one that actually sounds like a whoopee cushion - the "hearty blat", if you will. Can you do those kind of farts while sitting on your butt?
Not me. No way. I am the obvious farter. The one who will hoist a cheek off the seat to set it free. Otherwise, I just can't do it. I have tried to remain seated while farting and it will NOT come out. When my farts have no escape route, it's like a backfiring car with nowhere to go but INSIDE. What would have been a fart cloud on the outside, becomes a dense, little fart pellet within my body. I can feel it ricochet off my innards - pinballing off each of my ribs and finally hurtling skyward to just behind my eyeballs. You will know I have held in a fart if you see my eyes bulging out slightly (I give to you, Exhibit A).
My sister can fart while on her ass. I mean, big obnoxious, noisy farts. And I don't get it. To me, it almost defies scientific principle to be able to fart that loud and not reposition any cheek surface area. Am I alone on this? Can the rest of you jerks fart while on your butt?
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