Poop Is Brown

I’m at a loss…

Everyone knows a douchbag. Some of us, sadly, know several. There are boss douches, frat douches, neighbor douches, military douches, club douches, and anyone who thinks that an unbuttoned shirt with copious chest hair and a gold chain is appealing douches. The term douche bag invariably refers to males. And don’t get your BVD’s in a bunch, there are PLENTY of derogatory expressions for women, but this particular piece is meant to provide insight into the male psyche. Here is a list of douche bags I have personally known:

The Martial Arts Douche Bag
He’s got he black belt in Taekwondo and must prove his prowess to everyone. Including your 9 year old brother (which is really impressive as it must be hard at 20 to intimidate a 4th grader). In order to compensate for less than impressive bedroom skills, the Martial Arts Douche Bag must show his manliness by abusing his girlfriends/wives, getting lots of mismatched tattoos, and most importantly, making up grandiose stories about heroic acts such as saving groups of orphans from burning buildings. MADB should be avoided unless you really have a desire for long bullshit stories.


The Counter Culture Douche Bag
He knows all the “underground” bands. Whatever you are listening to right now it’s too main stream. Belle & Sebastian is too over played and 40% gray is the new black. Watch out for Emo tattoos (scars they made with lighters, glass chunks, or rusty metal), Libertarian stickers, and an unhealthy obsession with David Byrne.


The Pseudo-Intellectual” Douche Bag
Oh, he’s read “Naked Lunch”, and “Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy”. But trust me, this man couldn’t tell the difference between Kafka’s “Metamorphosis” and the Terminix training manual.

If you think you have a douche bag worthy of the list, send it over and if it’s good, we’ll add it.
douche@poopisbrown.com

If you’re looking to avoid food for the rest of the day or have a desire to lose your lunch from earlier, take a gander at this nightmare posted on Defamer. TMZ broke the story.




Here’s a lovely “Oh My G-d MY EYES” moment:

Click on the image to read the NY Times human interest piece:

This e-mail came through at work today:

To the gentleman male person who elected to deliberately deposit his solid waste upon the floor of the men’s room in the office hallway ………..

Please know that you are a disgusting human being truly worthy of the highest scorn possible. Your cowardly and childish act has failed to produce the result you had hoped for. We will not bring ourselves down to your level; rather, we will simply clean the floor and go forward with our lives. One day, you will accidentally reveal yourself to us. Children always get caught sooner or later. I assure you that I look forward to that day and your well earned public disgrace and banishment from our group of professionals who do not want you as a co-worker.

Wow! I love my job.

I don’t understand people’s wistfulness for the bygone days of high school. I was there. I did it. And it sucked. Think about it, these are the same people who complain that their co-workers behave like they’re a bunch of teenagers. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard things like, “What the hell is wrong with the Purchasing department? It’s like high school in there. They really need to grow up”. Yet they want back the cliquishness, the judgmental “cool kids”, the fashion police, the adult demands with the restrictions of youth, and the general self-centered oblivion that comes with being 17. How many reading this were at home on prom night? Or didn’t make varsity? Or were alone at the lunch table? Thankfully I had some friends, enjoyed some good times, and wasn’t coming to school in a trench coat with pencil scribbled plans for revenge. Honestly though, if I had my pick, there are only two ages to be; 4 or 22. That’s it. At 4, you are old enough to understand enough of the world to interact with it, but not yet jaded by its inadequacies, its cruelty, and its contempt for the individual. Everything is a new experience. Dandelions are awesome. Picking your nose is a reasonable practice. When you fall down & skin your knees you get kisses to make it all better. Nap time is a prerequisite of each day. Staring at clouds is a perfectly acceptable way to while away an afternoon. You have no worries about school, schedules, or what you are supposed to do. And your parents are the smartest most amazing people in the world. Skipping ahead, you now turn 22. You are at the pinnacle of your physical health. You’ve been driving long enough to have the hang of it. And chances are, you have a job that allows you the financial stability to actually go places and do things. You are free to drink and smoke and play poker and vote (hopefully not in that order). You are just beginning your adult life and are open to the possibilities that are YOU. You can be anything. Most of us are not married, have no children, and are responsible only for designing our future. And we do this with the experiences, the education, and the relationships that got us that far. Don’t get me wrong, I think the years in between 4 and 22 are very important. But I sure as shit wouldn’t want to do them again. Give me mud-pies and lollypops or give me a hot body with a 23” waist and the freedom to party until 5 am. As I continue on, I’m sure I’ll look back & say that 46 is the prime of life or that being an octogenarian is where it’s at. But for now, damn it, I want a nap!

Tea seeped to darkness
Fresh breath long washed away
Gone with the thoughts of then
I cannot be seen at all

Playing a part
The game fits
But the pieces are worn and unsure
Stuck in content and complacence

It’s too easy to keep
The sorrow and hope away
Morning warmth brings me home
And common faces bring be back here

It’s with a tear in my eye that I alert you my blog readers that bastions of masculinity Siegfried & Roy… (chokes up) have announced…they’re gay! I know, I know, I can barely believe it myself. Apparently years of faking hetero-typical behaviors like donning tight sequined suits, living together & never marrying, and always being at each other’s side just became too difficult. Then again, the article says they were lovers, so maybe there’s still a chance for the ladies.

In all seriousness, really, did you have to announce that? Anyway, good for you and I hope that even thought you didn’t find a mate in each other that you still found happiness.

Yes, you read that right and no this is not an article from The Onion. In some backwards legislation, China has attempted to strong arm their Tibetan “citizens” by refusing to let them reincarnate after death without lengthy paperwork and government approval. It basically boils down to them forcing the choice of the next Dalai Lama into the hands of the Chinese authority. In protest, the current Dalai Lama has refused to be reborn in Tibet. Though he has not yet commented on his eventual birth place, it’s pretty much a given that when Tenzin Gyatso passes, the new leader of Buddhism will continue to be of Tibetan heritage. (Sorry folks, no cool saffron robes for you.) Additionally, this is going to put a bit of a kink in a 600+ year tradition of Buddhist leadership. In essence it causes there to be 2 leaders of the Buddhists: the rightful heir to be located by monks after the death of the current leader and a second Dalai Lama chosen as leader by the Chinese government. To put that in perspective, it’s kind of like if the US took control of Italy & good ol GW picked out the next pope. Not a far stretch for the imagination, I agree, but still a bit of confusion all around. In case you missed the link to the article in the first sentence, here is the link to all the juicy goodness that is retarded government at work.