For Every Action there is an Equal and Opposite Reaction

I admit to having had a few adult beverages when I stumbled across this ad. My analysis may be wrong. But I think I got the gist of it. So it may be time Turn off the lights on western civilization.

The add is a snazzy song and dance number that seems to promise stink free turds. I don’t know how. I don’t know if it is something you ingest or something you spray.  I do know that a wide variety of politicians have made the promise, over the years, that their shit doesn’t stink and all have been proven wrong.

I didn’t know this was a problem.  Okay I lied, I never farted while a first date was in range. But I was young and stupid then. In my advanced age, having given up hope of ever getting laid again, there is a certain satisfaction in reveling in the hang time of your own funk, kinda a reaffirmation that you’re still alive.

I’m jaded, try sitting in an enclosed van with a bust team. You can’t leave, you can’t open the windows, because the van is supposed to be inoffensive and unoccupied. It is not a question of if, only how many are going to let rip between the time the surveillance begins and the undercover gives the bust signal.

It may be a guy thing but there is a sense of pride of ownership and accomplishment for every fart.  This may explain why we could clear a house in 45 seconds from curb to master bedroom.

I had a roommate, coworker, friend that we called “Heart Attack Hallmark”, not because he had them but because he caused them.  It was near the end of the semester and there was some big “Frat Rat/Sorority function going on that he was committed to.  On the night of the event he didn’t feel well, but didn’t want to disappoint his date.  So he attended the function with two other couples.

He made it through the night and they were all assembled back in his apartment.  Heart Attack lived in a townhouse at the time.  He excused himself and went to the half bath that was tucked under the stairs.

This is key, we’re talking may be 42 inches wide and possibly three feet of floor space between the toilet and the sink.  There is no headroom, he is under the stairs. The dimensions of Heart Attack also come into play 6’1, 270 pounds. He settles on the toilet let’s loose a stream of diarrhea.  Then his stomach gives a lurch. This is a guy pad, we don’t need no stinking waste baskets.  He jumps off the toilet in order to vomit in the toilet.  When he vomits, that triggers another round of diarrhea. That, of course, causes him to reverse direction once again.  And repeat and repeat.  Imagine a 270 pound whirling devilish with his pants at his ankles spewing shit from one end and vomit from the other in a confined space. Did I mention the rented tuxedo? Heart Attack did not get laid that night.

The devastation was so complete in the lower bathroom that they went to the local home center and covered the doorway with a plastic sheet and moved out at the end of the week.

I appreciate the ad as parody, but shudder to think that the product described was a legitimate offer.