Pooper On the Loose!

I will make this post quick because I’m in the process of doing some surveillance work in my field house and, given that I basically just posted a post, I don't want all of you expecting to see several posts a day.  Basically, I guess my bowels are still getting used to non-prison food.  I had just slipped into my favorite pair of underpants in preparation for bed when I felt a rumbling in my gut that signaled the onset of what I self-diagnosed as Irritable Bowel Syndrome. 

 

 It must have been the chicken drumsticks I ate for dinner.  I knew it was going to be a long night, so I grabbed my favorite book (Charlotte’s Web), three rolls of toilet paper, and my new tablet and shuffled my way to the bathroom.  As I neared my porcelain throne, I realized immediately something wasn’t right.  My nose started to burn, my eyes watered terribly, and I began to dry heave.  The door to the bathroom was partly open and the odor coming out of it was what I would expect the inside of a Mastodon’s rectum to smell like.  I peered inside and couldn't believe my eyes.  There was poop. Everywhere!  Apparently, someone had sprayed their insides all over the toilet, the trash can, the sink, even the shower head.  I briefly wondered how such universal coverage was even physically possible before I began having flashbacks of prison and thinking about that time when four other prisoners and I . . . Sorry, but the memories are still too traumatic to delve into right now. Anyway, after mentally collecting myself, my curiosity quickly turned to rage.  This fecal attack was deliberate, insulting, and an act of war.  It was also too vile to post on this blog, so here is an image of what my bathroom used to look like.  

Everyone knows I consider my bathroom a sacred place, hence my bathroom cleaning protocol, Bathroom Inventory, Toilet Cleaning, and Health (B.I.T.C.H.). To defecate all over it in such a violent manner is treasonous.  As a response, I have developed the Reconnoiter And Procure Invisible Spackling Terrorist (R.A.P.I.S.T.) protocol to find the perpetrator and bring them to justice.  I know you follow my blog, spackler, so consider this your warning.  I will find you and you will pay for this injustice!  And don't worry Carl, this will not detract from my quest for ultimate revenge!

Proper Field Attire

Basically, since through my astute powers of observation I discovered that Juanita is actually a man, I now have some new options for saving the HEWO. As you may or may not know, the field is no place for a woman. Basically, it is for this reason that I hired Juanita as a personal assistant and would never have considered sending her out into the field. Well, things basically change and a great biologist and field commander such as myself has to adapt to this changing workscape. Given the new priority of ensuring that my new statue adequately portrays my masculinity and importance, I basically decided to re-assign Rogelio to supervising the sculptor of the aforementioned statue. Therefore, I decided to send Juanita out into the field with Mateo to collect my data. Although this requires much sacrifice on my part, I am basically willing to dial my satellite phone, sharpen my protocol-writing pencils, get my own Zima, clean my loofahs, and maintain the protocol laminator myself for a few days while we await my statue, to take one for the team so to speak. Basically, for Juanita to work in the field, “her” usual attire of miniskirt and fishnet stockings are basically not going to be appropriate, so I ordered Rogelio to inform Juanita of what would be considered suitable for field conditions. Because I’m basically not awake when the technicians leave for the field in the morning, I did not see the aforementioned attire when Juanita left for the first day in the field. You can basically imagine my surprise at the end of the next day when Juanita and Mateo returned and Juanita was wearing assless chaps! Are you freaking kidding me?!? Juanita was sitting in MY swan boat wearing assless chaps?!? Mateo described this as a problem of translation between myself, Juanita, and Rogelio. Basically, I’m not so sure about this and am starting to question Rogelio’s commitment to the project. Once this statue is done, I may have to make some tough decisions.

Personal Assistant

Basically, I’ve made a very important decision and want to share the aforementioned decision with you, my loyal protégés. As you may recall from your previous readings and the fact that my actions and my blog are basically probably among the most important things in your life since you don’t have anything as important happening in your life certainly not as important as single-handedly saving the Earth, I currently have two “people” that serve me: Mateo and Rogelio. As you can probably imagine, it’s hard to accomplish the important tasks in which I endeavor to involve myself when my technicians are out in the field collecting my data. What do I do when I’m talking to other, yet lesser, scientists on my satellite phone and I run out of Zima? In the past, I’ve found that the pager system that I had implemented whereby Mateo or Rogelio would return to fetch my beverage have been ineffective to say the least. Similarly, when Mateo and Rogelio are excavating my Land Rover, by definition neither of them are available to shade me with a parasol as I supervise the aforementioned excavation. For these reasons, I’ve decided to hire a personal assistant to have the privilege of taking care of these tasks. Basically, I was considering giving someone this opportunity recently when I was in town buying chicken drumsticks and I happened to encounter a young lady on the street who was apparently seeking employment. Although Juanita does not speak any English, I basically showed her a few guaranies, which as you probably do not know is basically a type of money used in Paraguay, and she was willing to come with me, probably because she has heard of my amazing intellect and biological field skills. Over the past few days, I’ve basically been able to order Mateo and Rogelio to teach Juanita the valuable skills and English words that she’ll need to help me save the planet. In addition to fetching Zima, dialing my satellite phone, and holding my parasol, Juanita’s main duties include sharpening my protocol-writing pencils, maintaining the lamination machine for aforementioned protocols, washing my loofahs with successively smaller loofahs, and polishing the hand trowels.

Mud

My studs and studettes, I have bad news. My personal 2-wheel drive land rover has basically succumbed to the quicksand, at least for now. Let me regale you with news of its passing, which, as you may or may not know, involves the incompetent parade of nitwits that pass for my technicians.

I was basically out driving across my neighbor's farm field with my land rover. I know my land rover does not save the earth as much as walking or taking my $12,000 canoe, but I had a mighty thirst for Zima that day, and we simply could not carry the Zima and field supplies and my emergency duffel of loofahs (for when I get mud on my face). So we set out for the field in the dead of night. We have to travel in the dead of night because I promised my neighbors I wouldn't tear up their farm fields. Ha! I don't think they've caught on yet. (It's been really windy though, and rocks keep falling from the cliff and breaking the windows of my land rover. Rogelio suggested the neighbors might not like me driving through their only patch of land that they use for their subsistence farming, and perhaps are throwing rocks at my two-wheel-drive land rover while I am not looking. However, not to brag or anything, but I have a B.S. in rockology, and I know that sometimes rocks fall from the cliff by my house.) But I digress. So we tore through the neighbor's pathetic little farm, when we got to a muddy spot. I made Mateo take off all his clothes and lay them in front of the land rover so that the tires didn't get dirty, and we drove across that one. But then there was another muddy spot that came up. Mateo suggested we turn around because it looked deep, but he's a pansy little girl like that. I said just to gun it and cranked up the Milli Vanilli and rocked out in the passenger seat. He must have gunned it wrong though, because we suddenly found ourselves in 5 feet of mud and sinking. Stupid Mateo, it was all his fault, that's the last time I let him drive. You can imagine my horror, because the land rover was basically incredibly muddy and relatively underwater. I am sure we will dig it out though, I have diverted my technicians to spend the next week digging for the land rover. I got them new hand trowels so that they do not scratch the land rover by digging too much at once, and have designed a special protocol, which directs the digging perpendicularly around the lines of a dodecahedron. It is sure to work.

No Zima in Slovenia?

Sorry I haven't posted much. I've been in Slovenia with my goddess. And on a search for Zima. Would you believe they basically don't have Zima here? They have Zlatorog which basically starts with the right letter, but tastes all beery and is the wrong color. The other thing they don't have is loofahs. How I am supposed to wash myself without a loofah, I do not know. The nerve of some eastern Europeans. I am the WGB! Give me my aforementioned freaking loofah.


P.S. The chicken drumsticks here suck too.

My technicians better not be screwing up my project while I am away, like they basically always do. Basically, if I haven't told you yet, I've basically come to the basic conclusion that everyone but me is an idiot. Because my patented hiring process is guaranteed to select the optimum canditatorial material from my list of vast applicants who wish to be under my tutelage. But despite my interviewing skills (which others have described as "probably illegal", which highlights how awesome they are), my technicians constantly disappoint. Is it that hard? You've got an entire crew of people. Just assemble yourselves, and gather the data I need for my degree. Honestly. Just idiots.