Backed Up

Q: Why is poop tapered on the ends?

A: So when you’re done, your ass doesn’t slam shut.

I learned that joke when I was a little kid.  I was thinking about it today, as I was perched on the can at work.  I hate having to play a deuce at work.  I’ve written before that I’m a very private pooper.  I don’t want anyone else in the same area code, let alone the same room.  And if someone does invade the sanctity of the men’s room while I’m nesting, I don’t make a sound.  Hell, I barely breathe.  I’m just glad for that taper, lest the slamming sound give me away.  I so much prefer playing on my home court.

But for some reason, my pipes are all messed up and my “schedule” is off.  It’s usually very easy for me to hold things in place until I get home.  But ever since I got back from vacation, by early afternoon I realize that despite all my squirming, I’m going to have to make a bombing run.

When I was back in Ohio, I think it was all the cheap beer I was putting away because I couldn’t even make it until noon before I had to offload.  Hell, I could barely make it through breakfast.  Have you ever gone so much your pants fit better afterwards?

Laxatives for dudes on the ‘go.’

All week long I had to take the early-bird smash.  I figured when I got home and my schedule got back to normal, I’d return to my regular 6:00 appointments.  And all this office dumping has had an unexpected side effect.  I’m all backed up… on reading material.

I have a magazine subscription for the sole purpose of using it for bathroom reading material.  And now, I’m getting way behind.  I’ve just cracked the July issue and already have August on deck, with September about to show up any time.  And it’s not like you can just take a 45-minute sabbatical to catch up… your ass falls asleep.

I hate it when my ass falls asleep because then I know it’s going to be up all night… probably out partying with a bunch of other asses.  It’ll drag home about 5 AM, smelling of cheap beer and hookah fumes.  And I’ll think, “How am I going to get my ass to the train station on time, this time?”

But I digress…

So my magazines are about to pile up.  If you know anything about me, you know how that would drive me crazy.  I like a consistent inflow and outflow without getting bound up in the middle.  And the material gets older and older… I hate it when I end up reading the college football preview edition the week after the Rose Bowl.

And what is this magazine, of which I’m so concerned?

Yep… Ol’ Bluz is a Playboy dude.  I know I just lost some feminist cred from my Blog Sisters with that revelation, but try not to be too hard on me. 

First of all, let me commence with the obligatory “I only read it for the articles.”  I say this because, in fact, I do.  If that were not the case, do you think I’d ever mention it here?  I’d have no reason to even bring up the subject, so why lie about it?

In fact, I wouldn’t even care if all the nudie pictures were removed before reading… giant-busted, airbrushed, Silicone Barbie dolls don’t impress me.  I’m not saying I cover my eyes or anything, but I just flip-flip-flip right through them.  I will, however, cop to checking out the occasional C-list star or Olympic athlete that pulls off her clothes in exchange for a nice payday and some publicity.  The longest I look at any one picture is probably on the cover, when I’m trying to find the hidden rabbit head.  And I love the “Grapevine” page that features celebrity nip slips and the like.  But if that’s all I was after, I could be through an entire issue in about 3 minutes.  As it is, it takes me at least a month, 5 to 15 minutes at a time.

I’ve always found Playboy to be a great source for liberal/libertarian news and features.  Their interviews are legendary, including everyone from rock stars to politicians to comedians to scientists to policy wonks…  They interviewed Ancient Journalist Helen Thomas just a few months ago, right after she got canned for making anti-Semitic remarks.  This month is Justin Timberlake.  How’s that for a pair of polar opposites.

They also provide solid articles on what’s going on behind the scenes in politics, music, sports, the drug wars, the entertainment industry and our culture as a whole.  Scores of high-profile writers have had their work published in Playboy.

Mind you, I’m not trying to sell anyone on Playboy… I’m just explaining why I read it.  I used to read Rolling Stone for that kind of thing, but they lost me in the early 2000’s.  They spent too much time on too many bands about whom I either never heard or just didn’t give a shit.  I didn’t have enough time (or poop) to carry both, so I ditched Rolling Stone.

My ex-wife got me my first Playboy subscription, back in the mid-90s.  (Perhaps I should have taken that as a hint.)  I’ve renewed it a year at a time, ever since.

I’ve also grown up with Playboy.  There was a time in the mid-70s when my dad had a subscription.  They didn’t even hide it; it was always right there on the living room coffee table.  Don’t believe me?  Look at this:

That’s me with my brother and sister on Christmas morning, probably 1972, with the December Playboy right there on the table.  And Dad had a stock of old issues in a closet in our basement that functioned as our playroom!  So it was never really much of a taboo. 

I would take a peek every so often but I never really thought it was a big deal.  I do remember one story though…

We had just seen “Blazing Saddles” (i.e. one of the funniest movies of all time, but also a movie so politically incorrect they probably couldn’t even get it made it today.)  Mom and Dad took the whole family to see it in the theater and I tell you, we weren’t more than a year or two older than we were in that picture up there.  They’d already seen it, so it wasn’t like they didn’t know about the content.  Regardless, I laughed my ass off (see, there it goes again) and I didn’t even get all the jokes.

Anyway, shortly after that, Mel Brooks was the feature interview in a February issue of Playboy, doing publicity for “Young Frankenstein.”  Mom and Dad had always talked about how funny he was in the 60s and after seeing “Blazing Saddles,” I was interested in reading the interview.  So one evening when they went out to dinner and I was babysitting, I got my brother and sister to bed, then sat down to read it. 

Now, I swear to you and the entire Internet, I never looked at a single solitary page of nudie girls or anything else.  I went to the table of contents, found the page the interview started on and went directly there.  It was very important to me that I remain trustworthy and in good standing with my parents.  Surely they wouldn’t object to my reading a Mel Brooks interview…

They got home just as I was finishing the article.  I didn’t even put it down when I heard them pull into the garage.  I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong.  Heck, I thought they’d be proud of me for taking it upon myself to read such a long article about someone they held in high esteem.  So what was the worst that could happen?

Next thing you know, I was into my 3rd week of grounding…

Nah, just kidding.  I didn’t get in trouble.  The folks didn’t believe a word I said about not looking at the pictures, but I didn’t get in trouble.  I was pissed!    Hell, I’m such a bad liar, if I HAD looked at the pictures; I sure as shit wouldn’t have let them find me still reading the damned thing.  I might have been naïve, but I wasn’t stupid.  I’d have been on the other side of the house, watching TV and they’d have never suspected any different.  They should have at least given me that much credit… 

Now YOU, on the other hand, I give you the same argument… If I weren’t telling the truth, I’d never have brought it up.  Right?

Then again, if I started getting something like the National Review, I bet that would really help me ‘move the mail.’  But the pages are too glossy to use to wipe.