We've all been there but don't like to admit it. As much as we try to convince ourselves otherwise, the WORKPOOP is inevitable. For those who hate pooping at work, following is the Survival Guide for taking a dump at work.
When farting, you walk briskly around the office so the smell is not in your area and everyone else gets a whiff but doesn't know where it came from. Be careful when you do this. Do not stop until the full fart has been expelled. Walk an extra 30 feet to make sure the smell has left your pants.
The act of scouting out a bathroom before pooping. Walk in and check for other poopers. If there are others in the bathroom, leave and come back again. Be careful not to become a FREQUENT FLYER. People may become suspicious if they catch you constantly going into the bathroom.
A fart that slips out while taking a leak at the urinal or forcing a poop in a stall. This is usually accompanied by a sudden wave of embarrassment. If you release an escapee, do not acknowledge it. Pretend it did not happen. If you are standing next to the farter in the urinal, pretend you did not hear it. No one likes an escapee. It is uncomfortable for all involved. Making a joke or aughing makes both parties feel uneasy.
When forcing a poop, several farts slip out at a machine gun pace. This is usually a side effect of diarrhea or a hangover. If this should happen, do not panic. Remain in the stall until everyone has left the bathroom to spare everyone the awkwardness of what just occurred.
The act of flushing the toilet the instant the poop hits the water. This reduces the amount of air time the poop has to stink up the bathroom. This can help you avoid being caught doing the WALK OF SHAME.
K OF SHAME
Walking from the stall, to the sink, to the door after you have just stunk up the bathroom. This can be a very uncomfortable moment if someone walks in and busts you. As with farts, it is best to pretend that the smell does not exist. Can be avoided with the use of the COURTESY FLUSH.
OUT OF THE CLOSET POOPER
A colleague who poops at work and is damn proud of it. You will often see an Out Of The Closet Pooper enter the bathroom with a newspaper or magazine under his or her arm. Always look around the office for the Out Of The Closet Pooper before entering the bathroom.
THE POOPING FRIENDS NETWORK (P.F.N)
A group of co-workers who band together to ensure emergency pooping goes off without incident. This group can help you to monitor the whereabouts of Out Of The Closet Poopers, and identify SAFE HAVENS.
A seldom used bathroom somewhere in the building where you can least expect visitors. Try floors that are predominantly of the opposite sex. This will reduce the odds of a pooper of your sex entering the bathroom.
Someone who does not realize that you are in the stall and tries to force the door open. This is one of the most shocking and vulnerable moments that can occur when taking a poop at work. If this occurs, remain in the stall until the Turd Burglar leaves. This way you will avoid all uncomfortable eye contact.
A phony cough that alerts all new entrants into the bathroom that you are in a stall. This can be used to cover-up a WATERMELON, or to alert potential Turd Burglars. Very effective when used in conjunction with an ASTAIRE.
A subtle toe-tap that is used to alert potential Turd Burglars that you are occupying a stall. This will remove all doubt that the stall is occupied. If you hear an Astaire, leave the bathroom immediately so the pooper can poop in peace.
A poop that creates a loud splash when hitting the toilet water. This is also an embarrassing incident. If you feel a Watermelon coming on, create a diversion. See CAMO-COUGH.
A case of diarrhea that creates a series of loud splashes in the toilet water. Often accompanied by an Escapee. Try using a Camo-Cough with an Astaire.
A bathroom user who seems to linger around forever. Could spend extended lengths of time in front of the mirror or sitting on the pot. An Uncle Ted makes it difficult to relax while on the crapper, as you should always wait to poop when the bathroom is empty. This benefits you as well as the other bathroom attendees.
The 2nd most useless thing I found on the net today is...
... actually from TODAY, & is as follows:
The Squirrel of Death
I never dreamed slowly cruising on my motorcycle through a residential
neighborhood could be so incredibly dangerous!
Little did I suspect.
I was on Brice Street - a very nice neighborhood with perfect lawns and
slow traffic. As I passed an oncoming car, a brown furry missile shot out
from under it and tumbled to a stop immediately in front of me.
It was a squirrel, and must have been trying to run across the road when it
encountered the car. I really was not going very fast, but there was no
time to brake or avoid it -- it was that close.
I hate to run over animals, and I really hate it on a motorcycle, but a
squirrel should pose no danger to me. I barely had time to brace for the
Animal lovers, never fear. Squirrels, I discovered, can take care of
Inches before impact, the squirrel flipped to his feet.
He was standing on his hind legs and facing my oncoming Valkyrie with
steadfast resolve in his beady little eyes. His mouth opened, and at the
last possible second, he screamed and leapt! I am pretty sure the scream
was squirrel for, "Banzai!" or maybe, "Die you gravy-sucking, heathen
scum!" The leap was nothing short of spectacular...
He shot straight up, flew over my windshield, and impacted me squarely in
the chest. Instantly, he set upon me. If I did not know better, I would
have sworn he brought 20 of his little buddies along for the attack.
Snarling, hissing, and tearing at my clothes, he was a frenzy of activity.
As I was dressed only in a light T-shirt, summer riding gloves, and jeans
this was a bit of a cause for concern. This furry little tornado was doing
Picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a
T-shirt, and leather gloves, puttering at maybe 25 mph down a quiet
residential street, and in the fight of his life with a squirrel. And
losing... I grabbed for him with my left hand. After a few misses, I
finally managed to snag his tail. With all my strength, I flung the evil
rodent off to the left of the bike, almost running into the right curb as I
recoiled from the throw.
That should have done it. The matter should have ended right there. It
really should have. The squirrel could have sailed into one of the
pristinely kept yards and gone on about his business, and I could have
headed home. No one would have been the wiser. But this was no ordinary
squirrel This was not even an ordinary angry squirrel.
This was an EVIL MUTANT ATTACK SQUIRREL OF DEATH!
Somehow he caught my gloved finger with one of his little hands and, with
the force of the throw, swung around and with a resounding thump and an
amazing impact, he landed squarely on my BACK and resumed his rather
antisocial and extremely distracting activities. He also managed to take my
left glove with him! The situation was not improved. Not improved at all.
His attacks were continuing, and now I could not reach him. I was startled,
to say the least. The combination of the force of the throw, only having
one hand (the throttle hand) on the handlebars, and my jerking back
unfortunately put a healthy twist through my right hand and into the
throttle. A healthy twist on the throttle of a Valkyrie can only have one
result. TORQUE. This is what the Valkyrie is made for, and she is very,
very good at it. The engine roared and the front wheel left the pavement.
The squirrel screamed in anger.
The Valkyrie screamed in ecstasy.
I screamed in .. well . I just plain screamed.
Now picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in
jeans, a slightly squirrel-torn t-shirt, wearing only one leather glove,
and roaring at maybe 50 mph and rapidly accelerating down a quiet
residential street on one wheel, with a demonic squirrel of death on his
back. The man and the squirrel are both screaming bloody murder. With the
sudden acceleration I was forced to put my other hand back on the
handlebars and try to get control of the bike.
This was leaving the mutant squirrel to his own devices, but I really did
not want to crash into somebody's tree, house, or parked car. Also, I had
not yet figured out how to release the throttle.. my brain was just simply
overloaded. I did manage to mash the back brake, but it had little effect
against the massive power of the big cruiser.
About this time the squirrel decided that I was not paying sufficient
attention to this very serious battle (maybe he was an evil mutant NAZI
attack squirrel of death), and he came around my neck and got INSIDE my
full-face helmet with me.
As the faceplate closed part way, he began hissing in my face. I am quite
sure my screaming changed intensity. It had little effect on the squirrel,
however. The RPMs on the Dragon maxed out (since I was not bothering with
shifting at the moment), so her front end started to drop.
Now picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in
jeans, a very raggedly torn T-shirt, wearing only one leather glove,
roaring at probably 80 mph, still on one wheel, with a large puffy
squirrel's tail sticking out of the mostly closed full-face helmet. By now,
the screams are probably getting a little hoarse. Finally I got the upper
hand ... I managed to grab his tail again, pulled him out of my helmet, and
slung him to the left as hard as I could. This time it worked ... sort-of.
Spectacularly sort-of ...so to speak.
Picture a new scene.
You are a cop. You and your partner have pulled off on a quiet residential
street and parked with your windows down to do some paperwork.
Suddenly a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans,
a torn T-shirt flapping in the breeze, and wearing only one leather glove,
moving at probably 80 mph on one wheel, and screaming bloody murder roars
by, and with all his strength throws a live squirrel grenade directly into
your police car.
I heard screams.
They weren't mine...
I managed to get the big motorcycle under control and dropped the front
wheel to the ground. I then used maximum braking and skidded to a stop in a
cloud of tire smoke at the stop sign of a busy cross street.
I would have returned to 'fess up (and to get my glove back).
I really would have.
Except for two things.
First, the cops did not seem interested or the slightest bit concerned
about me at the moment. When I looked back, the doors on both sides of the
patrol car were flung wide open. The cop from the passenger side was on his
back, doing a crab walk into somebody's front yard, quickly moving away
from the car. The cop who had been in the driver's seat was standing in the
street, aiming a riot shotgun at his own police car. So, the cops were not
interested in me. They often insist to "let the professionals handle it"
That was one thing.
Well, I could clearly see shredded and flying pieces of foam and upholstery
from the back seat. But I could also swear I saw the squirrel in the back
window, shaking his little fist at me.
That is one dangerous squirrel.
And now he has a patrol car.
A somewhat shredded patrol car .. but it was all his.
I took a deep breath, turned on my turn-signal, made a gentle right turn
off of Brice Street, and sedately left the neighborhood. I
decided it was best to just buy myself a new pair of gloves. And a whole
lot of Band-Aids.
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