Call it Karma

i was just a few hills from home when i passed a man carrying a snowboard and other such snow-gear. he was walking downhill and i had a slight urge to tell him about johnny moseley.

it would be easier if the hills were just covered in snow.

but i just kept walking. it would've only gotten a half-laugh and slowed us both down at best.

about a block up, i saw two things:

1. a homeless man, laying on the ground.
2. a pair of snowboarding goggles, laying on the ground.

i grabbed the goggles and looked back at the snowboard-carrying man.

is it just me or does the word "goggle" look very misspelled now that google owns the world?
they had to be his, but i really didn't want to go back down the hill when i was just a few blocks from my apartment, the liquor store, and-- therefore-- beer.

i started trying to convince myself that the goggles could belong to anyone. after all, the homeless man was wearing a silk chinese robe that certainly didn't seem to fit him. and sometimes, when i'm lazy i'm just very lazy. in fact, during those times, the only part of me that is not lazy is the part of my mind that finds super-powered strength to justify why being lazy is actually very smart.

"he dropped it," the silky homeless man said while pointing at the snowboarder.

well, now i just have to go back downhill. dammit.

i could see the liquor store. but i stumbled downward, away from the sweet alcoholic treats that waited for me inside, and toward the goggle-owner. once i was close enough, i went through my brain for the best possible word to shout in order to get his attention. that word was "OY!" and i'm not sure why.

then i sort of moved the goggles toward him and grunted a little.

"oh!" he said, "thank you! you're-- thanks, man. thank you."

"mm," i said, "enjoy."

i figured it wasn't very important what filled my sentences since i was already helping out a stranger and it was preventing me from getting to beer and home as quickly as possible. and he didn't seem to be offended. he also didn't seem to be a whole lot better with surprise sentences.

up the hill, i ran into the hobo in the chinese gown.

"you get him?" he asked.

"mm," i nodded.

"you got a dollar?" he asked.

"no," i said.

"got change?" he asked.

"no," i said.

and then i was forced to wait at a red light, standing next to this man.

"you got a cigarette?" he asked.

come on.

"i'm not going to give you anything," i said to him firmly.

"fine," he mumbled, "fuck you."

i couldn't decide if this man thought he had earned giveaways by pointing out the owner of the goggles, or if he had taken me for a very generous man because of my downhill sprint. but suddenly i felt like i had all the time in the world to talk. i could get beer later. i could wait for the red light twice if i had to.

"fuck me?" i asked, "firstly, i am not entitled to give you something just because you asked. this is not fucking halloween-- even if you're wearing that costume. secondly, you watched that guy drop his goggles and just sat here. you didn't help him, so why should i help you?"

"yeah, fuck you," he said again.

"okay," i said.

and then i lit a cigarette and smoked it in front of him through the next red light.

The Weekend in Reverse: Part 2

on saturday, i'd been invited to a number of pub crawls and opted out of each one because i wanted something else. i don't think i've ever been a fan of pub crawls because generally if there are enough friends to constitute a crawl, there might as well just be a party somewhere instead. but i do admire the ever-changing environment.

i wasn't sure what to do until i started talking to lauren and realized she had never been to/heard of the jejune institute. i'd been meaning to go back. and i'd also just started hanging out with her recently, so it seemed like the combination would make a wondrous adventure.

and so we were the two soaked maniacs dodging deathly umbrellas and chinese new year's celebrators while clinging to our jejune institute map. we'd duck in and out of random stores, and maneuver around the tourists, briefly eying our nonsensical map for clues as to where exactly we might be headed.

they all thought we were insane, i'm sure. they thought we were insane because we didn't have even want umbrellas, and because we weren't waiting in the fifty-person line to see if we could get free fries from the outdoor mcdonald's kiosk on grant ave.

crazy.

actually, at first, i was half-curious if lauren would determine me insane for inviting her out on an odd blend of a scavenger hunt and a cult-- complete with a good chance to catch a cold. but she was down-- and that made everything twice as fun and four times less awkward than it could've been.

though maybe that only means we're both sane. but we were having an adventure-- and sometimes that requires a bit of a loose-ended mind.

either way, the rain only made the experience better. everything we did seemed so much more epic, and at times there was a legitimate fear that our map would grow too soaked to read and we would never discover the secret of the jejune.

some random girl i found on google images uncovering a jejune clue.

also, for those of you who have already partaken in the chaotic nonsense known as the jejune institute, the map has changed since the last time i'd quietly escaped 580 california to scour the city for socio-reengineering landmarks and, coded church bricks or criminal seagulls.

i think saturday was perhaps the most fun rainy day i have had in at last four years. it probably even makes the list of Top 14 Rainy Days of My Life. yeah, so think about that.

at one point, a mixture of our enigmatic map and breaking into a detective's voicemail told us to head toward the overpass that connects chinatown's portsmouth square to the hilton, and that's about where we were near enough to call it quits for the day. it's also where we found a very out of place verizon kiosk with a pile of fortune cookies.

"can i have a fortune cookie?" i asked.

"sure," the verizon man said, "you can have a pen, too!"

lauren and i grabbed one of each and she joked about how amazing the jejune institute had been-- how everything seemed to be related to it-- and that it'd be great if the fortunes inside the free cookie were jejune-related.

unfortunately, they were not. mine said, "This year you will let loose your WOW Factor!" and hers said something like, "You will be amaze people with customer service!"

they were verizon-cookies, not jejune-cookies-- and certainly not fortune cookies. that was something of a let down.

afterward, we decided to make use of the fact the city was bustling and see if we couldn't get into some chinatown bars without being carded. it was a simple success, though the bartender was so slammed she had no time to wash cups and had to start making manhattans with plastic cups instead.

and when i got home, i felt so good. the day had just been too great. everyone i knew spent the day cooped up, hiding from the rain or parade.

you know how sometimes people tell really bad jokes and then they say, "well, you had to be there"? this post is sort of like that. except, unlike you-had-to-be-there jokes, saturday was actually fucking amazing. and whether you know it or not, you're jealous. or at least you would be if you knew what you missed. maybe in another dimension, there exists a you that does know what you missed-- and that you is drowning in liquid envy.

so you'll just have to take my very rushed words on this one: it was as magical as getting to be a cartoon for one day, or finding a working jetpack. all of that multiplied by christopher walken's voice. almost like this:


and i'm going to add that lauren deserves my seal of Adventure Approval. it's not actually worth anything and you can't put it on your resume, but not everyone would've shown up to a rainy adventure and had fun.

BUT WAIT: THERE'S MORE!

normally, after an adventure, i stay in for the night. i'll have a few drinks, maybe watch a movie or write about what went on and then go to bed. but this time i was pumped. i checked the clock and realized i still had time to go back out.

but i had to eat first.

i ordered a t-bone steak dinner from front room-- a discovery made by one mr. david cooch back when he was my temporary roommate and spent his days making coffee and saving lives of plastic-feasting sea turtles. the t-bone steak dinner is not just a t-bone steak. no. firstly, it's delivered. secondly, it comes with your choice of baked potato, spaghetti, or soup. they also throw in a salad and garlic bread. and two scoops of ice cream. i'll repeat: two scoops of ice cream come with your delivered steak dinner.

i know what you want to say, but let me have this one, vegans. let me just enjoy how magical that is after not getting to eat more than half a meal a day for so long. thank you front room, thank you dave cooch.

once the steak was down my throat and on its way to my belly, travis and i headed to allison's new apartment for her housewarming party.

she's got a great new spot in north beach where i had once carried a tiny green table in exchange for an in&out burger. but i'd only met her roommate at boyfriend really. i went to see the ukaladies and listening to songs about euphemistic sea-cucumbers, jewish virgin-sex, and non-metaphorical suitcases. it was good times.

anyway, given i only knew three peope, it was a refreshing chance to meet strangers at her housewarming. it's also where i hung out with the second lauren of the day. friday was a day of travises and saturday a lauren day, apparently. anyway, although we drank all of her beer (thanks), everyone there seemed to be some form of artist or another and we united in intellectual conversation.

there are few things i love more than drinks and a good debate.

oh, and i take it back: i knew four people-- not three. as it turns out, one of allison's friends happens to be an old neighbor who had let me climb out his window and across the fire escape to get in through my kitchen window. sadly, that happened more than once.

the housewarming party was a nice change from friday night. but then i suppose housewarmers are meant to be a little more intimate and conversational than birthday parties at hostels in the tenderloin.

we discussed everything from the academy of art, to how allison's boyfriend looks extremely like high laurie from house. and then we debated some more. for a moment, we argued over whether or not allison had put her barefoot in a bowl of chip-dip. i'm pretty sure i ate it anyway.

but by the later parts of the night, my brain started fizzling out and i don't know if it was on account of alcohol or just exhaustion-- but it did, and that's going to cost the rest of this post, unfortunately.

i do know we stumbled home sometime around 3am and i considered drunk-dialing a friend who had been previously warned what giving me her number might do. but then i realized she had given me the number back when i had a dead cell phone and so i'd put it somewhere else.

instead, travis and i just meandered back and i passed out in time for sunday.

oh, and before i forget: the weekend photo from a few days ago represents saturday with a jejune pencil, verizon pen and fortune, and a fork. i stole the fork from allison's house because that's how i roll at housewarming parties. and no you cannot have it back, allison.

I Hate Exclamation Marks! (And Here's Why)

Exclamation marks, oh how I loathe you. Narcissistic excess. Redundant, stylistic baggage. Grammatical abortions. The great reader deceiver. The painted whore. Even your figure pisses me off, demanding my attention by threatening to jump off of the page.

Exclamation marks are generally found at the tail-end of interjections (Hi! Bye! Cheers! Look out! Oh! Wow! Fuck!) and have a bloated way of imbuing a sentence with an undeserved sense of importance.

Writers generally use exclamation marks for one of two reasons:

1. To instill a sense of intensity or urgency
2. To raise the level of energy and excitement

But you know what I say? Exclamation marks are useless.

At this point you may be asking me, "Brad, what the hell is your problem with some friggin' exclamation marks?". Well let me tell you what my problem is.

Firstly, if you construct a proper sentence--that is, if you write well--you will never need to use one. Exclamation marks are like trying to show off your intelligence by donning thick rimmed glasses and chuckling at Kierkegaard over a latte at your local Starbucks, pausing occasionally to explain to the barista your concerns about the national debt. I mean, sure it gets the job done--you might even fool a few people along the way--but it's dishonest, plain and simple. Just as intelligence should be recognized by the content of your character and the value of your statement, so too should a sentence show intensity or excitement through the careful structure of your prose, not by the artificial status of a meaningless accessory.

My greatest concern with exclamation marks is not that they're unnecessary, but that they're insulting to the reader. Here's how:

a) More often than not, you've written a flat sentence and tried to cover it up by tacking an exclamation mark onto the end in order to artificially inflate its significance.

b) You think that the reader is so dense that they cannot identify emphasis, intensity or urgency unless you tell them that you have used it.

Now before you call me on it, let me be the first to admit that I too use exclamation marks from time to time (just read my blog; you'll find this to be true). However, I'm willing to swallow my pride and admit that almost every time I've ever used one it was out of laziness, and a lack of desire to rearrange my sentence so as to properly reflect what I have envisioned in my head. The only time that I intentionally use exclamation marks is when I'm swearing; it's a stylistic habit, and I think it looks cool.

If you disagree with this post you may choose to ignore everything I have written. After all, I'm just another aspiring author with no publication credits to my name. It might be harder to knock this guy down a peg though.

"Cut out all those exclamation points. An exclamation point is like laughing at your own jokes." - F. Scott Fitzgerald

Well dear readers, thank you for indulging me in my little rant. I hope that I was able to clearly convey my hatred of these useless bastards without the need of an exclamation mark.

Now I'm interested in hearing from you. When do you use exclamation marks? Do you ever feel that you overuse them? Am I just being hyper sensitive about a non-issue?

PS: One of these days...I will have to...make a post...about my hatred of...ellipsis over...use...

Dear Sarah

oh, i just don't know how to feel about you.

when you moved in, i was out smoking and you actually came back out to introduce yourself. i remember thinking you were very polite for doing so-- most people aren't so quick about their hellos. i also thought you were foreign, but it turned out you're just southern. you're georgian. and not even georgian like the russian-type, but the american kind of georgian.

both ways, you're friendly, and that's nice. your dog is very friendly, too.

but i know you're stealing my internet because your full name shows up on my itunes' shared list. and i just don't know what to feel. for almost half a year, i was stealing internet from two or three of our neighbors and probably would've never gotten my own wifi if they hadn't gotten wise to my late-night blogging and illegal downloading of music.

i had thought about leaving a few hundred dollars by the doorway of the rightful owners to those unlocked connections. but i figured the money was better spent on beer, and i would make it up to them some other day.

i never really did.

so i don't think i can be mad at you for stealing mine. you're at least a lot nicer than me, and it's always been my thought that internet should be free anyway.

i guess what gets me is that you probably know it's my internet, because-- similar to your itunes-- mine has most of my full name as well. it at least says wishnack attack! and i think you know my last name by now.

is that why you're always so friendly to me? or is that just the southern charm?

before i knew it was you, i googled the name that kept showing up on my itunes and found that you sell these little hand-painted thank you cards on your etsy.


i like to imagine them to be for me and my free wireless.

you're welcome.

and the more i think about it, the less i mind you borrowing my internet. you don't really slow me down much anyway. but it's a little funny that you, the downstairs stealer of my wifi, have your itunes password-protected.

are you locking me out of your playlists?

that's a little unfair, isn't it? you really ought to share your music with me if you're going to share my bandwith. what you're doing is like eating all my bread but not sharing the peanut butter. it's just rude, really.

i mean, i could password the wifi and we could call it even if you'd rather it that way.

think about it.

neighborly,
president wishnack

p.s. - i also wouldn't be against it if you wanted to leave a couple hundred dollars by my doorway instead.

Aspiring Author Interview with Emily White

Let's start off with something simple. Who are you?

My name is Emily White and I write YA science fiction with a paranormal twist or sometimes YA paranormal with a sci-fi twist.  And I do all this while letting my two little boys use me as a playground.

Could you tell us a little bit about your work in progress?

My completed novel, ELEMENTAL (which is scheduled to come out this summer, by the way), is a Darth Vader meets Tinker Bell YA sci-fi about a girl who discovers she can manipulate the elements but doesn't know if she can control the monster inside her.  I've got a couple others I'm working on (one a paranormal and one hard sci-fi), but ELEMENTAL has 90% of my focus right now.

What is the first story you remember writing? What was it about?

The first book I ever wrote was a graphic novel about how mean my sisters were to me.  Hey, I was four or five!  And I must say, the pictures were spot-on.  But as far as real books go, I wrote my first full-fledged novel in middle school and it was about evil mythological creatures taking over the world and eating people.

Are you more of a “plotter” or a “pantser”?

I am definitely in-between.  I've tried plotting before and it never really worked for me, but I can't give up all control and just let the characters take me where they may.  I always know how a book will end before I start it, and I usually know how chapters will end before I start them, too.  But all this stays in my head and tends to be pretty flexible.

All writers need encouragement. Who first encouraged you to write, and who is it that encourages you today? 

My mom planned on all of her children being writers some day, so she was the one who encouraged me first.  I'd say I find most of my encouragement today from my blog readers and fellow writers.  Knowing that there are people who will hold me accountable and who seem to be excited about my career just as much as I am really keeps me focused and eager.

Which authors have had a significant influence on your writing?

C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, and Becca Fitzpatrick

What music, if any, do you enjoy listening to while you write?

ANY (well, except country or rap).  It all depends on the kind of music my MC would enjoy listening to.  The music on my playlist ranges from classical to techno and Christian rock to Marilyn Manson.

What are your greatest strengths and weaknesses as a writer? 

I'd say my greatest strengths are dialogue and suspenseful scenes.  They're certainly my favorite parts to write.  And my weaknesses?  I'll admit I may be too much of a fan of "that" and "but."  I always have to highlight those words as I revise so I can annihilate them if possible.  It usually is possible and my manuscript tends to look quite colorful as I'm going along.

What do you hope to achieve with your writing? 

Fame and fortune.  Haha!  Well, not completely.  That would be nice though.  Ultimately, I hope I can write something that people truly love.

What was once traditionally a print medium is now rapidly branching out into many digital formats. What do you think of this trend? 

I love it!  I think it's awesome!  The world of publishing has opened up to writers like never before, and to readers too.  The things you can do with an ebook are just astounding.  Imagine having your book trailer at the front of your book as a perk for readers to enjoy.  It's absolutely possible!  And self-publishing is a viable option for many writers now.  I love where we're headed.

What was the last sentence that you had to re-read over and over again because of its awesomeness? What struck you about it?

"Because something is significantly wrong with a creature that sacrifices its children's lives to settle its differences." (from MOCKINGJAY, by Suzanne Collins).  I love it for how bold it is and how it speaks of something that isn't just a threat of what might happen in this society, but what this society has been doing for far too long.

What book(s) have you recently read that you would recommend to the readers of this blog? 

YA sci-fi!  Especially THE MARBURY LENS, by Andrew Smith and THE MAZE RUNNER series, by James Dashner. 

What advice do you have to other aspiring authors out there?

Keep at it and read, read, read!  Oh, and get a good critique partner--someone you could mistake for your long lost twin.  When you have someone who shares your vision for your work, helping you see all its weakness (as well as its strengths), you will naturally grow into a better writer.

An apocalypse destroys the entirety of human literature, apart from the work of three authors that you can magically save with your wizardry – what do you save from imminent destruction?

Oh boy, only three?  THE CHRONICLES OF NARNIA (technically many books, but you said "work," so I'm going to take that to also include completed series :) ), GULLIVER'S TRAVELS, and A CONNECTICUT YANKEE IN KING ARTHUR'S COURT.  I know I didn't say LOTR, but these works were political satires and allegory, and we would definitely need those to teach future generations what the world was like before the apocalypse.

Our time is at an end. For our curious readers, how can we follow your progress?

You can follow me at my blog, Emily's Playhouse, where I talk about writing, reading, and sci-fi.

The Weekend in Reverse: Part 3

i don't know as much about laundry as i do cologne and febreeze, but against the better advice of the laundry gurus, i waited till sunday to get my load in the wash. a few friends offered to draw me a pie-chart to illustrate exactly how horrible an idea it was-- saying 90% of all humans do their laundry on sundays.

ah shit, you know it's serious when charts and numbers get involved.

i wasn't sure how to feel about that because it meant i was rare-- and that's pretty cool-- but it also meant i was stupid. and that totally ruins the context of "rare."

stolen from lustik.

but, despite the very crazy saturday that preceded, i was up at 10am sunday morning. and for once, i had exactly enough quarters to do the exact amount of laundry i needed.

and all the machines were empty.

not just one machine, but all of them-- including the dryers. one machine even had its door swung open as if it were hungrily awaiting my dirty clothes.

sort of shits on your pie-chart, now doesn't it?

in fact, laundry was done with such perfection and ease it almost should've been a a misdemeanor-- or, at the very least, an infraction. i even remembered to put soap in the load before starting the cycle, which is not always true. everything was perfect and it finished exactly in time for me to make it to sear's fine foods to discuss a new [and paid] illustration job with a very hungover irene mcgee.

she discovered my blog while we were at the restaurant and proceeded to read it out loud which was both embarrassing and flattering. but it means i can't talk shit about her here now-- i promised not to write about how she had to get up to use the bathroom three times in one meal, two of which i firmly believe were poop-trips, or any other humiliating aspects of the day.

she ordered pancakes and corned beef, with about four cups of coffee-- describing it as "how you know i'm hungover." and i tried to order the strawberry-whipped-cream waffles with a side of bacon, but was quickly informed there were no strawberries available.

"you can order any of the other waffles," the server explained.

oh, i can?

"no, i know," i said, "but it was sort of all about the strawberries. i guess i'll have a... plain... waffle. and bacon."

shortly after having my dreams shattered, the slender woman at the next table was served three plates of food. one plate was covered in all forms of meat and the other two were a mixture of waffles, eggs, and-- wouldn't you know-- mother fuckin' strawberries.

but i was too amazed by this skinny girl and her gigantic breakfast to care that i had been denied strawberries despite their very clear existence.

irene and i stared at the lady and then stared at each other. i told myself i would shake her hand if she actually finished all three plates of food in one sitting.

"can you please hurry up," the lady said into her phone, "i've got all this food in front of me and people are going to think it's just for me."

"i was thinking, 'damn this girl is cool," irene laughed, "we were both wondering how you were going to do it!"

"i was planning on applauding, or shaking your hand."

"no, no," the lady laughed, "it's not just for me."

"she eats like this at home," a man said as he arrived at the table, "but i tell her she has to keep it in check when she's in public. sometimes i just show up late to see if she'll eat all the food..."

irene and i went back to discussing hangovers and art projects.

the plan is several-fold:

1. design no one's listening's logo for her revival.
2. greeting cards galore-- primarily local-based humor.
3. work for getdatecandy.com as the cartoonist attached to the daily dating advice.

i can't seem to get away from Love. it's sort of like how i was a tour guide and then a vacation planner, but don't really know how to vacation at all. perhaps i live more vicariously than i have myself believe.

at one point, after hearing how happy i was with life and nonsense and all of it together, irene asked me if i was going to Fall in Love. i sort of laughed. and then she made me promise i wouldn't.

"don't," she said, "or else you won't be able to draw anymore and i need you to draw for me."

fair is fair. so i promised i would never Fall in Love.

after her food arrived, and she took 45 trips to the toilet, i saw a strawberry-covered waffle plate headed straight toward me. i was mostly excited, but slightly let down that it had no whipped cream. and, technically, i still had no idea if the breakfast was for me or if it was for another patron who deserved it more.

and then the man with the strawberry waffles turned around and went back into the kitchen.

dammit. i want my god damn breakfast.

and then he came back. this time the strawberry waffles were covered in a mound of whipped cream. a mound, in this sentence, roughly translating to a cereal bowl-sized amount. a lot. and there was even one joyous strawberry hanging out on top of the whipped cream mountain, looking proud about his achievements.

that strawberry had no clue he would be the first to be eaten.

"here you go," the new server said, "didn't know if you wanted whipped cream at first-- but then i thought, 'shoot, this is how i'd want it done!' so i hope you like it."

"dude," i said sternly, "this is how it's done."

the couple next to us started laughing.

"you were judging her for her food?" the man said about his slender lady-friend, "look at you."

my side of bacon arrived on a separate plate.

"breakfast of champions, man," i said.

that morning was a rare great. it's unusual for me to do laundry [successfully], and even more unusual for me to eat breakfast. and if i eat breakfast, it's usually a coffee and a cigarette instead of strawberry-infested waffles suffocating in whipped cream and deliciousness. and bacon. and, courtesy of laundry, i was able to do the whole thing in a suit, tie, and vest-- i feel like that made me feel more productive and important while i ate like a child.

plus, hanging out with irene is always fun-- even if i had to promise to never Fall in Love and never write about how she pees 954609745 per hour. she's bitter but brilliant, and that does not always come hand in hand for everyone. also, she gains major wishnack respect points for having texted me, "i'm gonna make you money" before inviting me to our business meeting.

some people could learn from her.

after a few more drawings of things like the golden gate bridge on an average day, we were given two sear's fine foods slot-machine tokens. irene won a surprisingly-easy-to-counterfeit "free soda" coupon, but gave it to me. and i just kept my token for the sake of having it. you may have seen those three items in the photo on my previous post about the weekend.

i had to rush out of there shortly after, to go on my second adventure of the weekend. in fact, i was dressed up in my professional clothing for the adventure-- not for the business meeting. in all honesty, i had no actual plan for that exploration, but i've always found things to be quite a bit more... entertaining when done in a three-piece suit. more people trust me when they shouldn't. and doors open for me, even when they're not automatic.

ultimately, the friend i was meant to take on the adventure wound up too busy for chaos. but it was probably best for everyone. sunday was better off a relaxation and/or productivity day. i was already so exhausted it was hard to tell which day i was even recovering from.

but, i want to say it was saturday. saturday was a full day.

intoxicated poop segment: part cvi

i have a small file of poop quotes and stories from friends. if you think i talk about poop often, try and imagine how often others tell me about their poop. it's one of those things we all want to discuss, but aren't sure how to go about-- and i think i've somewhat named myself the one that won't stop you from poopy conversation if you need to have it.

or emails, like this one, from techboy.

but in my poop quote file, a good 80% of the quotes are from my friend tony. great factual sentences like, "I have, on occasion, been forced to take a shower after I take a dump because I was out of toilet paper."

and more recently, we had a small discussion which made my disgusting mind spin.

tony: dude I ate a really good burrito last night

but uh... this morning...

well you know

so what's the scale

how good does a burrito have to be before you can forgive the fact that it gave you the green apple splatters

in my rule book of foods and consequences, it's always been written in fine print that the ingestion of mexican or indian food is willingly waking up to spicy diarrhea. when you go to purchase a burrito, you've already told yourself that you're craving one so badly that you don't mind if something happens water-turdly as a result.


but tony brings up a good question: to what degree is that true? at what point is the diarrhea so horrible that the food is just not worth it?

i have no answer.

however, i may have a solution.

i'd like to see a food-review website that talks explicitly about poop. in fact, i dare say poop is so closely tied to food it may even be more important to a restaurant's success than their location. yelp has respectfully included things like price, whether or not the restaurant is good for kids, what sort of payments they accept, and a user-based rating system.

but nowhere do they mention poop.

no one wants to associate poop with dinner: i get it. but, unfortunately, poop is as relevant to dinner as ice is to water. and that's not about to change. so it's wonderful to see the millions of foodie websites using words like "chic" and "sensual" but i think it's long past time for poopie websites that use words like "fiery" and "bleeding."

in what shat that? there is a wonderful little graph of each animal's poop and its mess factor. sloppier shit is awarded more turd-silhouettes the same way good food is awarded more stars, or expensive food gains more dollar signs.

yelp could add something like that to their website easily. i mean, think about it: would you really go and check out a restaurant if you knew the following facts?

Price: $ ($30 or less for an entree, drink and tip)
Rating: 4/5 stars (4,000 votes)
Poop: 5/5 poops (4,000 votes)

it sort of makes it clear that the food is delicious, but comes with a price-- and not a monetary one.

we have the right to know these sorts of things.

discuss and disgust...