Dukal - the poopy product

ex lax
Steroids for poop

OK, just as I got here to write my fabulous mental poopery, I observed an ad at the top of my excellent blog for Dukal. When I first saw it I thought to myself, "Dukal? WTF? Is this some sort of laxative or something?"

But no, it's a 'wound care product', as I discovered when I read the rest of the ad, which I am ashamed to admit I did not click on despite it being on my own page and thus sending a tenth of a penny to my account each time some sucker, er, potential customer clicks the link. Ooh, I am a lazy fucker. I robbed myself there.

Last week I heard that the lugly ladies of the American Feminazia Country Club are at it again, with a new Amendment to the U.S. Constitution posing as egalitarianism, but in reality being something dramatically different, and of course, highly lucrative and politically advantageous for themselves.

Those wacky man-haters, always with the joking around!

And right on schedule, the Big Propaganda Machine came rolling out. All day today in the news they're reporting that the feminist organization, American Association of University Misandrists, has released a report "proving" that women are making about 4 cents for every dollar men make. Or maybe it's 40 cents. It varies depending on who is telling the story. It isn't for the same jobs, mind you, but they're trying to maneuver around that little problem now that the ladies of the world have started to catch on to that old trick, by rewording it to make it appear as if they're comparing men and women working in the same jobs, while still not actually doing that.

hair down to there
"... and just by growing my hair very long
I can distract from my camel toe"

Why do they always have to stack the deck in order to make their "gender lens" view of things add up? Have you ever noticed that? If you count 10 beans 100 times and still come up with 10, but your women's studies teacher insists that as a woman you only received 8 beans due to blatant sex discrimination, do you not at some point conclude that the cow with the ugly shoes and bad haircut is either a liar or mathematically challenged and move on?

So anyway, I naturally felt irritated and planned to blog about it. But then I thought better of it. What difference does it make what I say here? Doesn't our very own President Bush have advisers from the Independent Women's Forum already telling him that this is bullshit, and even showing him what the real numbers indicate? And doesn't he ignore them every single time?

rice and the iwf
"For some reason, he only listens
to women who didn't vote for him,
so we have a bit of a challenge here."

Yes, in case you didn't know the answer. Yes, he does. He has women advising him, women from a women's organization that actually knows how to count and is headed by a woman with a PhD in economics, so she knows how much one dollar is, and yet he still ignores them and listens instead to the heads of the Republican Party as they say, "it doesn't matter what the truth is. It only matters that we win the vote of young, single, college-aged girls. So go with the bullshit and ignore your married and highly educated female advisers. As a bonus, maybe some hot college girl will do you like Bill Clinton."

Yes, that's how this conversation between Bush and his advisers plays out in my head. "maybe they'll do you." It just makes the whole thing more interesting to me. Sorry for that.

So, with that in mind, let's talk about the fucking ants that have invaded my house. They started off in the master bathroom. Why the master bathroom? Do I keep Snickers bars in there so I can eat while I poop?

No, I don't. I have no idea why they're in there. But they gradually migrated through the master bedroom to the hallway bathroom.

Again with the bathrooms! Why? There is nothing in any of those rooms for ants to eat or otherwise entertain themselves with.

So, the pipe in the master bath wall sprung a leak. Oh, thank God there was already a big-assed hole where the previous leak was, so we can get to it without cutting into the sheetrock.

But no, it was over from that, behind more sheetrock. Which meant cutting into the wall in a different spot. YAY!

With that fixed, I could turn again to the ants who were by now legally squatters, as they had been living here long enough to have tenants' rights.


But just as I turned to them, another leak sprang up in the master bath. DAMMIT!

And oh God why do you hate me, this one required cutting the opposite wall, in the hall bath.


"Why does it matter if I pee in the shower?
It's all just pipes."

While in the wall replacing pipes, it was observed that some Bubba who previously owned this house must have at some point pulled the tub in the master bath and replaced all the sheetrock around it. And not knowing what he was doing, he sheetrocked behind the tub before reinstalling it.

I'll bet he had a FABULOUS time getting the tub to fit back in there after he put in sheetrock where NO SHEETROCK IS SUPPOSED TO BE!

I say 'he', but in the interests of being totally pathetic and thus suitable for ESPN, perhaps I should say "he or she", or the newly Lesbian-Approved "s/he" instead?

Nah, fuck it.

So, this sheetrock that shouldn't be there, which also doesn't appear to be the proper kind of sheetrock to put in a tub and shower, has black mold on it.

Oh lovely happy day, I am so highly allergic to that shit, I just can't tell you how happy it makes me to find a big old wad of it in my walls after having to carve the whole house up and battle with giant Japanese radioactive ant armies who landed in flying saucers in the middle of the night as the National Organization for Women was plotting to take over the world via the United Nations and the local Public Broadcasting Network is pushing bullshit TV in my living room while My Wife's car begins acting up again. Happy, happy day!

So I put out poison for the ants, who OF COURSE are completely immune to the toxic effects of mold, even as I am choking and gasping for air in my own bedroom as I try to sleep each night. The ants like the poison. They call their friends.

"Dude, check it out. Guess where I'm calling you from? Dude, there is some GOOD SHIT over here at this guy's house. Let's have a PAAAAAAARTY!"

So the ants are swarming the shit. I'm reading the label to make sure it is in fact a kind of ant poison and not just pure liquid sugar in a fancy plastic container. After about 12 hours of Ant Party 2007 I decide I'd like to go to bed and not have a steady march of ants slam-dancing on my windowsill right next to me and occasionally on me. So I take the 'poison' and put it out in the garage. Then I spray the remaining Ant Dancers with different poison, and go to bed.

This morning, the Ant Party was gone, except for a few stray hangovers wandering here and there. So I started getting ready for work, like always. Yay Monday.

As I was leaving for work I walked by the cat's food dish in the laundry room, at the opposite end of the house from the master bedroom.

Ants, all in a row, marching in from under a wall, and diving headfirst into the cat's food dish.


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