Practical Advice…Learned In A Bathroom: Forest of Nightmares

Elton-E-Header

Being your average, ordinary everyday bad ass, I have used many a bathroom in my time. Be it for the intricacies of wash closet architecture or for secluded enclaves to woo buck toothed hookers, I’ve enjoyed them all, in one way or another. Though, mostly for pissing, shitting …and prostitutes.

Sometimes, I’ve even enjoyed the pleasantries of an outdoor commode experience and it’s life lessons. It’s a rare but, one that must be done and goes along with being a man of superior stock. One of overwhelming bad assedness, such as myself, must shirk the obligations of pleasuring beautiful women, being admired by common men and punching non-coolness in it’s dick from time to time, in order to maintain a high level of excellence. A short sabbatical into the wilderness is a great venue to flex both my daunting wit and brawn. Plus, women love the shit out of burly, sweaty guys chopping wood…stuff with tents around. It’s why lumberjacks get so much ass. Even the ugly ones.

It was during such an excursion that I learned something peculiar, about both nature and my fellow man—and what an unfeeling bastard he can be. [Read more...]

Stupidest Assholes of 2012, The List – by Elton Edgar

mayan

Katt Williams, goes drugged up nuts at concerts and then slaps a K-Mart employee while running from the police.

Rupert Murdoch, phone tapping extraordinaire takes down a media institution with stupidity.

Jerry Sandusky, the Penn State asst. coach for molesting kids via a childrens charity.

Mel Gibson, loses his shit and screams at a writer, in front of a 15 year old kid.

Dish Network, for taking out its legal tantrums out on its own customers by cutting AMC from it’s line up.

2012 Olympic Judges, for robbing South Korean female fencer Shin Lam of a chance at a gold medal, because they don’t understand that clocks break.

The Mayans, ending their calendar in a year that has — not only the internet and television — but, is populated by psychics, psuedo-experts and mid-western apocalypse wackos, all of whom can type and make videos.

Disney, after they stripped a cartoon princess of her Latin heritage.

Todd Akin, kills the Republican party and gives the world one of its most absurd pop culture phrases to date with his “legitimate rape” comment.

Mitt Romney insults 47% of the American public…and still thought he’d win the election.

Chik-Fil-A, gives homophobes an official chicken sponsor.

Nakoula Basseley Nakoula, for making a film so bad it drove Muslims to murder.

Kenneth Krause, for fat-shaming a newscaster via email, then saying he didn’t when she calls him out on t.v.

 

EltonElton, a steamy sexual dynamo, is a comedy writing loser from Pennsylvania. He’s the author of several failed attempts at books, cartoons and occasionally writes articles at Funnyordie for Will Ferrell to ignore. You can check out more of his pants shittingly funny mumbling at Elton Says Things (his super tits blog!) What that means…he doesn’t even know.

 

Top 6 List ~ Stupid Shit You’ll Need This Thanksgiving – Elton Edgar

Thanksgiving is here again! Oh, the joy of celebrating the pilgrims of yore, quashing a turkey uprising and feeding on their bodies in triumphant feasting. God bless meat eating America! So, in celebration, you’ve prepared a feast fit for a fat, unhealthy king. The table is set, family and friends are arriving and you feel like it’s safe to retreat to the bathroom and sob in quiet, desperate misery until the whole thing’s over, but, wait…there’s a problem…Ohhhh, you should have gotten…

6. More Damned Chairs 

Stupid chairs. It’s always something isn’t it? Everything is perfect, until people start sitting down. Then, the chairs fill up and those left standing look around, helplessly, for space to plant their asses. Studies show that people take there asses everywhere they go, and like to sit on them from time to time. Unfortunately, your house has enough seating for you and yours, not them and theirs. What the hell can you do? These people are screaming internally and secretly voting you “Years Biggest Asshole”! Something will be done and it’s either, these pricks eat standing up or it’s the floor for Aunt Flo and Grandpa Flat Ass.

The Solution: Pick up some folding chairs from a Wal-Mart type of store, home improvement place or steal them from an auditorium with a loose security policy. While you’re there, you might think about a small fold up card table. It’ll help keep elderly people from piling plates on your stereo, Xbox or porn magazine laden end tables. The damned heathens.

5. An Electric Knife

What the hell do I need that for? I have regular NON-electric knives. Why spend the money? Sure, that’s perfectly sound logic. It’ll work well for you too, as you’re sweating out three weeks worth of water intake onto a now mutilated turkey, mutter obscenities within earshot of Granny. Why use the knife at all? Gouge at the turkey with your bare, unwashed claws Captain Caveman? 

The Solution: Buy an electric knife. It makes the job of carving up a turkey a thousand times easier and a million times cleaner. Plus, they’re cheap, which saves money for anti-depressants and hobbies…like, amateur dentistry. Besides, hacking away at the bird, just urges onlookers to wonder if you’re secretly wishing it was them you were sawing at. Wouldn’t it be better if they found that out later, when you creep into their bed room at night? Duh.

4. More Whipped Cream

 Wonderful, wonderful whipped cream, as it happens, is not just for sex any more. People put it on pies and desserts, if you can believe that. “Oh, but, I’ve already bought some.”, you say. Well, that’s it then, you’ve got it handled. Good for you! You have all you need. Wrong. Everyone loves whipped cream and often use pie as an excuse to eat seven pounds worth of it. You don’t have enough.

The Solution: Whatever amount you bought, buy twice that. Whipped cream is the reason why pies were invented. People before pies, had no reason to validate slapping fists full of whipped cream in their faces. Now, they do and will do…a lot. If you have any left over after Thanksgiving (you won’t), you can always use it for other things, like, whippits or slathering it on body parts, like God intended.

3. Cheap Booze

The holidays are a time not only for joy, but, getting shit faced as well. So, imbibing yourself into a sloppy mess is expected, especially at Thanksgiving. In fact, booze is one of the things we’re usually thankful for. Besides, is there a better way to air a family’s dirty laundry and chastise loved ones, other than via wine laced confessions and sweeping accusations? We think not. Alas, as popular as getting tanked is, there’s never enough alcohol to go around.

The Solution: Beer. It’s cheap, plentiful and will fulfill even a hardened drunk’s liquid appetite. Pick up some cheap stuff, it’ll show that you care…but, not that much.

2. Kids Movies 

When inviting family and friends to share in Thanksgiving means you’ll be spending the time with people you mostly like…and their noisy kids. Relentless, sugar fueled kids. They’re needy and demanding. You might have to put down your gin and tonic multiple times just to help them find the bathroom. It’s tiring stuff. A great way to offset their constant wanting of things is television. Kid’s love t.v., especially movies. They’re are a great way to keep whiney children at bay and relieve adults of the itchy shackles of responsibility. All too often, however, movies that are readily available aren’t always kid friendly. This is double for households that don’t usually harbor children. Finding something they like among regular DVD’s can be a hassle. Their attention is rarely captivated by “gripping docu-dramas” involving pregnant midgets, The Office or Goodfellas, as mafia murder plots are almost always outside of their wheelhouse of understanding. What the hell can you do?

The Solution: Redbox, a movie rental vending machine, can deliver semi-new and new release DVD entertainment for around dollar a movie. Use the internet for something other than Facebook, Wikipedia and porn involving Wikipedia to locate one. It beats explaining why an underwear clad Joe Pesci is getting the shit beat out of him with a bat, to a fear screaming 6 year old that just pissed their pants.

1. Microwavable Crap

 Among other things, Thanksgiving wreaks havoc on a budget. Plus, it’s exhausting. The preparing, cooking and eating takes hours, if not a whole day and all the people wandering around in a zombie like haze doesn’t help. Afterward, you’re sick of turkey, at least for the time being and you’re so bloated from it, you don’t want to move…for days. The next day, the refrigerator is clogged solid with the remnants of the feast. Sure, you’re hungry, but, dammit, MORE turkey? You might be toying with the idea of throwing up on yourself for thinking about turkey’s sweet white meat. Should you starve?

The Solution: Pick up frozen microwave meals while you’re over filling your cart with Thanksgiving’s tasty burdens. You might not want it now, but, the day after…a pizza is a nice alternative to reliving the day.

We hope this helps in some small way to alleviate the juicy pain that is Thanksgiving. If it doesn’t, there’s no one to blame but, yourself…and maybe Joe Pesci.

 

EltonElton, a steamy sexual dynamo, is a comedy writing loser from Pennsylvania. He’s the author of several failed attempts at books, cartoons and occasionally writes articles at Funnyordie for Will Ferrell to ignore. You can check out more of his pants shittingly funny mumbling at Elton Says Things (his super tits blog!) What that means…he doesn’t even know.

 

Practical Advice…Learned In A Bathroom: Bathroom Bomber

Being your average, ordinary everyday bad ass, I have used many a bathroom in my time. Be it for the intricacies of wash closet architecture or for secluded enclaves to woo buck toothed hookers, I’ve enjoyed them all, in one way or another. Though, mostly for pissing, shitting …and prostitutes.

Be that as it may, situations occur that fall outside of the happiest of pissing, shit and sex working awesomeness. There are times of heroism and valor that scare the shit out of you and bring out the testosterone fueled Hercules that lies buried, dormant beneath the cool exterior of one’s handsome good looks. By that stuff…I mean…me and by times I mean, the day I pissed my way onto the super hero, anti-terrorism world stage!

It was during a banquet I was attending at the Swedish consulate in Washington D.C. I was invited to the banquet as a “thank you” for securing the latest “50 Shades of Grey “installment, six months before it’s release (don’t ask). I would have graciously declined, but, who am I to turn down free expensive booze and food in weird sauces?

The night was soaked in mixed drinks, nondescript old guys, ugly rich women and expensive pretty ones. I, of course, was fending them off the best I could. Having my fair share of champagne, I adjourned to the bathroom to “donate my liquid assets” (that’s code for “taking a whiz”).

I had finished and was washing my hands when, a man joined me at the sink. A nice suit, clean hair cut and a striking jaw line, he looked to be a late twenties to mid-thirties business type. I could have mistaken him for a model of some sort, but, you know…I wouldn’t know, ‘m not gay and stuff. I’m woman humping straight.

So, the hot guy washed his hands beside me. Then, addressing me in a confident, deep, manly super model tone he said, “Sorry about the funk in here, my man. I had to drop a bomb, know what I mean?”. “Uh, wha-what, I’m sorry, I was mesmerized by your exquisite jaw line and what looks to be an finely tailored suit stretched over your Adonis like biceps, could you repeat that?”, I heterosexually responded.

“Uh…I’m sorry about the bomb I left in the toilet.”, he said with a hint of embarrassment.

I blankly stared into his dazzling blue eyes for a moment, the alcohol dulling my usually lightning fast response time. “You left a bomb in the toilet?”

“Yeah, sorry about that, the smell–”

Using my cheetah like reflexes, I punched him in the face.

“OW! What the hell? You punched me?!”

I had little time to waste. I wrestled him to the floor. Spotting the bathroom attendant who, until now, was transparent…apparently. I yelled to him, “Get the police or Homeland Security guy! I’ll keep this terrorist distracted and disarm the bomb!”

“Terrorist?! Who’s a terrorist?” interjected the still conscious terrorist. “Shut your infidel hating face!”, I shouted and struck his nose repeatedly. “Sir!”, the attendant interjected, “Sir! Stop!”. With the would be bomber pinned, I turned to him, “Sir, that’s a senator from Maine!”.

I learned two things that night. One, apologizing profusely after beating a senator will never get you out of a tasing and two, senators do accept apologies, but, only after getting a turn at tasing you.

My advice: Always be sure the person you’re accusing of terrorism isn’t an elected official with the shits. You’ll likely end up with electrical burns on your nipples if you don’t.

 

EltonElton, a steamy sexual dynamo, is a comedy writing loser from Pennsylvania. He’s the author of several failed attempts at books, cartoons and occasionally writes articles at Funnyordie for Will Ferrell to ignore. You can check out more of his pants shittingly funny mumbling at Elton Says Things (his super tits blog!) What that means…he doesn’t even know.

 

Practical Advice Learned in The Bathroom – Number Two

Practical Advice Learned in The Bathroom

There are a scant few places on Earth that reveal more about a person, than the the places they piss and shit. Only a handful come to mind: bars, churches and opium dens. Still the bathroom and our activities in them, tells so much more.

Take for instance the time I had brunch with a South Indo-chinese war lord to haggle the price of “appropriated” human organs (it’s a bear market). Our exchanges grew heated, so, I excused myself to the restroom. It’s a classic negotiation tactic…and I had to take a dump.

Mid-crap, my mind drifted, away from the low ball offer I was given for kidneys, to the walls of my stall. There on the wall paper among the ugly rubber ducky wall paper, there was shit. Someone had written on the wall…with shit.

What trauma in life brings a man to write with his own dookie? A broken home? Desperation? A lack of shit colored pens? My mind reeled. The implications were enormous. Then, the paranoia set in. What else had this mad shit writer doodled on? I scanned the stall in a frenzy. Shit? Shit? Nothing. Just the wall.

I finished, washed my hands and pondered. Who was this shit scribbling freak? A chill ran through me. He could be anyone. He could be anywhere at anytime. In fact, he might have there with me. Possibly, lurking in the trash can. A round house kick to it’s side proved it empty.

Panicked, I opened the door and ran screaming from the restaurant. I’m sure my war lord friend was curious as to why. He never did settle on a kidney price. Such is life, I suppose, when walls are written with shit.

What did I learn from all of this? A good many things, let me tell you. One, no one understands the words “Poop, shit wall writing!” when you scream it. Two, there is a man named Poupschitz Walrighting who frequents the same restaurants as Indochinese war lords and three, I will be meeting his lawyers next week.

My advice is this: The world is a weird place, so, to be safe assume everyone has shit on their hands.

 
 

EltonElton, a steamy sexual dynamo, is a comedy writing loser from Pennsylvania. He’s the author of several failed attempts at books, cartoons and occasionally writes articles at Funnyordie for Will Ferrell to ignore. You can check out more of his pants shittingly funny mumbling at Elton Says Things (his super tits blog!) What that means…he doesn’t even know.

Practical Advice Learned in The Bathroom – Number One

Being your average, ordinary everyday bad ass, I have used many a bathroom in my time. Be it for the enjoyment of wash closet architecture and tiling or for their secluded enclaves to woo buck-toothed hookers, I’ve enjoyed them all, in one way or another. Though, mostly for pissing, shitting …and prostitutes.

Those same wash rooms have taught me a lot too. Things that, when learned and applied, have greatly enhanced my life. Like, never, ever trust a priest taking confession in port-a-potty, or that “glory holes” are not for recyclables or for glory and it’s impossible to speak to a stranger about your mother while urinating.

While those nuggets of wisdom could warrant a Reader’s Digest novella of scatological life lessons themselves, there are far more to be had. After scouring the world’s bathrooms on the tail end of hangovers, cocaine binges and burrito laden emergencies, I’ve amassed, a literal ass load of practical guidance…just for you. You don’t have to thank me. It’s been my pleasure in more ways than one. The trials and tribulations…the horrific sting ring. Okay, maybe not the sting ring.

Oh, the learned shit, the shits have wrought. There’s so much they’ve taught me. Like the time I was in the Memphis International Airport. I had recently arrived from Paris on a red flight, after selling pirated copies of “The Passion of The Christ” to nuns (don’t ask). On that flight, I had sex with a strange overweight school teacher. She fell in love. When the plane landed I ran. She’d come looking for me, of course, so, I “B” lined for the first bathroom I made eye contact with.

I hid in one of the bathroom’s stalls. A good deal of non-fat girl intrusion time passed and I noticed that no one else had entered the restroom. Weird. I chocked it up to my “manly awesomeness” repelling non-awesome men.

Suddenly, the bathroom door slammed open, then, my stall door was kicked in. It was a group of men in black S.W.A.T. uniforms and gear. I was exposed in all my cowered, whimpering glory. A man pulled me from my chubby girl-less, safe haven.

Believing I was about to be violated sexually, prepared myself. I worked at my belt buckle, but, to my surprise I merely incensed the men. They instead searched my person and the carry on bag full of condoms, miniature booze bottles and dental floss. “Is this it?”, the sex army leader sternly questioned. “The floss, yes. I’m happy to share. Please don’t rape me.”, I replied…vanquished. He looked me over in a puzzled and angry way, then, I was roughly escorted from the bathroom and taken to a security office.

After being questioned for hours, having my luggage searched twice (once by dogs) and receiving 3 body cavity searches (not by dogs), I learned what had happened. A sexually satisfied fat girl saw me run into the bathroom. Unable to breach the sacred barrier of the “Men’s Room” to cash in on a supposed “marriage proposal”, she sought other ways to have me extracted. She told them I was a terrorist. She has since been jailed due to being crazy. I was let go on the grounds of my awesomeness.

I learned a couple of words of advice from this situation. Some involving dogs, others involving fat lovers in confined spaces, still others involving fear pissing. The biggest lesson I learned, however, is that a bathroom is no safe haven when it comes to strange fat jilted mile-high club lovers. My advice…never bang a fat chick that needs a marriage proposal to get it on, because, in the end, there’s going to be a S.W.A.T. Team involved.


EltonElton, a steamy sexual dynamo, is a comedy writing loser from Pennsylvania. He’s the author of several failed attempts at books, cartoons and occasionally writes articles at Funnyordie for Will Ferrell to ignore. You can check out more of his pants shittingly funny mumbling at Elton Says Things (his super tits blog!) What that means…he doesn’t even know.