Pigeons Poop No More


I’ve solved the problem that has been plaguing man for centuries, that of stepping in, or getting directly dropped on by, pigeon poop.

Now the picture included will tell you that this won’t be limited to just those, to be kind, unattractive birds. The issue really comes down to the reason that the birds are even in our major cities, and that’s food.
The answer — helicopters. Maybe it’s just Los Angeles and they’re filming aerial shots for television and movies, but I think there’s also traffic copters and they can do double duty by dropping food for the birds to munch.  They’re never in a hurry, they can take the extra time. Then the birds can just drop their poop in the ocean or on the highways. We have, after all, already invented the automatic car wash and we do need to live harmoniously with nature.
Now here’s the real genius — gourmet drops. The birds come to feed because they know humans are a) sloppy and will leave or drop food b) they know there’s a lot of lonely humans with extra white bread and c) they like pooping on us. But now we’ll drop little bundles (environmentally friendly) that they can snack on. They’ll be attached to the parachutes like the little plastic army men and the birds will have their own al fresco dining experience.
You see, they like pooping on us because we don’t live harmoniously with them. We drive our cars, we ride our bicycles and make them move when they don’t want to move while they try to pick up our scraps. So if we provide them with superior quality, dropped in their native habitat, the sky, we will show that we know how to live together and provide for  the cycle of nature.
I know, genius. Now what to do for the mice?

The Opposite of Poop

Readers of this blog may know that I like poop jokes. My brother called me the King of Scatological Humor. So if you signed up to follow my blog because of a more inspirational, mature yet funny, entry, I apologize. Sometimes I just have to go dirty.

You see, for twenty five years I entertained children 8-14 times a week. Primarily younger children and the kind of audience that thinks that saying “poop” out loud is hysterical. So that just feeds the demon when it elicits nothing but howling laughter. As the best magician I know Dennis DeBondt said about his then five year old daughter,  “I can say ‘poop’ and she will laugh hysterically and then turn around, turn back and say it again and she will laugh with the same intensity.”

Maybe it’s the shared “nasty” little thing we have to do. My fascination with poop does not extend to touching it, smelling it or squishing it through my fingers, at least not since my diapered Picasso poop years my mother has told me about. No I just think it’s the natural grounder. We all have to do it, we all have to endure it when it doesn’t want to come out, and we all gag the first time we change a diaper.

As the book says “Everybody Poops.” One could argue that everyone pees but that’s two different places. No, we all must take our seat. I always imagined President George Bush laughing and saying “Bombs Away” when he was invading Iraq. There are people that find solace in their toilet time-the only quiet place they can find in the house and one that no one really ever threatens to interrupt because you don’t want to see others in the middle of the exercise. Some read. Some probably ponder their life with the metaphor of it “being in the toilet.” Some, if they’re eating healthy with lots of nutritious foods, get in get out, job done.

There is nothing other than poop. The opposite of poop is poop, spelled backwards and forwards. So let’s all strive to eat better, manage stress a little better and celebrate our poop.

100th post. Oh s@#t. Literally.

I have only missed about five days since I began this blog at the beginning of the summer. Mostly due to my computer being in for repair and then my phone was not charged or my thumbs were feeling fat. But yesterday was to be my 100th blog. And I was stuck in the bathroom.

Now I’m going to avoid going too deep into the details. Which is hard for me. I’ve been making a living for over twenty five years entertaining children, seventy-five percent of them being between the ages of four and seven. They would enjoy my tales of poo. I could do a forty-five minute show on my experiences yesterday and then make balloon animals and they would not miss the magic tricks. But this is, after all, a more sophisticated forum.

There are two important points though. One, I am very lucky to not only be self-employed, but to be able to “take the day off” while I dealt with the constant feeling that “it was time.” I haven’t pulled my pants up and down (and again so glad to be home, more specifically staying with my folks, that I could wear lounge pants and not deal with the whole buttoning, zippering thing)  so much since I was an extra playing the role of outhouse guy number two. No, you didn’t have to really go to the bathroom, there was no camera in there. But I wanted to be a method actor at the time. And there were a lot of takes.

The other important point about yesterday is the affirmation that men would never make it through childbirth. I was a wimpy, whiny little baby as I kept trying to push it out. And I’m sure that I was making the stupidest face, like women say men make during orgasm. Not me though. I make a very cool face. I know, I’ve practiced in front of a mirror.

So this was an all day affair. The conclusion did not happen until 4:37PM. The entire day was spent very uncomfortably and non-productively. And it’s all my fault-I must take responsibility. I could try to blame it on my mom for having the food available, but it was me that kept eating cheese, crackers and the little chocolates. I could try to blame it on the fact that I went downtown to meet my friends and had to eat out, but I ordered eggs two days in a row. I just don’t eat dairy or white flour or white sugar very often and then it’s just one little candy, not fourteen. So I have to try to remember, and now I have a physical reminder, what a drag it was and how eating healthy really does make you feel amazing.

But there’s a great line my friend used to use when he talked about drinking and how people would forget the consequences: a woman wouldn’t have a second child if she remembered how much the first one hurt. Our brains are wired that way to protect us. So on this 100th….what….oh, gotta go. My mom wants me to go to the grocery store so we can get the stuff for me to make pizza tonight.

If I Were Mean…

Jack Russell Terror Snarling

Jack Russell Terrier Snarling — Image by © Royalty-Free/Corbis

I would stop every obese person walking into a restaurant and tell them to order a salad.

I would give every teenage boy who wears their pants too low a huge wedgie.

I would trip every guy who wore his gym shoes untied, just so he’d tie them. Especially anyone over the age of twelve.

I would take all the video games away from the baby mamas on the train and give them to their children where they belong.

I would flip off all the guys that gel their hair and make it look like it’s flipping me off, cause they’re being mean because I’m bald and can’t do that.

I would walk around the campuses of Harvard and Oxford and talk to myself out loud, ending each sentence with a preposition.

I would pretend someone was calling me and then talk really loud on my cell phone inches away from the face of the person that was doing it already.

I would poop on the shoes of the people that don’t pick up their dog’s waste.

I would stop every woman who was about to buy make-up and tell them they look more beautiful without it.

Ah, there’s the problem. I’m not mean, just think that way sometimes. I could do none of the above, although I’m going to build up the guts to do the last one.