Porocrom's Crappaper

Hi…

I’m that guy.

You don’t know me, but you’d definitely recognize me if you saw me.

I’m the guy who always pukes first at the party and forces his friends to look after him so he doesn’t die.

I’m the guy who starts shit with random guys at bars, just to see the reaction.

I’m checking out your girlfriend, even though I know you guys are still together.

I’m the guy who swoops IN on your girlfriend at the first sign of trouble between the two of you.

I’m the guy standing on the wall by the dance floor waiting for your friend to leave you long enough for me to start anonymously grind on you.

I’m the guy who thinks that if he buys those girls drinks, they will go home and sleep with him, and who will get mad if they don’t.

I’m the guy who keeps feeding that girl drinks until she DOES go home with him, even though I’m aware of the fact that if she was sober, I’d have no chance.

I’m the guy who gets drunk at the classy party/wedding/bar mitzvah/funeral

I’m the guy who cock-blocks his own wingman while the wingman is talking to a really cute girl.

I’m the guy who deserts his wingman when he sees a really cute girl.

I’m the guy who will go/has gone after your little sister.

I’m the guy wearing one Lacoste shirt underneath another Lacoste shirt so I have more than one collar to pop.

I’m the guy who is the first to make racist jokes in mixed company.

I’m the guy who tells his female friend he’s in love with her, then spends the rest of the night trying to pick up random tail.

I’m the guy who sends drunk e-mails late at night that are in NO way appropriate.

I’m the guy who screams 'WHOOOOO!’ at really inappropriate times.

See, I knew you knew me.

If you have a 'That Guy’ statement, put it in the comments.

This started as a post blasting those Politically Correct morons who are trying to get the word “Christmas” removed from public lexicon since it is supposedly offensive to groups that do not celebrate Christmas or believe in Christ. However, protesting these cliche “Happy Holidays” and “Seasons Greetings” non-salutations has become equally cliche.

So what to write about? The world is still messed up. A meaningless war is being fought on page 7, and somewhere in the back pages, the destruction of thousands of lives goes on in Africa. Burma (a.k.a. Myanmar) is the last bastion of unchecked governmental craziness. The Chinese are poised to take over the world and spread their trademark human rights violations over the entire globe. Day by day the American government lies to its people who sit blindly and believe everything they hear from spin magazines, while the corporate sponsors line their pockets with the blood of their children.

So what to write about? For people in New Orleans there won’t be a Christmas this year. The best present they might get is not dying of the plague, while 500 km away, their “neighbours” gorge themselves on turkey, stuffing, and network football. For people in Sri Lanka after all the aid groups have left because the shine is off the apple, there seems to be little cause to rejoice. In Subsaharan Africa, AIDS continues almost unchecked because the religious body says that condoms are sinful; said with a poorly-translated bible in one hand and a little boy in the other.

So what to write about?

Maybe what this post is supposed to be about is that this seems to be the one time of year when people at least pretend to think more about each other than their own short-term happiness, unless you could the tramplings that go on in the mall for the last-minute shoppers. If we can strip away the rampant consumerism that seems to wrap the Christmas presence, take down the shoddy plastic trees and lights and crappy music and useless toys, if we can somehow kill Santa Claus for a minute and silence his army of elven slaves, is there a meaning behind the day?

Perhaps Christmas, at its essence, is this: a love for those who you don’t even know. We talk a big game about being a global community, but maybe this is the one time of year when we begin to show caring. Christmas to me, religious history aside, is about celebrating the importance and fragility of our tenure on this planet. The religious part makes a good story to add to it, but is that really what is meant by “Christmas” anymore?

This post is starting to ramble, without really arriving at a solid point. I will close with this. If you can look past the wrapping paper, and even look past the gift, and examine why the gift was given; look past the star and the tinsel and see why on Earth someone would cut down an innocent tree; look past the fat man in the red jumpsuit and see why children put out milk and cookies; maybe then you can understand what is really, albiet covertly, being said when I wish you

Merry Christmas

- Porocrom’s Crappaper

In case you haven’t noticed, it’s almost Christmas. Yes, that time of the year, when you change your wallpaper to that one with the tree and the balls and remove the screensaver with the Easter Bunny you forgot to change since, well, Easter. This is what most adults do, but if you’re a child WHAT ARE YOU DOING ON THE INTERNET? IT’S WAY PAST YOUR BEDTIME, GO SLEEP OR I’M TELLING YOUR MOTHER. As I was saying, if you’re a kid Christmas is the magical time when they make new toys and show them on TV and you bitch to your parents to get you a POWER RANGER SUPER DUPER TRIPLE COMMUNICATION MASK DOUBLE MEGAZORD until they commit suicide and you are rushed off to the orphanage where some nice gentleman in red and smelling faintly of alcohol comes and brings you $1 toy cars.

Of course, we at Porocrom could not stand idly and watch while the shopping spree passed us by, so, wanting to take advantage of the gullibility of children and the fact that they act towards toys like addicts do towards crack, we have created a new line of toys that are sure to attract kids with their happy colours, fun gameplay and subliminal advertising sex. And really, how can resist buying them what they want when they are shouting IWANTITIWANTITIWANTIT in your ear and when you see the joy on their (and our) faces when you give it to them? Without further ado, I present to you, the new Porocrom toy line!

Michael Jackson Action Figure

Who doesn’t love a pop star action figure? Kids go crazy over them, they prefer them over candy. Who doesn’t love a Michael Jackson action figure? At the peak of his fame, Michael Jackson is the star most deserving an effigy. Complete with a detachable nose¹, this Michael Jackson action figure speaks! Pull down his pants to reveal a well-sized penis, which, when pulled, causes him to say things like “I love you. I really love you.”, “Let’s play a game” and “I am innocent, your honour”. Careful though, don’t pull too hard, it might come off¹.

¹You need the Dr. Werner Mang action figure to reattach these parts.

George “Dubya” Bush WMD Detector

Are you suspecting that the kid who’s hogging the merry-go-round has WMDs (slingshots, BB guns, nukes)? Do you want to tell your mom but you can’t do anything because you don’t have proof? Do you want to launch a preemptive strike but you don’t have parental sanction? This detector is exactly what you need to depose evil Johnny and restore democracy to your neighbourhood’s playground. Just go to the location where you suspect he hides his WMDs (or any location will work, really) and fire the detector. It will confirm your worst fears with a jolly “Yep! They’re here.” You can also use the remote detection feature. Just press the “Recon” button and a map of the world will flash red, indicating that the weapons are somewhere in that general region, accompanied by a succinct “They’re everywhere!” Little Johnny will get what was coming to him, and you will control all the rides.

The Saddam Hussein WMD Creation Instruction Handbook

We are sure that you have at some point in your life been in a situation where you were so embarrassed you wish everyone else was dead. Well, now they can be! With our handbook you too can create your very own WMDs. Unfortunately, all the pages of the booklet are empty, but together with it you will get the C.I.A. WMD Creation Instruction Handbook absolutely free[2]! Inside this handbook you will find instructions on how to easily create slingshots, BB guns and nukes, complete with how to mine your own uranium, how to make a nuclear warhead from a can of coffee and how to get the rubber for the slingshot from your underpants.

²Free as in “P.A.T.R.I.O.T. Act”.

The “Paris Hilton” Dog Leash

Is your dog misbehaving? Do you want to teach your old dog new tricks? The “Paris Hilton” leash is for you! Featuring a button in the handle which, when pressed, will immediately tighten its hold (and emit a high-pitched whine yelling “THE DOG OF A HEIRESS MUST BEHAVE”), thus disciplining your poodle. As a special bonus, you will also get the remote controller and a DVD of Paris Hilton refusing to sit on a bottle completely free of charge! This is useful if, for example you want to teach your dog not to pee on the rug. When you see him beginning to do it, just press the button on the remote control and the collar will immediately go to work (optionally delivering 100,000 Volts of electricity to the animal). Your dog will never do it again, guaranteed!

You can buy all these items at the Porocrom Store at a street corner near you! We would like to wish you a merry Christmas (or whatever you celebrate these days). By the way, we have created a new forum for all you people who are having problems with your computers and stuff, so you can go to http://cpforum.poromenos.org and we’ll help you.

It’s that time of year again… when there’s a crisp chill in the air, and a spring in your step. Where the only force stronger than the love that unites all of mankind is the force urging shoppers to trample each other in order to save 50 cents on a dented DVD player. It’s that magical time of year that we tell children to follow in the example of the baby Jesus and DEMAND another fucking Furby doll from parents too kid-whipped to stop and think what long-term damage mindless commercialism could do to their progeny. It’s the one time of year that the voices in your head telling you to pull out an AK and spray death all over your local mall are drowned out by the sickening pablum of

Christmas Music.

In true Porocrom style, I’m here to take a closer look at the songs that warm our hearts as we empty our pockets. Maybe some of the insanity that accompanies this season can be explained by the drivel that we play ad nauseam year in and out.

White Christmas

I’m dreaming of a white Christmas
Just like the ones I used to know
Where the treetops glisten and children listen
To hear sleighbells in the snow…

Now I am not sure when this song was written, but I would have to guess it was some time in the 18th century, when it was still fashionable to own and operate a sleigh. This song doesn’t get a lot of air-time in places south of the Canadian border, since snow to most non-Canucks is either a crappy white rapper or a slang for cocaine. Maybe the latter definition would explain why the treetops are glistening. To my memory, the only time I’ve ever seen treetops 'glisten’ is during the Quebec ice storm of 2000, and I really doubt that’s the kind of nostalgia we really want.

Winter Wonderland

Sleighbells ring, are you listening?
In the lane snow is glistening.
A beatiful sight, we’re happy tonight
Walking in a winter wonderland.

Seems harmless enough, doesn’t it? That’s how the blasted Ruskies infiltrate your mind. Before too long, you’re getting a common-law marriage presided by a snowman that you built yourself in the lane. Then, if the laudanum-induced winter “wonderland” isn’t enough for you, you and your comrades will “conspire” indoors to overthrow the snowperson empire, facing your evil designs “unafraid”. It’s always the nice Christmas songs that end up going so terribly wrong.

The Little Drummer Boy

Come they told me, pa-rumpupum-pum
A newborn king to see, pa-rumpupum-pum
Our finest gifts we bring, pa-rumpupum-pum
To lay before the king, pa-rumpupum-pum, rumpupum-pum, rumpupum-pum
So to honour him, pa-rumpupum-pum, when we come.

I tried this with my baby cousin. Free piece of advice: babies do NOT like drum solos at close proximity. I tried to throw in some Neil Peart with a Travis Barker twist and all I got for my trouble was loud wailing and a ticket for noise violation. To top it all off, my aunt threatened to break her foot off in my rumpupum-pum…

The 12 Days of Christmas

On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gave to me:
12 drummers drumming, 11 pipers piping
10 lords a-leaping, 9 ladies dancing
8 maids a-milking, 7 swans a-swimming
6 geese a-laying…
5 GOLDEN RINGS (pause for emphasis)
4 colly (calling? nobody seems to agree on this one) birds
3 French hens, 2 turtledoves
And a patridge in a pear tree.

It must be nice to have a true love whose portfolio includes both forays into animal husbandry and the slave trade. It’s a good thing there are only 12 days of Christmas (although last time I checked, it was only the one…) otherwise the narrator in this story would have to request a warehouse to store all this shit. If it were me in this story, I’d tell my true love to skip the drummers, pipers and leaping lords (why the HELL would anyone want a bunch of riverdancers?), leave me the 17 bitches and the bling, and trade the livestock in for a decent-looking car. Then again, I’m a man of much more refined tastes.

Also it would be funny if you served your true love a dish of partridge with pear stuffing…

I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus

I saw mommy kissing Santa Claus
Underneath the mistletoe last night
They didn’t hear me creep downstairs to have a peep
They thought that I was tucked up in my bedroom fast asleep.

It’s a good thing that the kid didn’t walk in on the second half of the performance when mommy begins pumping on Santa’s North Pole, trying to get some presents out of his sack. It makes me wonder why this perverted song still gets played every year. The lost verses include mommy tying up Santa and making him beg her in German not to take a dookie in his mouth. Heart-warming stuff.

Santa Claus is coming to town

You’d better watch out, you’d better not cry
You’d better not pout I’m telling you why:
Santa Claus is coming to town
…
He sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake
He knows if you’ve been bad or good, so be good for goodness’ sake!

Wow… just wow. If any child wasn’t already petrified by the prospect of a fat white dude dressed in blood red and leather who enters the house by the chimney, they can now talk to their therapists about the fact that he sees them when they’re sleeping. One wonders where he finds time to monitor every child in the world in between sexually molesting his army of elves and whipping the crap out of his eight tiny reindeer.

So if you’re flummoxed trying to pinpoint the origin of the holiday madness, look no further than your friendly Christmas songbook. Our team of songwriters is working around the clock to come up with some less intimidating holiday hits such as

- I’m Dreaming of a non-race-specific Holiday gathering – All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth… and a PSP – Silent Night, holy shit buy me a Tickle Me Elmo NOW – It’s Beginning to Look a lot like another crappy sweater from grandma

And many other instant Christmas favourites. If you don’t buy them, the baby Jesus will come down your chimney and burn your fucking house down.

I was reading the dictionary earlier today, as I always do (I’m at the letter “l” now, the plot is really getting interesting past the boring “h” stuff), when I came upon a word that really illustrates the conciseness and terseness of the English language. I was amazed at the simplicity and elegance of the conception of the person or persons who created this word, and this made me think. I will not keep you guessing any more, and I will immediately reveal what that profound word was (I will write this sentence though, to generate more suspense). The word was this:

anon (adverb)
1. At another time; later.
2. In a short time; soon.
3. At once; forthwith.

Wow. Just wow. Look at that. This word means “now”, “soon”, and “later”, all in one! It is like those surprise-people that look like women but when you open their underwear they have manbits! That is a brilliant conception. I cannot extol the virtues of having multiple meanings (and if they’re contradictory, all the better) with one word!

Naturally, we at Porocrom could not stay behind in the race of linguistic innovation. I hereby propose that the following words be made part of the English language, for the betterment of communication globally:

begly (adjective)
1. Having qualities that delight the senses, especially the sense of sight; beautiful.
2. Causing little or no attraction.
3. Unpleasant or offensive to look at; unattractive; a dog.

clumb (adjective)
1. Mentally quick and original; bright.
2. Conspicuously unintelligent; stupid.
3. Causing annoyance, weariness, or vexation; tedious.

whorgin (noun)
1. A person considered sexually promiscuous.
2. A person who has not experienced sexual intercourse.
3. A person who is sexually promiscuous but has not experienced sexual intercourse; fugly.

These are just some of the words I propose. The other three hundred thousand will be published in Porocrom’s Dictoshow of the Freglish Spanguage ($199.95). I am thoroughly convinced that these words will make a huge impact on the language, because it will be possible for people to express multiple meanings in one sentence. For example, is your girlfriend/wife/whatever giving you a hard time? Listen to this:

She: “Baby, do I look fat?”
You: “Nes, you look begly!”

See? You don’t even have to think about it any more, you are answering truthfully and you are both happy. You will be able to memorise these simple words and she will never bug you again! By the way, I finished reading the Da Vinci Code yesterday, it was very gripping, I stayed up until 6 am reading. Then I read the end and I realised I didn’t give a shit whether they SPOILER CENSORED or not. I mean really. This is the end of this post, it was quite clumb.

I was walking past a house the other day, and I saw this sign that said “Beware of Dog”. I asked myself, “Hell, why do we even have dogs as guards in the first place?”. “That is a pretty damn valid question”, I answered. I kept talking to myself for a bit until this old hag thought I was schizophrenic or some shit so she called the cops so I had to get the fuck out of her house, and also that fucking dog mentioned in the sign started chasing me. But seriously.

Why do we have dogs as guards? They suck, you can kick them in the nuts and they go down like pussies. Even if they bite you, the most you’ll get is rabies, and then you can sue the fucking cunt that owns the dog for liability or some legal shit like that. That’s not very smart now, is it?

What we should do is get rats. Oh man, rats are the shit. Dump a dozen hungry rats in your apartment and no thief will ever dare get close. Include a “Beware of Rats” sign and you’re covered. Rats don’t need no stinkin cups, good luck finding the balls on a rat to kick him there, you need a magnifying lens or something. A rat’s only weakness is his low education level. Most rats aren’t very well educated, that’s why they make the perfect guards. They ask no questions, they obey whatever you tell them. Also, you can’t kill rats. You can stab them, shoot them, maim them, nothing, They just don’t fucking die! If you cut a rat’s tail off, the rat will grow a new tail, and, get this: A new rat grows from the tail. No other species can do that, except from that fish that looks like an asterisk, but what the hell are you going to do with an asterisk? Maybe write a footnote.

Also, if a rat bites you, you’re dead. Rats carry like, a gazillion diseases, so if you don’t die of the sheer ferocity of the bite, the AIDS is going to kill you for sure. Plus rats are awesome to look at. Have you seen a rat lately? They’re HUGE. Especially if you get rats the size of cats, those will scare the crap out of anyone. I know people who have died because of rat poisoning, and that’s even before they saw them! Rats are kickass.

There are these old ladies who keep cats as guards. Fucking cats, man. What the fuck are cats going to do, scratch my leg? Fuck that shit. A rat can chew RIGHT THROUGH a cat in no time. Also the rat/cat ratio is huge, rats lay like 10 eggs a day while a cat only gets like, a kitten a year, and that’s if she’s a whore. What chances does a kitten stand versus 10 fully grown rats? Rats breed like rabbits, man, before you can say Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, they’re ALL over the place. And their kids, and their grandkids. They’ve got a whole fucking nuclear family set up in your house. You don’t even have to buy a rat, just ask your friend to give you one. I’m telling you, you can’t go wrong with rats.

Look at this rat on the right. This rat has weapons. This rat is here to chew ass and chew bubble gum, and he doesn’t like ass. This rat will kill any dog he comes across. There are no dogs armed with RPGs. Hell, even if there were, they wouldn’t know how to use them, they’d just keep barking like the pussies they are. Only the Pekingese are somewhat leet, I have to hand it to them. The Pekingese will bark at everyone, and I mean fucking everyone. The Pekingese don’t care if you just fed them your last Oreo which was all you had to eat for a week, they’ll still bite your ass when you’re done. Only the Pekingese can stand up to a rat, but they still can’t use an RPG so they also suck ass.

A rat will never fail you. You can always count on a rat. If you’re stranded in the mountain and you have no food and are dying of the cold, the rat will run the fuck away from you to get some food and come back with his friends to eat you when you die. That’s fucking reliability. Even at those harsh conditions, the rats kick ass. If a boat is going to sink, rats are known to leave it by eating holes through its hull. They have foresight. Show me a dog that can predict the future! That’s right, no dogs can predict the fucking future. Useless.

P.S. This post contains gratuitous violence and copyrighted images and as such is not suitable for consumption.

I don’t know about you lot, but having a religion these days is a pain in the butt. First of all, which one do you pick? Catholicism comes with free food and booze, Islam gets free virgins, Judaism gets you mad stacks of cash… WHAT TO DO?

And after you’ve picked your religion, there’s the pesky unanswered questions. “If God is all-powerful and all-good, why does evil prosper?” “If everything is fated, can free will exist?” “Can Allah make a taco so big even he cannot eat it?” So many questions. And lastly, there is the pesky problem of all the good religious guys being long-dead. Mohammad, Moses, Santa Claus… buried and unavailable for questions.

Well friends, there is an answer. I have discovered a religion that is way better than having a REAL religion. Imagine eternal Earthly happiness with guaranteed and SCIENTIFICALLY PROVEN results! Sounds impossible, doesn’t it? Well for the low low price of $49.95, you too can become a Scientologist.

Many so-called “real” religions are based on the principle that Earthly fulfilment must be abated to achieve an everlasting reward in a perfect afterlife. Any conflicts in your life are the direct result of sinful transgressions from a well-established moral code. According to Scientology, this is just religious mumbo-jumbo. The REAL key to Earthly happiness is to unlock your hidden super-powers that give you control over your life and the circumstances around you. Not only THAT, but it will teach you how to raise perfect children, succeed 100% of the time at your job, and fly faster than light speed (reserved only for Gold-Card members). Also, forget about sin, the only sin is not buying enough books.

Many religions are based around a central and supernatural mythology, usually dealing with the creation of the world. Many believe in the power of an almighty being that creates and controls the ebb and flow of the universe. The truth is found in books like the Torah and the Qur’an, that are considered by many to be God’s revealed word. These books are pored over by scholars and theologians to extract the truth. In Scientology, there’s no need for scholarly insight or careful study, the books are easy to read! And who needs just ONE holy book? In Scientology, you can buy a whole series! As we know from observing American culture (the best in the world because it has the most missiles), more is ALWAYS better. No pesky unexplainable phenomena for Scientologists either. All of life’s problems have been solved scientifically. Never mind that mankind still doesn’t really know how the microwave works… science IS the answer.

How many times have you found yourself puzzling over a mystery that has puzzled mankind for ages? Ever tried to write Jesus a letter, only to discover that he’s dead and his family moved and didn’t leave a forwarding address? Irritating, isn’t it? Well with Scientology, the leader is still alive! Write L. Ron Hubbard a letter, and he will reply with a monographed form letter with an appeal to buy his latest book. If that’s not more efficient than prayer, I don’t know what is. If you’re still in need of guidance, you can always check out the OFFICIAL website. I don’t see judaism.com or hindu.net out there! (Note: since this was posted, anti-Porocrom anti-Scientologists posted these two websites. The conspiracy is everywhere!)

So while all you suckers are wasting your time with charity and self-sacrifice to appease some deity figure way out in space, I’m sinking my money into the kind of religion I can really get into: one that is completely sane. I mean… it worked for Tom Cruise… and there’s nothing wrong with him, right?

The Nobel prizes. The Oscars of the intellectual world. The most illustrious ceremony since Moses parted the seas. The ultimate prize someone can get. The biggest fallacy since the female orgasm.

Yes, that’s right. The Nobel prizes are FAKE. Big, fat fakers, all of them. We at Porocrom bring you another startling discovery, with concrete proof which we shall show you momentarily (and by momentarily I don’t mean in a moment, I mean for a moment, because actually I made them up). The Nobel peace prizes are actually a fictitious scheme instigated by Alfred Nobel to deceive everyone apart from a few important people and to make those people feel better about themselves.

Think about it. When have you ever seen a Nobel prize ceremony take place, or heard of anyone actually receive one? Sure, you have heard about people being Nobel prize winners, but it is not clear when they received it. Whereas the Oscars, while much inferior, attract everyone’s attention and are accompanied by media frenzy each year. One would think that the Nobel peace prize ceremony would cause the scientific/literary/whatever community to foam at the mouth and babble incomprehensible words, but no. Nothing! Therefore, I am forced to believe that it is fictitious.

In light of this new discovery, and since it logically follows that the Nobel prize winners have not actually ever won any prizes, I proclaim myself a Nobel physics prize winner for my discovery of the amazing power of shit, and my good friend Crommunist a Nobel literature prize winner for this amazing piece. I shall now stop writing because A) A Nobel physics prize winner can’t just write whatever crap he thinks of and 2) I must shit. Also, some people have complained that my posts end too abruptly. No they don’t.

It is a few months ago. I wake up as usual, and stumble over to the kitchen to see if there is anything to eat. There never is, so I wait until midday to order some takeout, which promptly arrives a few minutes later. Neither I nor the takeout delivery man (or anyone else, for that matter) could perceive the historical importance that fateful day had, for it will truly be forever written in the annals of science for ever and ever, amen.
The importance of that day lay not on the fact that I ate takeout, but that the takeout was significantly different. To this day, I do not know the ingredients, but by some odd twist of fate, that meal reached me and eventually caused me to take a HUGE dump, of which people will also talk in the years to come. Still, I did not know the significance of those turds until today.
My toilet had been oozing little brown shitties ever since, which led me to believe that a mischievous turd had been lodged in the toilet to forever torment me, and I have to flush every single day. I, of course, tried to get rid of it using conventional means like chlorine, more turds, nuclear weapons and flushing embryos down the toilet so they may clean it and return safely home (umbilical cords come in VERY useful when there’s no air), but to no avail. Any other person would be frustrated from this seemingly inexhaustible turd, but it got me thinking. WHAT IF WE COULD USE ITS ENERGY TO POWER OUR HOMES?!
And thus, the notion of harnessing the power of shit was born. Einstein in his theory of relativity tells us that mass, when completely annihilated, will produce energy equal to mc^2, where c is the speed of light (299,792,458 m/sec in a vacuum). So, for the less technically inclined, this would give us a whopping 89,875,517,873,681,764 Joules of energy for a mere kilogram of shit! As you can imagine, this is a major scientific breakthrough, but this fact has been known to physicists the world over for many years. The revolution that I propose today comes from the fact that the turd in my toilet (and thus every turd in the world) has apparently infinite mass, so we could power everything in the world by a single turd.
This, however, would be a bit impractical, since we would have to distribute the energy to everyone. Turds, though, are so abundant, that we are not limited to my turd. Anyone could shit and convert it to energy and be happy for a lifetime. Therefore, to avoid anyone making money off my scheme, I am patenting the idea of making energy from shit, or making anything from shit, for that matter. USING MANURE IS ILLEGAL FROM NOW ON, YOU MUST PAY ME. Hey, while I’m at it, I will patent the idea of producing energy altogether. Aha, yet another ambitious plan hatches! But I digress.
Think of all the uses this would find! The implications are manifold, and the uses are various and all equally important:

• Cars. Your car has run out of gas in the middle of nowhere and you have no cell phone? Just open the special hatch, take a dump in it, and voila! Your car will run great for at least another ten years, at which time it will break down (the shit will continue to give off energy, though). You can even eat some extra beans or burritos, if you’re street racing and you need that extra oomph. Forget about NOS, Turdous Oxide is here to stay.
  
• Turd bombs. Unfortunately, every major discovery is bound to be used for evil, so here it is. That country over there is getting cheeky?. You need more weapons to win the war against terrorism? The neighbour is giving you a hard time? Create a TurdBomb™ and blow the entire galaxy up! That’ll teach 'em!
  
• Getting paid to shit. Don’t let restaurants, gas stations and other public/private restrooms con you into shitting for free. From now on shitting will only take place in special donation banks, much like blood and semen. You will get paid handsomely for a single turd, and sending crap as aid for third-world countries will not only be accepted, but greatly endorsed!
  

These were only some of the magnificent uses of this great new technology that I have discovered. Only time will show how deeply this will affect us and how rich it will make me. If you are a company and have lots of money to spend on me, call me at 555-EATSHIT.

Okay, since everyone and his semi-retarded 3-legged (and other hyphenated adjectives as well) dog has a reality show, I am throwing my hat into the ring.

Introducing…

The reality show where 'reality’ is a generous euphemism! The scene opens on a group of 8 people, 4 STUNNING girls, 3 RIPPED guys, and one fat unemployed stamp-collector from Wobitaughie, Maine, standing on a beach on a gorgeous island in the south-Pacific. The host, a pretentious Frenchman with a bright orange suit, arrives from a helicopter carrying a treasure chest.

Host: Congratulations, out of 300 applicants, the 7 of you…

Fatty: Um, 8

Host: (Pulls out German Luger pistol from his belt and shoots fatty in the fat) The 7 of you have been chosen to compete for the contents of this chest. However, the contents will remain unknown to you until the winner has collected all the pieces of the map to find the location of the chest.

Muscle-bound-dude #1: Umm, it’s right behind you.

Host: (Cocks Luger) Anyone else feel like pointing out obvious plot holes? (All contestants shake heads) Good. Your first task will be to build a canoe out of birch bark, then paddle across the bay, where you will have to wrestle a live bear. Once defeated, the bear will indicate where the next challenge is, a 500-foot climb up a slippery rock wall to the top of “Contestant-killer Falls” where you will find another piece of the map.

Killer-body-girl#4: That doesn’t sound too hard.

Host: Aha! But there is a twist! All the birch trees on the island are home to KILLER BEES!
(Cutaway to Dude #2 on the 'record your private thoughts’ camera)

Dude #2: When he mentioned the bees, I was a little freaked out. You see, when I was young, a family of bees killed my father and carried my mother off to work in a factory. Oh wait, those weren’t bees, they were Republicans.

(Back to host)

Host: Aha! There is another twist! The lake is filled with piranhas, and instead of water, it is 12.0 M Hydrochloric acid! And also, I will be shooting at you with a high-powered rifle as you cross.

Girl #1: Oh my god!

Host: Aha! And also the bear hasn’t eaten in 6 weeks and you will be tied up and smeared with rotten fish-guts and honey, and also the bear has a samurai sword.

Dude #3: Egadzooks!

Host: Aha! And also instead of water in the waterfall, bowling balls fall down!

Girl #2: Crikey!

Host: Aha! And also, instead of getting a piece of the map, you will be disemboweled and skinned and used to make a drum that will call cannibals to come and eat all the other contestants!

Dude #1: What the FUCK!?

Host: Aha! And also, I’m not REALLY a host, but an actor planted into the show by the directors to turn you against each other!

Dude #2: I’m ALSO a plant inserted by the directors, to bring the contestants closer to each other but turned against the host!

Girl #3: Okay, who ISN’T an actor planted by the directors? (Everyone looks around, but no hands go up)

Then the island eats them… Except fatty’s corpse. Because actually the island is a monster, planted by the directors to eat the cast and crew because it is a stupid show.

And inside the treasure chest was some lame prize, like a subscription to MAD magazine except they run nothing but Kaputnik jokes for the whole year.