Explaining a Pleasure of Life

Hello there my Ol' Three Faithful Readers.

Today I came to my office for another day of "work," and as I am sitting in front of the computer, typing away, looking at this Sick Sad World News, reading emails and trying to figure out what will be my good deed of the day... I have a realization. It dawns on me and illuminates my face in the same way a 2nd grader opens his mouth in extasis after finally knowing the answer to the brain bashing 16x16 multplication: the reason for what I think is one of the greatest Pleasures of Life: diarrhea.

Yes, yes, I know how awful it sounds. But please, humor me and do two things: first, read this post from two years ago: A Pleasure of Life. It will help you understand what I'm talking about. And two: keep reading 'til the end; whether I convince you or not of my proposed theory on one of the Greatest Pleasures in Life please make a line and leave a comment on this post.

... *making time while you read the previous post. Looks around his office, talks to co-workers, plays a Worms game, solves life to a clueless user calling Tech Support*...

Welcome back! So I begin.

I was thinking on why... why is it that diarrhea gives us so much pleasure? Heck, no... I went one step further: why is it that taking a nice, large, solid defecation is so pleasurable to men? See here, the stereotypical image of a man taking a dump in a movie or TV program shows the man sitting on the toilet as he's about to go, some resonating flatulence noises and a splash sound... and then a close up to the man's face of pleasure. Or when you are clogged up and can't go to the bathroom because you ate something and it's just there, not letting the stuff come out. Then finally, after almost a day without going to the bathroom you finally do. And by golly it seems that you are eating giving birth or a big, brown rock is coming slowly out of your system. When it is all over after exorcising the monters inside you in a holy battle that took 15 minutes, you sigh a long sigh of relief, rest agains the potty and feel a little pleasure go through your body that - sometimes - even makes you tremble a little and your body's hair behind your neck stand out.

Phew... yeah... we all know it...

And now I've come to know the reason! Drum rolls please! It is because of...

*drum rolls*

... the Prostate!

No, I am not kidding you. I bet if you're one of these kinda modern, open minded people or simply had a lot of time in your secundary grade to dig around the Internet reading and educating yourself with sex-related articles due to a lack of any real, physical exploration and discovery of your and the opposing sex's body - I know I did, heh-; then you must know that the equivalent of the female's Gräfenberg Spot - more commonly known as the G-Spot by the Vox Populli - in a male is the prostate. Don't believe me? Well don't take my word for it since it hasn't actually happened to me, but you can surely dig it up - no pun intended - on the Internet.

"But!" you ask with a defiant tone. "What does this... prostate... thing... have anything to do with taking a dump?" Well, it just so happens that the prostate is located right there along the rectum. If you remember your biology/human/natural science class, le crap-o goes out through the rectum. Ergo, my reasoning is this: large amounts of fecal matter going through your rectum must generate some pressure to the prostate thus estimulating your sexual nerves thereby giving you some kind of pleasure.

As I mentioned earlier, maybe only men can understand this in the sense that women have no prostate. But we men... ooooh... we men know the delicacies of taking a dump. Maybe it has something to do with Freud's pshycosexual Anal Stage.

... or I could be totally wrong...

Random Anger Management

Hello my Good Ol' Three Faithful Readers. Today's post is to do some anger management because, quite frankly, this is simply not my week... it's sucking a lot for some reason.

So, the first thing to nag me was that as I tried to make this post through Blogger everything was in spanish. I know, I know... I know I live in Mexico... I know my natural language is El Español... but I hate spanish when reading my Internet doses, when reading books, when playing videogames, when listening to music and I especially really hate spanish to the point of total and complete disgust that makes me want to regurgitate is spanish in my letter soup!

Point is, I'm reminded of that anger each and every time I go to Google and now - thanks to Google aquiring Blogger - each and every time I visit Blogger. I know I can change the settings... some people have pointed that out for me thinking I'm some kind of computer illiterate... but that works for the normal, common, uneducated man. Because every time I clean my computer of cookies, spyware, malware and all that *evil*ware in the world... I lose my settings.

I understand Google is trying to be friendly, and since they can know I'm from Mexico of course they can be helpful and put every setting in spanish. What they don't know is that I don't care for friendly service. No sire. It seems they missed a marketing class were they talked about personalization. I want things to be my way. Like Whattaburger or a hooker. They do it the way I want it. Why? Because people now-a-days want to have choice. So... stop taking decisions for me because if the fries are not the way I want them to be I'm simply not eating here.

Something else that it's getting on my nerves is people who call your work extension to ask for someone else in another office. Why don't they call the extension of the person they are looking for? Would someone explain that to me? Often they will answer such question with: "Well, I did call his extension, but he didn't answer." Oh really? Why would you think that is? Because he's not there! Ergo, if you call my extension he won't magically appear! Is that so hard to understand? Did people miss Common Sense 101 at elementary school?

Another related thing that gets on my nerves is people who call the same extension forever... I mean... if my co-worker did not answer the first time... why do you call 5 times consecutively which translates as the phone ringing for about one and a half minute? I guess if someone does not answer the first time, he won't the second nor third or fourth time around... which may take some time... anywhere from 1 to 120 minutes. So please... stop...

And sometimes people will come to my office to ask for someone else... why? Would someone care to explain why? Is it not more simple to look at the office of the person you're looking for? I guess if he's not there, then he's no there, nothing you or me can do about it.

What we need is an Invocation Department with employees imported from Cuba, certified in voodoo magic. Then when people are looking for someone who is not at his office, they could phone the Invocation Department who will work their voodoo magic and summon them out of the blue.

There's also the classical doffus who needs 10 computers with a CD burner right now because they need to burn 400 copies of a CD by the evening. WHUT!? Of course I understand! Let me look at my miracle computer tree in the backyard... hum... no... sorry. Still no computers, it needs more watering. C'mon! If you knew you needed that many CDs, you could have outsourced the process; there's special people with special hardware to do that in a jiffy. That's what I call bad planning...

One of the funny things about working in IT, especially giving support to employees... is how no one remembers you unless there's a problem. Otherwise no one knows you exist. It is until their network does not work, they can't print, they can't access a page or bedcause YouTube is blocked that they remember you exist and call you up. No birthday calls, no "how is your day?" calls, no thanks calls... only "come and fix my problem" calls. When things are working okay, ergo when you're doing your job right, people think you're being lazy.

I bet that's how God feels; people only pray and call Him when they want something.

... or maybe I'm just bitter... damn spring...

Cheers God, I share your pain!

---

He couldn't see anything, but knew it was there.

What will they think of next, huh?!?!

Oh my Holy Banana Split!!!

I just realized this big Marketing Corps decided to exploit the whole Penguin Craze we have been living since March of the Penguins and Happy Feet, so they created Gummy Penguins! That's right! It's like gummy bears, but they're penguins.

That is all.

Sorry Women... but no

Hello my Ol' Three Faithful Readers. And if you're reading this you must be really faithful.

I was recently nagged by some friends to continue writting on my blog, to infuse them with the great knowledge of my mind. So, today I do so because I've been nagged by something else besides my friends.

As some of you know, today is March 8. International Woman's Day (IWD). "Bah" I say! A whole bunch of women have come to me today telling me to do special favors, or to have special consideration with them or to simply congratulate them. For what? Being a woman? Hah! I'm sorry women, but no; I won't do it.

I know, I know. Many of you female readers probably wanted to skip to the "Comment" link and bash me, but hear/read me out for a second as there's a perfectly reasonable explanation to why I won't do it. And first let me tell you that I love women as much as the next heterosexual male - schitt, that's a lie! There's only one woman I love and woman only *muah*. The reason is, that you women do not need a "special" day to remember you're women and that you deserve respect. You do so always, 365 days a year. The fact that there's a "special" day for women is more like a reminder that you're vulnerable and need a special day; and tell me honestly: are you vulnerable? Are you less than males? Is your self-image as a genre so low that you need a "special" day to feel good?

No, neither do I think so.

There's also another reason that annoys me more. This day was never meant to be a happy, congratulative, skip-the-job holiday. That is just marketing. Yeah, I'm saying the truth - because I always know best. So suddently, after 23 years since this day was created I need to bring flowers, candy and cake to all the women I know? Wrong, I already have February 14th, Mother's Day and a whole bunch of other days. Hell! I still haven't recovered my wallet from Christmas! The last thing I need is another day to waste my money. But Hallmark, being the greedy corporative bastards they are taking advantage of weak people's emotions, have taken away the real meaning of what should be a meaningful day like this and turned into another marketing opportunity to take our hard-earned cash.

So, without further ado, I tell you the real meaning of IWD: Today is a day to remember all the achievments women have done in times past; today is a day to remember the crimes that have been commited against women; today is a day not to celebrate women with candy and balloons, but a day to spend in silence and mourn for those that have gone before. A day to remember women's political struggles and succeses. To rememind us to work for ending impunity for violence and crimes against women and girls.

Ergo, if you're a woman and want a gift and be treated special today just for being a woman, go look for another man 'cause I won't do it. To all the women that have gone before, victims of sexism, crime, rape and even murder; to all the women who have struggled in the past, wherever you are: I salute you with all my heart!

---

A loud, rapping noise made him turn around in the darkness.