Together those are two powerful words.  On their own neither one has much impact, I mean obviously “shit” is the iron man of curse words, but it’s so trusty it’s become overused, its edge dulled. But “liquid shit” intimidates. It punches you in the throat with meaning and definition and connotations. Hell, it inspires fear.  “Liquid shit” would make a fitting name for a death metal band.

At about 4am this morning I was sitting on my toilet, in pain, thinking about the unknown impact shitting has probably had on society, and how if people could be a little more upfront about it life would be pretty different. You can’t tell me for instance that I’ve never watched a sporting event where an athlete performed horribly because he needed to drop a deuce. But an athlete would never admit this, even though I really think we’d all understand. Can you imagine if Rex Grossman, after throwing 2 picks and fumbling twice in that Super Bowl said something like, “Yeah, I hate to use it as an excuse, but I was crowning out their in the second half. Honestly I was just happy not to lose it in my pants.” You wouldn’t forgive him for sucking, but you’d understand a little better.

After the economy exploded and everyone figured out that Sarah Palin was retarded, I started running doomsday scenarios through my head that could keep Obama from winning. The only one that really worried me involved him having digestive problems during a debate and having to walk off stage, or worse. In reality this was more likely to happen to McCain because of his age, but still, this kept me up on the nights before debates. If Barack Obama had sharted on stage while answering a question about his policy towards Israel he wouldn’t be president today.

There’s a tipping point for so many different things in this world and I think shit, and more specifically liquid shit, has more to do with it than we may think and will ever know.

After a full month of bidding on all sorts of website projects, as of last Thursday I’d talked to 1 person out of a possible 50. For simile’s sake, it was like I’d yelled “Bank!” 49 times when the dolt to my right had answered the question incorrectly, yet shockingly I had not been voted off the show. It got so bad that one of my porch revelations last week was a single “You Might Be a Redneck…” joke. And it’s a funny joke, but I’d rather take something else away from my outdoor mindstorm than this:

If “cleaning your toilet” means purposely pissing on a shit stain….you might be a redneck.

However, the sun rose on Friday and the wind blew into my apartment despite my clear plastic-covered windows. It was a cold wind of change. Friday was a client circus, from 9:00 nonstop until the end of the day. I made post-it notes for all the jobs to keep track of them. I pranced on that high wire, and when I fell some douchebag that waited 3 weeks to reply to my bid was there to catch me. It was a lot of fun. I made my wife listen to the story of my post-it notes, and she smiled politely while her mind sought full online episodes of Friday Night Lights.

But now I’m deep in it. I’ve got to finish this site by 4:00 and I just talked to the lady on the phone. She just suggested that I “take a shot” at putting a complicated photo gallery and a perfectly-sized calendar on two separate pages of the site I’m working on. I hung up with her, said something aloud, and then recorded it for a post I was about to write.

Quote taken from story on MSNBC about Sarah Palin’s new PAC.
“Palin continues to have a huge political following. As of noon today, she has 464,000 friends on Facebook.com. ”
Ugh. I guess this makes Tom from Myspace her biggest rival.

I’ve always liked presidential trivia.  From knowing that four presidents, not two, have been assassinated, to the fact that James Buchanan was the only bachelor president, I find presidential facts fun to learn and even more fun to use in casual conversation.

So during a week swimming with presidential buzz, it seemed like a fine time to brush up on my presidents.  While reading different accounts of scandals, various treaties and vice presidential running mates, I remembered a book of Lincoln photographs that used to really capture my attention as a kid.  Realizing this was the first time I’d used the power of the internet to expand my knowledge of this particular subject, to presidential photographs is where my attention turned.

Now, until about three hours ago, I had assumed the earliest photograph of a U.S. President was, in fact, of Abraham Lincoln.  We’ve all seen the numerous photographs of him in various stages of his presidency and from his days as a congressman to a picture of him lying in the casket.  But the first president to be photographed was John Quincy Adams.  Ol’ number six himself.  From then on you have photographs of every president since, except for William Henry Harrison who died just 30 days into his first term due to pneumonia that he contracted because he couldn’t deliver a concise speech on a cold and rainy inauguration day (told you it was fun).

This may or may not interest you but I found it fascinating to think that of all 43 presidents (don’t forget, Grover Cleveland was president twice…) only 5 were not in office during the age of the photographic image.  Anyways, here they are arranged in sequential order from left to right, top to bottom.

John Quincy Adams	Andrew Jackson	Martin Van Buren
William Henry Harrison	John Tyler	James K Polk
Zachary Taylor	Millard Fillmore	Franklin Pierce
James Buchanan	Duh	Andrew Johnson
50 Dollar Bill	Rutherford B Hayes	James Garfield
Chester A Arthur	Grover Cleveland	Benjamin Harrison
William McKinley	Theodore Roosevelt	William Howard Taft
Woodrow Wilson	Warren G Harding	Calvin Coolidge
Herbert Hoover	FDR	Harry S Truman
Dwight Eisenhower	JFK	Lyndon Johnson
Dick Nixon	Gerald Ford	Jimmy Carter
Ronald Reagan	George Bush I	Bill Clinton
George Bush II	Barack Obama

In autumn I tended the animals for a family on vacation. During my stay their son’s hermit crab drowned. I thought he was swimming, but when I reached into his world, his leg fell off. Suspicion fell on me immediately, even before I made the call to the family. Had I sent him into his concept of an ocean without a life vest, or a large leaf? Did my perspective on house sitting allow me to make that aquarium into my own Truman Show, come what may? I mulled these things over while looking through their fridge. Who doesn’t have barbecue sauce? I felt better.

I called the Jones and the dad told me not to worry, and to put Hermes in a sandwich bag before taking him out back to the black garbage receptacles. Also, I shouldn’t forget to replace the brick on top of the receptacle.

Today an uplifting thought entered my world. Hermes couldn’t have survived this weather.

Freezing Chicago
Everything that crawls has died
Sorry hermit crabs

I have visited eleven U.S. states since last April.  I’m unsure how this came about, since I make a point of not leaving my apartment, but it did.   Fortunately, I have captured each experience in haiku-form, which should allow even those with the shortest attention spans to learn something about our great country.

New York (April)
A shot of Makers
Makes a good appetizer
When you order steak

New Jersey (April)
Sit down for blackjack
Then, just thirty shoes later
The sun has risen

Indiana (May)
Let’s go to Hammond
My wallet is too heavy
The house always wins

Florida (August)
Twenty hour trip
Even a naples sunset
Isn’t worth this drive

North Dakota (September)
In our state you can
Wear earmuffs in September
Marvel at nothing

Wisconsin (October)
She slept peacefully
At the Ryan Adams show
Unless she was dead

California (October)
Wedding night phat beach
Dave jumped in fully suited
Sheps made a statement

Kentucky (October)
No smoking ban yet?
You stay classy, Kentucky
We can learn from you

Tennessee (October)
Halloween caving
Involves excessive climbing
Rampant racism

Texas (December)
Three beers for breakfast
Then, take an afternoon nap
Wake and drink for real

Illinois (January)
So cold, bubbles freeze
We gather ’round the hookah
Smoke is our lifeblood

There are a lot of obvious ways to be a douche.  Ironically, using the word “douche” constantly is one of them. But there are also plenty of more subtle things that douchebags do that we should all be aware of and try not to emulate. Here’s a brief list…

-Don’t tell people about your health problems in a bar setting. Unless it involves your balls or your butthole, it’s usually a downer. Alcohol should be the only downer at the bar.

-Try to avoid correcting people’s typos in emails. Unless it’s going to be published or something, fck it. Yeah that’s right, fck it.

-Don’t try to get people to bike, hike or run with you, who don’t already bike, hike or run on their own. People don’t get more active as they get older, unless they discover they have type 2 diabetes. Go hike on your own time, and then meet them for a beer on their porch like they want you to.

-Don’t offer children candy in exchange for sex during the holidays. It’s unseemly.

-Finally, don’t say watching a show like “The Hills” is your guilty pleasure. If you watch “The Hills” your guilty pleasure more likely involves your anus, your finger and masturbation. Just be straightforward and say you like shitty TV.

Hope everyone is doing good tonight. When I go out, I like to get started on the right foot, order that first drink, and for me that’s usually a bloody mary. Especially at breakfast, you know, wake up at noon, go to the usual place and order that famed red drink. Time to imbibe. Time to enjoy.

Recently it was a problem for me, though, because apparently “it’s a weekend thing.” Hard lesson to learn. That manager at McDonald’s, he’s a tough guy. I tried to reason with him. You can restrain me, I just need a straw for ma bluh marry. The dishpenser was for ma friesh.

So I get into trouble sometimes trying to start it off right. Last week I went out with all my wife’s friends and one of them was named Mary. Couldn’t order it, didn’t want to offend her if she was…you know. ON THE RAG, man. I didn’t want to make it awkward. That’s what I’ve learned that you have to pick and choose your drinks based on who you’re with.

I’ll have a screwdriver. Ooo, sorry Todd. You’ve only got 9 fingers left, bub. But that was the difference between a flathead and a phillips. On the rocks? Lookout below! Bill, I truly wish that drive through Appalachia had turned out different for your car and your sister, pal. And if I’d only known that it was your breakup with Jack, Jackie, that turned you onto coke… I never would have said that at your Bat Mitzvah. Gotta be careful. Gotta be careful like an extremely anal person wrapping presents.

Sex on the beach? I’m sorry that’s where you conceived, Rachel, sweetheart. But our son deserves to know.

If you’re in prison for anything other than racketeering, you’re doing it wrong.  Racketeering is the only cool thing you can be in prison for that won’t necessarily exclude you from getting into heaven.  Think about it.