From a materials standpoint, the function of a human being is to create poop. Despite the fact that more than 100 billion humans have existed so far on our planet, dead and alive, we still cannot, as a species, wrap our heads around the process. As always, consumer culture steps in to fill the gap!
Let's start with "How To Poo At Work." This is a best-selling "humor" book. Why? Apparently, the notion of people putting turds into the workplace toilet with their butts is hilarious. I poop while my boss poop!! I smell the poop, or he smelled it hahaaha! It used to be food and now it's at work!!!!
"Dude Wipes" continue our trip down the rabbit hole of shit-mystery. Identical to baby wipes, and not that far away from a damp paper towel, they're marketed as a manly way to wet-wipe. According to one review, they're "a life saver," which is a phrase I'd reserve for seatbelts or an emergency flotation device. Maybe that just means I get enough fiber. Or maybe most people are too high-class for my auxiliary wiping technique: garden hose in the summer, wool sweater in the winter.
"Shittens" explains their product with the phrase "No One Wants Poop On Their Hands." For the dude who dudes too much to Dude Wipe, there's finally an oven mitt for your shit. I thought it was a novelty product at first, but one review said "My ass is just too big [...] inevitably I wound up with poop on the side of my hand, my knuckles, or wrist." Either the mechanics of hygiene have eluded this man, or his ass sprays out of 40 small outlets, like a showerhead. May the shitlord have mercy on him, regardless.
Mr. Shitwrist might like this book, which combines the Kama Sutra with the mortal sin of turdpride. "Kama Pootra: 52 Mind-Blowing Ways To Poop" overstates the fact, of course, as this is just another low-grade humor book dangled out by the register in a bookstore as an impulse-buy. But it's not the bottom of the shitbook totem pole. That honor goes to "Poophemisms," a $10 list of synonyms for defecating. "Anal puke," it offers, weakly. "A Nightmare on Elm Street," it adds, shrugging.
All of this leads us to Corn Poop Soap, a bar of soap meticulously handcrafted to look like a turd. This means that someone's actual job is to work in the soapturd factory, scooping brown and yellow lumps out of giant bins to form logs of shitsoap as fast as possible. This, if nothing else, is proof that there is no Hell, no greater torture than life on this earth. Well, one thing else, actually: Someone's out there putting chicken diapers on chickens.
Simply put, if I had Johnny Manziel’s physical gifts, you better believe I would be there in the Weight Room, getting to bed early, doing whatever I had to do to be the best possible athlete I could be. I wouldn't be posting on social media about sucking titties. I wouldn't even look at a titty, buddy. I'd look at a titty and see two big footballs.
A real friend doesn't move until the middle of August, ensuring temperatures in the 90s and a humidity that turns boxers into moist balls of ruined cotton.
Expendable? You must be joking.
Drew Fairweather goes through hundreds of Things for Sale every month, and he saves the worst of the Worst for Something Awful readers!