My Favorite Tweets Part 1

Being the narcissist that I am, these are all my own tweets. I’m reposting my tweets because I have a negligible amount of twitter followers and I want more people to read my shit, even if it’s mediocre shit.



I wiki’d – “..the condition of having at least three loose or liquid bowel movements each day..” I thought I only need 1

When my is about to get interrupted, it’s hard to decide whether I should stop or finish.

It’s okay for to describe themselves as “good at playing with kids.” It’s less okay for to say it.

The most I got this month was walking to the store to buy chips. The more I bought, the more of a workout I would get carrying it.

I hate using the word “whom”. It always sound so : “Look at me, I know how to use it properly.”

I’m either a high functioning or a low functioning non autistic.

When drops in the , for a moment, I freeze and wonder if I should reach in for it. Then I realize, , of course I should!

aside, I have so much in common with

Don’t be a about pussies.

When I’m , I get a big on my face and that makes me .




Shitting in Pants is a Blessing in Disguise

I’m writing this story right after shitting my pants. Correction: I’m writing this story right after cleaning myself for shitting my pants. I dealt with it very pragmatically, almost as if it was no big deal. If I were a regular pant-shitter, then shitting in my pants wouldn’t be a big deal. But I’m not a regular pant-shitter. I swear. Normally, it would be a big deal to shit my pants but I was able to react calmly because the conditions were just right: I was at the comfort of my home and there was no one around to ask me why I started smelling like shit all of a sudden.

Let me tell you how I shit my pants. Unfortunately, it’s not an amazing story. I was taking a piss and felt something that I was 100% sure it was a fart but when I let it out, some shit came out. Worse yet, it was was diarrhea shit. Sure, it was shocking at first but I didn’t let the shock faze me at all. I finished my piss, and then went to clean myself.

I’m sure I don’t need to convince anyone that shitting in your pants is a bad thing, but while I was cleaning my shit, I realized that it was a blessing in disguise. In fact, all pant-shitting events are blessings in disguise. You see, non-retarded humans learn from mistakes and shitting in my pants was definitely a mistake. The important thing is, I was able to learn from the experience. I now know that I should trust my farts a lot less. It truly is a blessing because from now on, I will be less prone to make the same mistake again. And there are ALWAYS worse situations to have shit in your pants. Shitting myself at home and learning the lesson could’ve prevented me from shitting myself in public. If one learned this lesson from a public experience, there can always be things to make it worse, like having done it on live TV or having the president around. And if that was already the case? Maybe you’ll lose your fingers one day and it’s easier to deal with shit with fully functional hands.

Ultimately, shitting my pants marks the worst case scenario for pant-shitting for me because I won’t make the same mistake again with worse conditions. The shit happened. I dealt with it. As bad as the situation may be, it’s over now. The peace of mind of knowing that life will get better after having shit myself makes life seem more positive.

Also, I normally wouldn’t study types of diarrhea, but cleaning it has taught me a few things about diarrhea that I never would’ve learned otherwise. However, I was exactly studying my shit, so that was kind of a missed opportunity for me. All I learned was that this particular shit was composed of tiny clumps and was not entirely liquid. Basically, I just learned that diarrhea doesn’t have to be all liquid and I am now familiar with how it looks when you spray water on it. Will this knowledge do me any good, ever? Probably not, but it doesn’t hurt to know.

Shit Stories Part XIII: The Return of Black Diarrhea

I haven’t written a shit story for a while. Since I can only take so many shits a day, I have to reach the bottom of the shit barrel to find shit to write about. At long last, I present to you, a new shit story. Please excuse me if it’s more gross than funny but the sexy girls with captions should hopefully compensate for what my shits lack in humor.

B-but I don't want to be the face of a shit story...

B-but I don’t want to be the face of a shit story…

So I just had diarrhea, a blackish one I guess. If I didn’t have black diarrhea in my mind from writing the blog, I might not have called this one black. So anyway, I excreted it and flushed the toilet, just a normal black diarrhea routine.

Routine... as if it happens regularly like a shower... But what do I know about routines. I can't even remember to remove my underwear.

Routine… as if it happens regularly like a shower… But what do I know about routines. I can’t even remember to remove my underwear.

A few minutes passed and my brother entered the bathroom. I heard him yell “GROSS!”. I can only surmise that some of the black diarrhea had come back from the pipes. I should be ashamed, but instead, I laughed. I’m more ashamed for laughing than the shit itself.

Try smirking instead. You'll feel less shame.

Try smirking instead. You’ll feel less shame.

We don’t learn life lessons everyday so I should be thankful for learning one today. From now on, I shall always check to see if my shit flushes, especially if it’s (black) diarrhea. I hope you readers can learn from my shitty mistakes too.

What an education read! Next time I won't have to come to this colorful field to hide my diarrhea.

What an education read! Next time I won’t have to come to this colorful field to hide my diarrhea.

Shit Stories Part VII: Chocolate Milk Diarrhea

Before I get to the asshole hair story, I’d like to update you on my chocolate milk diarrhea situation. As I predicted, there was more to come and it was knocking very impatiently on my asshole door as I was posting part VI. Fortunately, everything worked out and I don’t have a new disgusting shit story to write about. (Hmm… maybe it was a misfortune that I didn’t shit my pants.) In an earlier Shit Story, I had written about how some of my shits are very urgent and I barely make my way from my room to the washroom. I spend most of my life being unemployed and I had wondered if my impatient diarrhea would render me unfit to work. Since I’ve had so much time to think about shit on the shitter in the past hour, I now realize that I don’t have bowel problems at work because I don’t retardedly drink entire cartons of chocolate milk while I’m working.

I know how you feel. I just had a close call too.

I know how you feel. I just had a close call too.

The diarrhea that came out of me just now was very watery. I remember the first time I had watery diarrhea. As a young boy, I knew that girls don’t have dicks but I didn’t know what a vagina was yet so I just assumed girls pee from their assholes. Since the watery diarrhea feels a lot like peeing, I thought I had become a girl. I actually checked to see if my dick was still there. Once I felt my own dick, I was relieved that I hadn’t turned girl. That’s what childhood was for me apparently.

Wtf are you reading...

Wtf are you reading…

Shit Stories Part VI: Shit vs. Diet

I’ve started several multi-part topics and it’s interesting that Shit Stories is the most appreciated one. Tonight, I present to you: two more shit stories. So you can, without further ado, do more reading on doo-doo. (Trust me, I hate myself for that lame shit pun more than you can imagine.)

I hate you too, Ted.

I hate you too, Ted.

Much like the way food can affect one’s urine, it can also affect one’s fecal matters. Over the years, I’ve noticed certain foods that affect my shit. When I eat too much meat, I tend to get painful constipations. When I eat too much seaweed, my shit is stinky and pasty and takes many pieces of toilet paper to wipe. When I eat papaya, the shit comes out smelling like papaya… mixed with shit. I don’t know why that hasn’t turned me off from eating papayas.



The one (that just happened) which inspired me to write this entry, is drinking a 1L carton of chocolate milk. I’m very lazy so I drink straight from the carton. I’m also hygienic so I never put the carton back in the fridge after I drink straight from it. Combining these two retarded traits means that I often drink a whole litre of chocolate milk in one sitting. I don’t know why I keep do this because it doesn’t feel good to have so much liquid sitting in me. I also sucks to feel myself actively getting fatter. And to put a cherry on top, it always comes out as diarrhea. I really should exercise more discipline and stop drinking entire cartons of chocolate milk. Heck, I should’ve been exercising that discipline 10 diarrheas ago.



The next shit story is about asshole hair. That will be coming up in about an hour, once I finish writing it. Maybe an hour and 10 minutes if there’s more chocolate milk diarrhea coming out of me.

I will sit here waiting and holding it in too.

I will sit here waiting and holding it in too.

Shit Stories Part II

Due to (singular) demand, I shall write the shit stories I have queued up in my head. Let me start with a disgusting little enigma I can’t quite figure out. When the seat is down, you know how there’s a gap between the rim and the seat? I wonder if there’s a word to describe that specific location. Anyway, when I have diarrhea, which is often, there is always somehow a shit splash under the seat in that gap I just described. When I wipe, my ass cheek is pretty clean but I don’t know how it always splashes so far to the sides like that. I’m not talking about fart diarrhea grenades here. Regular diarrhea still finds its way to that gap.



I guess I’m calling that area “the gap”. This gives a whole new meaning to people who wear shirts from the gap. The next story is a puberty classic about that gap. When I took shits as a child, I just sat down and did it. There was no need to worry about aiming because everything’s already pointing inside the bowl. But then puberty came and erections became more commonplace. When a guy sits down on a toilet with a full erection, he will clearly recognize that he needs to redirect his penis with all his might if he’s going to pee because he doesn’t want to pee in his own face. Then there are time when a guy will sport a semi and the penis seems like it’s in the bowl. But if he makes the mistake of peeing, there’s a specific angle that he’ll end up peeing right into the gap and urine will rapidly leak out of the toilet and he will panic while trying to stop urinating. That has happened to me exactly 5 times before I learned my lesson to always use one hand to point my dick down if I want to pee while sitting down.

Point down like this.

Point down like this.

This last story will be a description of when I told it to my friends the other night. Apparently, I tell shit stories during social gatherings. One of my friends threw in a non sequitur, asking if we know what a “shart” is, and then proudly revealing that it’s a shit and a fart. That sprung a shit story to mind and I decided to tell it. You know how sometimes you might think you have a fart and you take a gamble and lose? Well, one time, I did that but as soon as the fart didn’t seem right, I stopped it immediately. I rushed to the washroom to evaluate the situation. I wiped my ass and there was indeed shit. But there was no trace of shit in my underwear. It was one of my proudest moments in life to know that I was able to stop the shart before it was too late.

Really? That's impressive.

Really? That’s impressive.

Do, or Don’t Do

It is easier to tell somebody to not do something than it is to tell somebody to do something.

That’s all I wanted to write but I’m not about to leave this as a tweet-sized entry so I’ll beef this up with some bullshit filler. That statement is pretty universal save for two exceptions. If a person is physiologically addicted to a substance, then it would be easier to do than not do. The other exception is just semantics, double negatives. My biggest struggle with life right now is to not be a lazy bum. To be a lazy bum is to do nothing. So to tell me not to be a lazy bum is to tell me to do something.

I know I’ve previously stated that I don’t want to write too much about depression crap because it’s not funny and no one gives a shit. Since this is already an unfunny entry, I’ll throw in another thought I’ve been having. I don’t want to die. But even more so, I don’t want to live. My affinity to being suicidal is only because death is the lesser of two evils, given how shitty life is. I’m not suicidal (yet) because I’m living one hell of a dream life. Right now I’m just bumming at home with no financial responsibilities or any other kind of responsibility, Each day, I only need to worry about entertaining myself but life is already barely worth living. Why would doing more of what I don’t like (work, job, employment) to get less of what I already have (basically everything), make me want to live more. And if I don’t want to live, then why bother. Like I said, it’s fine at the moment, but I’m just planning ahead for when I lose my financial freedom, and I will. My parents aren’t wealthy so even if I leeched off them for the rest of their lives, I won’t inherit enough to sustain myself for another year so it’s just an inevitability.

God dammit I’d hate to just end it there so let me try to brighten things up a little. Umm… on the bright side… I did not have black diarrhea yesterday .

(black diarrhea reference: