Archive for June, 2011

>Went to log on to my email account the other day and noticed this:


On a related note, I no longer want to see Madonna naked.

>No Shit, WebMD

Posted: June 13, 2011 in search results, wtf

>Back when I had chest congestion and the only thing Google could help me with was whether or not I knew complex equations involving quantum mechanics, I decided to try my hand at the old standby:


Everyone knows that you don’t use the Internet to look up shit like “sniffles” because what will come back in the results is shit like “OH FUCK you have Ebola” or “it’s obviously syphilis, you hideous crack whore” but I figured I’d give it a shot because this technology has to have gotten better, right?


Here’s what came up when I picked ‘nasal congestion’ as my symptom:

Oh what the Hell.

Personally, I’d take the “crack whore” insult over being the incurable victim of what is, apparently, a deliberate terrorist attack using castor beans.

Way to encourage me to up my Xanax prescription, assholes.

This is when I realize that WebMD changed their format so you could just plug in any combination of symptoms and they tailor the results so I just started randomly picking some stuff to see how ridiculous things got.

Thank GOD for this service because under no circumstance would I ever think that the fact I haven’t eaten in two days was the cause of my HUNGER.

“Hey, you know what’s weird?”


“I’ve been lifting heavy weights for, like, 3 years now and for some reason I have muscle growth.”

“Dude. Don’t fuck around with that shit. You need to see a doctor or at least look that up on the Internet. The longer you wait, the more muscular you’ll probably get.”

“Hold me.”

The Hell.

Maybe I’m underestimating the effects of narcotics, but I’m pretty sure that if you take Ecstasy and the Ecstasy makes you giddy, the fact that you’re giddy is – in all likelihood – THE FACT THAT YOU TOOK ECSTASY.

Either that, or you’re bipolar. Now you know.

Stop yelling and laughing at me.


Just checking.

I know you’re all thinking the same thing I am which is, “My GOD. How do you look so good, Rodney?” but I think the bigger question here is, “What the Christ is a ‘Jumping Frenchman?'”

Of course if you Google this crap you come up with this:

I don’t think this is right.

I’m pretty sure if you were dancing and a French guy landed on your face you’d not only be fully aware of this but would also have a tough time seeing the computer to go on WebMd in the first place so I checked their glossary instead.

Turns out this is some weird mental disorder and has nothing to do with ballet dancers sitting on your face.



Talk about hitting home.

I’m looking at these conditions, though, and none of them seem right. Maybe with some editing…

There. That’s better.

Still doesn’t explain my friggin’ sniffles, though.

Anyone want some castor beans?

>My First Art Show

Posted: June 10, 2011 in drawings, wtf

>Today is my first-ever art show here on “Mental Poo.”

Today’s picture:

A Horse-Drawn carriage!



Apparently, horses can’t draw AT ALL.

That doesn’t look anything like a carriage.

I had no idea what to title this post.


Regardless..I got this email the other day:





We are pleased to make this offer of our product under the penalty of perjury and with full cooperate and legal responsibility to the following terms and conditions.

1. Product: AU Metal (Gold)
2. Origin: Burkina-Faso West Africa
3. Type: Alluvial
4. Purity: 22.5 Carat or 92%
5.Quantity: 100-550 kilos
6.Price: $25,000 per kg


One representative of the buyer is suppose to come down to Ouagadougou,BURKINA-FASO) for the inspection and random sampling of our Gold Bars. or make plans for the golds to be ship to his/her destination. We look forward to establishing a long lasting business relationship with you.

I am expecting your reply soonest with your personal information as follow:

(1) Your Full Name:……………..
(2) Your Full Address:…………..
(3) Your Phone Number:…………..
(4) Your Company Name:…………….
(5) Your Age:…………………..
(6) Your Nationality:……………


Mr. Simon Patrick,
Marketing Manager Of Ouaga Gold Trade Company.


So..I did what any normal person would do.

Deleted it.


Here’s my actual reply:


Dear Mr. Simon Patrick,

This may come as a complete shock to you, but I was just emailing YOU, fine sir, to see if YOU wanted to buy any of MY Alluvial Gold Dust.

The fuck, right?

Crazy coincidence, or Jessica Tandy-like twisted hand of fate?! Either way, I think it so!

Whacky world we live in, am I right, Simon? Of course I am. But you know this anyway, being in the mixed-up, topsy turvy world of Alluvial Gold Dust sales!

Like Fozzy Bear says: waka-waka-waka!

I love the Muppets. Do you think that Kermit and Miss Piggy ever really banged? What do you think the baby looked like? I’m thinking frog head on pig body.

HAHAHA. I said ‘head.’

And then frog-pig baby laughed like, “ribbit oink!” and the swamp became eerily quiet.

I’m going to make that the first line in my romance novel. I will send you a copy!

Where was I?

OH. Alluvial Gold!

So, instead, why don’t YOU send me YOUR information so I can complete the transaction to Ouagadougou which is OH MY GOD the most fun name to say on the planet because I can’t stop going, “A-ooooooga…dougou!” which is like a train coming and then it sneezes.


God bless you, train!

Try it at home kids!

Do you have kids? Aren’t they delicious? Mine taste like almonds! Probably because of the cyanide.

To prove I’m deadly serious, here is a picture of the Pope juggling cats:

Send me the following information to complete our transaction!

1) Your Full Name…….
2) Your Half Name…..
3) Name that Tune…..
4) Pygmies, Fact or Fiction?…..
5) Include three photos of your nearest female relative not living with you with breasts exposed….
6) Where were you when Michael Jackson died?….

I look forward to our illustrious Alluvial Gold Dust (there’s a tongue-twister Simon!) partnership and the photos of the breasts.

Heil Hitler!



And then I sent it.

I have not heard back from Mr. Simon Patrick so I don’t know where our Alluvial Gold deal stands nor do I know where he was when Michael Jackson died.

It’s a cruel world in Ouagadougou, my friends.

My God, that’s so fun to say.

Moog out.