Monday, January 21, 2013

PTSD: Public Toilet Stress Disorder.

Hello Everyone,

For the courtesy Flush to even work AT ALL with regards to smell, you have to flush a little ahead of the game.  You have to time the flush so that as soon as the flood gates are opened, the evacuated materials are sucked immediately down the chute.

Also, if you wait too long for the placement of this courtesy flush, not only does it do nothing towards the elimination of potentially offensive aroma, but, it allows the surrounding area (e.g.: the dude in the stall next to you (e.g.: me)) to hear sounds that he can never un-hear.

These sounds may include but are not limited to:

A) Heavy breathing and/or groans and/or whispered "oh my god"s.

B) Plopping sounds.

C) Much fartage.

D) The sound of friction between your back door and 

I am one uncomfortable experience away from bringing earplugs and a gas mask to the office.

That's it.
Kev D.

Tuesday, September 4, 2012


Given that I have only managed to write a couple of tiny blurbs here in the last year (and NEVER fulfilled the promise that I made to myself when I wrote a post called "WHERE THE CHEESE AT?!?!?!?") I feel that it's time to just put this sucker out of its misery.  It is time to officially put this mother on indefinite hiatus.

Now before you cry TOO MUCH, I'm not disappearing / haven't disappeared from the blogging community, since I am still actively and furiously ridiculing zombie films left, right and center at that other place, Zombie Hall.  Have I mentioned Zombie Hall before?

Anyways, speaking of Zombie Hall, do me a solid and check out Zombie Hall if you have not yet checked it out.

Outside of some other non-blogging writing that I'm trying to actually work on, that (Zombie Hall) is where I do all of my writing now.  Well, Zombie Hall and Twitter, but Twitter hardly counts, what with the whole short snippet nature of it all and all that TRENDING HASHTAG FOLLOW FOLLOW FOLLOW caca.

But feel free to give that a look too, if such a thing tickles your fancy.

Is there a chance that someday I will pick HXR back up and resume with my often shallow observations about life?  Of course.  But I'm not making any promises.  Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a bajillion zombie movies to watch.  

Turn on, tune in, drop out.

That's it.  Thanks for paying attention.


Saturday, April 21, 2012

Writer's Block, Vol. SOMETHING.

It’s 2012.  People.  It’s time to learn that at the traffic light, when the light is red, ADVANCE ALL THE WAY TO THE FUCKING LINE.  Rule of thumb: If I can parallel park a regular sized sedan between your front bumper and the stop line, you’re a fucking asshole.

Is there a driving instructor somewhere teaching people to do this?  Or is it just passed down generation to generation from one shitty driver to the fruit of that shitty driver’s loin?

Woah, hold up a second!  Don’t get too close to that there line Billy!  This traffic light might be on one of them sensors, and wouldn’t you rather just wait here forever?
Sure would Pa’, sure would.
Now, check all your mirrors, Son.
“Gee, there’s an angry man in my rear view mirror, oh wait, never mind, he just exploded.  From rage.

Do they originate from a town somewhere where elephants or really fat people often and randomly cross the street in front of them and need the extra wiggle room?  Are they hoping for a parade? Is there a ghost car in front of them that only they can see?

All of these questions whiz through my head as I sit wondering if my car has enough power to push their SUV up to the line.  Or into oncoming traffic, whichever.

That’s it, I’m leaving the car here, I can walk the rest of the way.

Friday, January 20, 2012

Good On Paper.

Often you will hear that something is ‘good on paper’.  This means that while it would seem like a delightful idea in theory, once you actually play it out, it doesn’t quite live up to the beautiful list of benefits that may or may not have once listed onto some sort of paper at an earlier moment in time.  There are things out there which are more obviously ‘good on paper’ but ‘bad in practice’, such as Communism, Adult Diapers, Napping, Water Beds, or Unprotected Sex.  However, some things are much more covertly ‘bad in practice’.  Leave it to me to assist you in avoiding the following list of ‘good on paper – bad in practice’ things and shit and whatnot that may otherwise take you by surprise.

Smelly Candles.

Who wouldn’t like fresh cookie smell?  Or pumpkin pie smell?  Or laundry smell?  Or Christmas Tree?  The thing is if you have a bunch of good smelling candles lying around, at some point, you’ll end up lighting one up before sex, or, on the opposite side of the spectrum after taking a huge dump.  And given how connected smell is to memory, over time, the given smell will act as a trigger.  Which means that this particular smell will either make you pop a boner or completely relax your colon, neither of which are very desirable when you are standing at ‘Mrs Fields’ at the mall, or cutting down the Griswold family Christmas tree, or eating dessert with the In-Laws, or folding clothes, and so on and so forth.  If you are female, replace ‘pop a boner’ with the female equivalent.

Digital Cameras / Camera Phones.

I realize that this is old news, but I wish that I could have prevented this one, and warned so many people of what was to come.  On paper, it reads that “I can take so many pictures!” In practice it becomes “I must take so many pictures” or “I need to take pictures of everything forever” and everyone ends up with a never ending library of photos that no one will ever look at.   I’ve covered this before, though (see: Picture Perfect).  I guess I’d just love to go somewhere, ANYWHERE, and not see people taking pictures of everything.  Just once please.


Again, I’m far too late to have prevented this, but on paper, we all love the ease of use, the accessibility and the huge selection that Netflix and the like have to offer.  In practice, however, there are no more movie stores and I miss browsing.  And fuck Redbox too, especially since the one at Shaw’s was busted tonight.

Drinking Eight Glasses of Water per Day.

On paper – I’ve never felt so alive, hydrated and healthy.  In practice – I’ve never peed so much.  I can’t commit to a one hour meeting, out of fear of pissing myself.  The commute home becomes a race to not pee all over my car.

Stalls with Walls that Go All the Way to the Floor.

I learned this on a recent business trip, where the office building I visited had bathrooms equipped with stalls of this kind.  I know what you’re thinking “but Kev, what about the added ankle privacy?”  While it is true that no one will be able to figure out who you are by the crumpled up pants and shoes normally put on display, it is also horrifyingly true that every smell that has ever been in the stall up until that point will be trapped in this poorly aerated stall, possibly forever and ever.  The smells all mingle together to create some sort of perpetual super smell mixture. Stepping into the stall is like being slapped in the face by an old sweat sock drenched in piss, chock full of shit, and sprinkled with some sort of onion-garlic-curry hybrid.  Too much?

Ice Makers.

I agree that the old school method of having to fill little ice cube trays is both tedious and slow.  And I ALWAYS spill water on the floor when travelling from the sink to the freezer… But I don’t think I’ve ever had ice cubes from an ice maker that didn’t smell funny.  And not ‘ha ha’ funny.  I prefer my ice non-smelly.

Alpaca Sweater.

I honestly liked how it looked on me at the store.  It was slimming, it was warm.  So, dagnabbit, I bought it.  What I didn’t know about an Alpaca sweater, and you should know, is that little fluffs fly off the sweater and go everywhere.  The floor at home – covered.  The floor at work in and around my cubicle – also covered.  Belly button and ass crack – full to the brim.  But seriously, my little fluffs are all over the office.  You can actually tell where I have been.  And forgive me for once again bringing up the workplace poop, but I left more than just trace amounts of Alpaca on the floor in the stall.  HENCE, EVERYONE KNOWS WHERE I’VE BEEN – the frequent trips to the kitchen area and to the bathroom.  Alpaca Sweater makes my workplace routines completely transparent!  It didn’t take me long to throw it away.  I felt like taking it back to the stupid GAP where I bought it.  I don’t remember seeing fluffs on the floor around the display.  FALSE ADVERTISING.  They must have had someone armed with a ‘Ghostbuster’ backpack style vacuum cleaner to run out and clean house every five minutes while no one is looking.  Damn you GAP, your Alpaca sweaters and your stupid staff of vacuum ninjas.

Well, I’m sure there are plenty more examples rampaging out there and maybe I will get to them one day.  For now, I think that is a good start.  You’ve been warned.

That’s it.  My Alpaca just came out of the dryer and I need to use the potty.

Thursday, January 5, 2012

Writer's Block, Vol. VI.

I recently took a huge dump at Barnes & Noble.  Anyone who knows me, or has read enough of the things that I write will know that browsing leads to photo finishes in the restroom.  Bookstores are the worst for this, especially since I usually end up with a coffee in my hand, which is yet another of my favorite and most effective laxatives.  So there I was, racing from the bargain bin to the lavatories, desperately hoping that my usual stall was free.

Yeah, I have a usual stall.

Yeah, I am worried that the Barnes & Noble people refer to me as “The Shit Guy” or “Mr. Poo Dude” or “Maybe we should just stop serving him coffee”.

So I did my business.  I won’t get into graphic details, but let’s just say I lost about five pounds.  As I was pressing the little flush handle (by the way, I love that they haven't switched to those automatic flushers yet, because it allows me to better control courtesy flushing, as well as the timing of everything as I stand up to wipe), someone who must have recently entered the bathroom (like a ninja, I must say, since I didn’t even hear the door open) shouted something out to me. 


It was too late, I had already flushed, but everything seemed to go down correctly.  When I exited the stall I saw a guy, probably in his twenties, holding a wrench, and wearing some sort of tool belt.  He looked at me and said, "Sorry for yelling, I wasn't sure it would flush right, I'm here to fix that one" as he walks past me and heads directly into the stall I just annihilated with a few days’ worth of bad eating (Chinese food, pizza, brie… some kind of onion soup… many eggs).

I turned around to advise him against immediate entry into the danger zone, but I was too late.  So I say to him, "Well, in that case, let me apologize for the air quality in there."  I was tempted to add in a “That skid mark on the bottom was totally already there when I arrived.”  Also worried that he might lift up the seat, I could have potentially added “Any below the seat markings were probably not from me.”

Anyways, before I could add anything else onto my apology (for what had to be a brutal scene), without skipping a beat, this is what the guy says to me, from his KNEES in the stall, FACING a toilet that I had just destroyed. 

"Welcome to my office."

It sounded so HARD and so wise.  The dude was twenty-something, but clearly, as my brother said, "When you work a shitty job like that, you grow up real fast."  I don't think my brother actually said 'SHITTY' job, but I felt the pun worked rather well.  Sorry big brother, if I misquoted you.

I realize that the holidays are over, and many of us are bummed that we have to wake up early again, go to the office, and pretend to work for eight hours.  Well, the next time you go to the washroom, any washroom really, and are face to face with a clogged poopy toilet, just remember, THAT could be your office.  

Suddenly the cubicle seems pretty nice, doesn’t it?

That's it.  I need to go look at books, I’m pretty backed up from all that holiday eating.

Friday, December 23, 2011

Where the Cheese At?

Dearest Readers of HXR,

As you may have already noticed, I have been spending less time writing for your beloved Super Happy Fun Blog, Highway 10 Revisited, and spending lots and lots of time writing for my Action Packed Full to the Max Blog, Zombie Hall.

I have still been writing comedy and Highway 10 material, albeit mostly in my mind, and will document some new stuff in the Newest Year of all recent New Years in memory, 2012.

Here are a few thoughts that will likely work their way into some upcoming material:

- Why I stopped going to Open Mics
- Alpaca sweaters are awesome but the worst too
- Where did my pants button go?
- Yankee Swaps are fucked up
- Who buys this shit?
- Who watches this shit?
- Newt Gingrich? More like Shit Sandwich (and similar remarks for all of those candidates)
- Real Adventures of Kev D. in Public Restrooms
- But I don't FEEL 30...
- Never juice an onion
- Don’t try the hot sauce
- I’ve never had an ‘AH-HA’ moment, and I don’t know what it feels like
- Where jokes go to die
- Grown men look stupid in sunglasses, especially indoors
- Warm sheets good, warm toilet seat bad

And so on and so forth.

Happy Holidays and all sorts of hugs and shit,
Kev D.

That's it.  I should probably start writing some of that stuff.

Thursday, October 13, 2011

Expert Opinion.

People tend to have different passions in life.  What bakes one person’s beans might not, in fact, bake someone else’s beans to quite the same level of bakedness and/or bakeosity.  Some people don’t even like beans.  Some people eat beans and get all gassy and smelly.  The point is, beans are pretty awesome, especially if you put hot dogs in them.  Wait, no, that’s not the point.  

Allow me to start over.  

I see people obsessing over sports and don’t really understand what the big deal is (see: Color Commentator).  I see people loving cars, and think, what a waste of time and energy.  Just like some people may not understand why I know so much about obscure zombie films (see: Zombie Hall… no seriously… If you’ve been wondering where the hell I have been, I have been writing there lots…).  Some people try to keep up to date with all of the newest gadgets and iDildoes, learn about fine wine, or eat all sorts of soft cheeses.  I sort of get it, but who has the money for that?  

Some people go bird watching.  No comment.

The point is everyone wants to be a buff of some kind.  I fancy myself a music buff, and a bit of a film buff, but if you are looking to be a buff and have not yet chosen something to buff on, allow me to present you with a buff list (which I guess makes me a buff buff), of what I feel are underrepresented hobbies and passions that surely must exist in the world today, somewhere.  Be a buff like these, and you’ll really stand out as a one-of-a-kind buff.

The Urinal Buff

I would imagine life as a Urinal Buff would be exciting and full of non-stop action, especially if you’re a woman.  Imagine being able to stop at a random rest area somewhere like southern New Hampshire and come out cheering.

Honey, they have the new Falcon 4000!  Limited edition! What a swirl!  Get the camera!

Sure, people might look at you funny when you enthusiastically piss, but every public urinal pee would be an educational experience.  You’re probably thinking that there isn’t much to know about urinals.  Maybe the Urinal Buff could also have vast toilet seat knowledge.  You don’t know.  

You don’t know because you’re not a Urinal Buff.  By the way, the Urinal Buff prefers to be called Whiz Kid.  I bet the Urinal Buffs would have all sorts of inside jokes slagging guys that sit down to pee, or prefer the comfort and privacy of a stall.

Other types of buffs along these lines could be Toe Nail Clipper Buff (“I just got the new model Trim”), Shower Curtain Ring Buff (think John Candy in “Planes, Trains”), Ceiling Fan Buff (“It’s got eight speeds!”), or Late Eighties’ Microwave Oven Buff (“You can cook a whole turkey to the max”) just to name a few.

The Crayola Connoisseur

Outside of the weird kid who ate crayons in class, few people seem to have a real appreciation for crayons, and I think that’s a shame.  I think a true Crayola Connoisseur would be able to take a crayon that is missing its little rolling paper and still be able to name which color it is, likely based on its smell and texture. They’d probably get confused between Mahogany and Shit, though.  

Smells like Magenta, but has a bit of a Fuchsia aftertaste.

They’d actually understand the purpose of that built in sharpener on the box too.  Also, let it be known, that the Crayola Connoisseur wouldn't respect people who know a lot about markers, because, markers and marker experts are bullshit.  You ever smelled those smelly markers?  

Uh, yes well, the last time I checked, the color pink does not actually smell like bubble gum” said the Crayola Connoisseur, quite condescendingly.

The Firework Enthusiast

Fully grown humans enjoying fireworks have always, to me, seemed a little bit ridiculous.  I often like to blurt out things like “classic Pinsky formation” or “I wasn’t sure if they’d bring it home, but then BAM, double Fapperwheel!” because I’m so silly like that, and to me, that joke never gets old.  But imagine someone who actually knows the terminology of fireworks.  You’re probably thinking that there isn’t a terminology.  Well, probably not.  But I’d assume that the fireworks enthusiast would invent his own glossary of firework related terms and maneuvers.   I bet ‘bouquet’ and ‘finale’ would totally mean something.

I know you’re out there and I’m dying to meet you.  Probably you’re good friends with someone who knows all the techniques for making various styles of paper snowflakes.

Check this one out! I only used three scissor cuts.

Dental Hygiene Assistant Fanatic 

If you think that they would only know about the famous ones, you’d be wrong.  They’d know about the local up and comers too, and they’d have trading cards, like baseball cards, that have their stats printed on the back.  You know, like Cavity Assists, Cleaning Time Average, and Drool Handling?

I’ll trade you a ‘Melinda from Springfield’ for your ‘Peggy from Rochester’ rookie card.

Seriously, if we throw other healthcare professionals (nurses, pharmacists, the person that operates them fancy machines in the hospitals, etc…) into the mix, we could have whole talk radio channels centered on them.  I’d listen to that.

Welcome to ‘You Can’t Handle the Tooth’, I’m your host, Barry Jogbar, let’s go to the phones.

Yeah, hi Barry, long time listener first time caller, what do you think Portland Charlene’s chances are at being called up to big show this year?

After yesterday’s veneer performance, I think they are pretty strong.  Pretty strong indeed.

Honestly, they are already wearing colored uniforms. We might as well organize the color scheme a little more and make them form teams.  Besides, they’d certainly be better role models than people in ‘US Weekly’ (see: Keepin’ it Real).  Think of the children, people.

Cigar Aficionado Aficionado

I’ll leave it up to you the reader to decide what exactly this would be.  It’s kind of like a Choose-Your-Own-Adventure, minus the horrific cover art and the fact that I always die on purpose.  

To jump off the cliff and end your adventure, turn to page SET BOOK ON FIRE.

Most likely a Cigar Aficionado Aficionado involves some kind of parallel universe.  I believe that it has very little to do with cigars.

I wanted to add Muzak Lover to this list, but when I did a quick search on that there Google thing, sadly, it turns out that this type of buff exists already and will therefore not make this list.  In any case, don’t feel the need to follow something on this list necessarily.  I’m simply trying to get your brain motivated to get out there and be creative.  Go become the first SOMETHING Buff.  The world needs buffs of all kinds.  Except illegal stuff, or stuff that involves a lot of eating.  There are enough of those buffs as it is.  Also, don’t confuse Buff with Fetish.  You should like something, not like-like something.  Big difference.

That’s it.  My office building got the new Falcon installed and I need to go try it out.