Adam J. Choit

The other day I was thinking about things I’m good at.  Honestly, the list isn’t all that lengthy.  One thing that did come to mind was belching, or to most people, burping.  That’s right, I am really good at burping.  I have the natural talent to pretty much burp at will, just by taking a moment to breathe in some air.  I can’t really explain how this is done, but whether you want loud burps, long ones, or to hear the a-b-c’s in burp-language, I can pretty much do it all.

I wondered — are there any legitimate burping competitions out there?  I did some minimal Googling, and while that yielded some notable results, I didn’t come across anything that seemed particularly legit.

In a world where we have sanctioned eating competitions that are recognized in the mainstream world, I don’t understand why there are no burping competitions.   In my opinion, watching/listening to burping is no more disgusting than watching a person consume absurd amounts of food in a rapid fashion.  In fact, one could make the argument that visually, watching someone pig-out is even more unappealing than the whole burping thing.

Perhaps it’s the fact that eating competitions are scored in a cumulative way — the person who eats the most hot dogs in the allotted time wins.  It’s cut and dry.  A burping competition might require some judging.  But whatever, figure skating and gymnastics are judging-based sports/competitions, too.  So, I don’t buy that thought-process.

I just think people are hypocritical morons.  If some mofo eats 60 hot dogs in ten minutes, he’s worthy of our admiration — but if afterward during the press conference, he belches, well, now he’s a disgusting lowlife.

The Internet is filled with all sorts of repulsive, vile, disgusting content — and often it doesn’t require much searching to get to this kind of stuff.  I’m talking stuff that’s scatological in nature, or worse.  I’m not into that, but I could remember years ago a friend directed me to a particular website.

I’m not even going to name the site, or link you to it.  In fact, I’m not 100% sure that the site even still exists.  If you really want to look for it you can.  But if I set up a link, human nature tends to make us want to click on something, even if it comes with a strong warning not to.

Anyway, years ago a friend told me to “check out this site, you’ll love it.”  So I went to this site in which people would submit photographs of their poops, with the purpose of other people rating them.  Yup.  So, I went to this site once, and once only.

Needless to say, it was a disgusting website.  I must admit though, as gross as the site was, it wasn’t it’s grossness that I found most upsetting.  I was more disappointed about the quality of the content.

I don’t know quite what I was expecting, but I guess it was to see big, long, and unbroken poos.  What I found on this site (for the total of maybe 14 seconds I was on it) was really very average and unimpressive poops.

Looking back now, I guess it was unreasonable of me to hope that people who post photos of their own poop on the Internet would have better standards.

Apparently some people believe that it’s good luck when a bird poops on you.  I can’t imagine that this is something all that many people really believe — but in addition to blurbs about this on the Internetweb, some people in my real life as well have heard of this superstition.

Ok fine, if a bird poops on you one time, then you win the lottery the next day, even I would have trouble arguing against “the pooping” being good luck.   However, this scenario is quite unlikely.  What’s more likely is a bird pooping on you every day, for the rest of your life.  And to me (I don’t know about you), if I got pooped on every day,  I’d kinda feel like I have bad luck.

This is going to be one those posts that might just come across as tmi, just to warn ya.

At work, there’s a women’s restroom, as well as a men’s restroom.  However, there’s only one plunger, that’s shared.  The question is, “Where should the plunger be primarily stored?”

Just to let you all know, I’ve never really needed to use the plunger before.  Ok, maybe occasionally.  Rarely.  Rarely occasionally.

Not that I’m an expert on the inner-workings of the female digestive system, but I do believe it’s more likely men would need the plunger.  I’m just saying.

You see, there’s a difference between being “treated equally,” and having “equal rights.”  I totally believe men and women should have equal rights, but not always be treated equally.  In fact, OFTEN there ought to be differences in how women and men are treated.

Men and women are different — and one difference is that men are (I’m pretty sure) way more likely to need to use a plunger.

It’s true.  Some women are jealous of convincing trannies.

Why is it so hard for marathon runners to date each other?  — Because it’s a long distance relationship.

I’m bored with one person telling another,  “go fuck yourself”.  That’s why I was delighted when I heard one friend tell another to “cum into a turkey baster, then shoot it up your own butt”.  Graphic, insulting, and more creative.  That’s better.

This is what I like to do when I knock on people’s doors:

WATCH THIS —– http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_VAyCE7NB8U

I usually do this to my buddy, because doing this kinda thing is probably more appropriate when you’re dealing with at least a good friend.

The first couple of times it was “(knock knock), housekeeping you want me jerk you off?”

However, that got old/boring pretty fast, let alone it’s a bit homoerotic for my taste.   For some reason, I started considering other phrases I could say in a high-pitched voice after knocking on my buddy’s door.

Now the despicable vulgarity and gross imagery has become routine, but at least somewhat fresh every time I approach my friend’s door.

“Housekeeping you want me poop on your pillow?”

“Housekeeping you want me put my earwax on your silverware?”

“Housekeeping you want me leave dirty gym sock in your refrigerator?”

Y’all should try this on your friends!   Such complete and utter ridiculousness repeated over time is what lasting friendships are made of.

Not that I frequent gay bars all that often, but I’ve found myself inside them before.  In fact, it’s not uncommon at all for the male bartenders at these gay bars to be shirtless while serving drinks.

Despite this being very gay, I’m not against shirtless bartenders because of any homophobic reasons.

Even though female bartenders often also work rather scantily clad, I’ve yet to walk into an establishment with completely topless bartenders…..but I’d sure like to! hehe.

The point is, I can’t imagine it’s 100% sanitary to pour drinks with no shirt on.  Places get crowded, places get hot.  I don’t want some dude’s sweat all dripping in my drink.

A moment like the following one I’m about to describe comes only once in a blue moon, if not even once in a lifetime for some people.

The other day I was “cleaning out” (picking) my nose (Yeah, that’s right.  Get over it.  At least I was home and nobody was watching), and I noticed a stark contrast between what came out of my left nostril and what came out of my right one.   I couldn’t believe it!

The left nostril produced a very dry booger —- the kind capable of easily being rolled up into a ball.   Meanwhile the right nostril produced more of a wet, oozing snot, the kind that is not as fun to play with as the ball.

Anyway, what does this all mean?   My right and left nostrils can’t even get on the same page.  Perhaps I should just step back and just try appreciate such a rarity for what it is —- whatever that may be.

I once heard a story about a gay man who wasn’t quite over his ex-boyfriend.   He had fond memories of the times he and his lover spent together.  It was a difficult break-up, and this guy is still trying to get over it.

In fact, sometimes when this guy now goes #2, he’ll ponder the feces for a moment.  He recalls the residue that his ex-lover occasionally left “on him.”  If that’s not sentimental, I don’t know what is.

True story.

In addition to my previous post in which I boast about how classy and romantic I am — I’m quite hygienic as well.

Want proof?  Sometime within the past 6 to 12 months, for some unknown reason I thought for a moment that purchasing solid white boxers is actually a good idea.

I brought home my boxers and quickly realized potentially why white boxers are in fact probably a BAD idea.  I mean, I’ve never seen any sort of residue on my underwear since I was like 6, but white shows EVERYTHING.

Proudly to say, the garments are all immaculate.  Pristine.  I COULD PUT THEM BACK IN THE BAG AND RETURN THEM.   They are so clean that I would receive not just store credit, but a full refund — and that’s without a receipt, too.

k, I’m done now.