Today's poops were solid, until they were not. Very strange hybrid poops. I suspect the changed timing and sporadic stop/start use of doctor-prescribed pharmaceuticals is having an unwanted, and largely undocumented, effect. Then again, I'm not a doctor. I'm a dude with some weird poops today. Oh, and yesterday.

she's on a raw food diet.
i made raw lasagna. it was pretty delicious incredible.

recipe inside

Inside, bitching about wounds, but rejoicing in unpacked-ness. You may or may not want to bother with this one, dudes. It's arty, though. I'll give it that.

Ether This, Ether That, Eat This Sandwich
Sing the hook, whooooayyyyohhhh.

They're here, but they're not convenient, nahmean?

Poll: Select the best Krautrock band, win a prize! The prize is knowing that you have excellent selection skills.

I also say "Mair-un", so it all balances out.

For real, I keeps it ill like a piece of blue steel
Pointed at your temple with the intent to kill
And end your existance
Ain't no use for resistance

And it isn't cinema verité; it's real fucking life.

Oh yeah? Well, fuck you. I'm going to tell you anyway. I'm going to tell you with pictures, and you? You're going to like it!

PFC!

Before I regale you with tales of my fabulous exploits (which, I assure you, are quite fabulous, indeed), I hereby announce HuSi Poops Fun Challenge, First Daily! The rules are simple; you try to make some poops, you succeed, or you fail, then you submit your poopsmaking effort, which I then trump with the sheer awesomenity of my own poopsmaking abilities, and the ease with which I produce such vile excrement. Then I am declared the winner of Poops Fun Challenge, and the cycle begins anew. Got it? Good. Go make poops. IN THE TOILET, PEOPLE, IN THE FUCKING TOILET. Anyone who makes poops on the floor or in their pants is disqualified for being an asshole, and, quite possibly, a homeless asshole, at that. And we all know that homeless assholes aren't even technically human, and therefore can be killed with impunity. I know where you are, people. I can see you from the Dial-a-view hovering 25 miles above your head. I can see your tiny little subhuman heat signature, and I can see that even tinier steamy brown log coming out of your ass. I'm homing in on that right now. You have mere seconds to live.