Pie in the Face

Or: Just because it’s healthy it doesn’t mean it’s good for you.

Also: The day my life became a non fiction scat joke.

Well reader, I don’t know what directed you here or how well you know me so I’ll say for the record that I’m not a huge fan of scatological humor. I enjoy the occasional fart joke as much as anyone, but the line has to be drawn somewhere. For me, that line comes somewhere after the telling but before the practice. On the day of April 5th, in an effort to make a healthier change in my lifestyle, I discovered to my dismay exactly WHY fart jokes are funny. You see, on this day my life became one long (humorous in the retelling but humiliating and degrading at the time) brutally drawn out lesson in coprology. On that day I had my first, and therefrom only, experience with a product with which I’m sure you’ve seen one (or likely more) of their prolific commercials… the miraculous, nutritious, and let us not forget uber-rich in fiber, Fiber One bar. It is the waking nightmare my life became that day that stirs me to put pen to paper now. Be warned. I will pontificate bluntly and at length in this post about a subject most will find detestable. But the words written here, while disgusting and humiliating are, nearly the exact truth of events as they occured. I pillory myself here before you to share this horrible experience. Not to drive you away or fill you with revulsion, but to hopefully spare you from suffering the same slings and arrows.

To be fair, the extremety of my reaction can not entirely be laid at the feet of the beneficent people at the General Mills corporation. You see, I’ve had experience with Fiber before. I enjoy whole grain bread, granola bars, and have even been known to use a fiber additive in my drink on occasion. So, having decided to start eating SOMETHING in the mornings, every morning, I picked up some Fiber One bars on sale at the supermarket and, seeing that they were only 90 calories each, ate three of them while driving to the office. I didn’t consider that there may be adverse effect from consuming one bar, much less three.

The day began like any other. Phones ringing, emails coming in, sipping coffee while catching up on what piled up overnight. It wasn’t until about 2 hours into the day that the first rumblings, in retrospect such ominious sounds, could be heard from deep within my abdomen. Rather than subside with time, the rumblings grew louder and louder until eventually the gaseous pressure building up in my bowels not only demanded but rioted towards the nearest possible exit, with the sadly expected results. This continued throughout the entire morning. It seemed that every time I lowered myself to my seat another pocket of gas would be released. At one point it was so bad you would have thought an entire colony of elephant seals was stalking me. During breeding season.

The saddest part of this entire situation is that even though the words above are hyperbole, they are only just barely so.

Now the warning.

This advice can spare you untold agony. Following it will help your love life. It will help your career. It will DEFINITELY make your ride on the bus or BART more bearable. It’s a simple suggestion, and if you absolutely MUST eat Fiber One will only take you a day. The first time you sample one of those chewy, crispy little packages of condensed evil make sure you have the entire day to yourself. Alone. At home preferably with an open restroom that is well stocked with the softest, gentlest toilet paper you can find. After my experience, I did a little research (okay, so by research I mean I googled “fiber one flatulence”) and discovered that while not everyone who eats a Fiber One bar has this problem, the number of those who do is not insignificant.

And now the rant.

Why the hell isn’t there a HUGE warning on the box that gives SOME indication that deafening flatulence and explosive (painfully so) diarrhoea? I realize that this is not the kind of notice that any sane marketer or sales person would want associated with their product, but really… The consequences of unknowingly suffering the effects of this product during a presentation or business meeting would be disastrous.

I know who I’ll be referred to. From now on when people talk about me around the water cooler, I’m afraid that it’s going to be a while before there is a Lonepieman again. For the forseeable future I’m fairly certain any reference to this blog will be in reference to “The Fiber One Fart Guy”.

And the lesson learned.

So why do we laugh at fart jokes? It’s really quite straightforward. If we don’t laugh, we cry.

Until next time, from a throne that isn’t porcelain, it’s the Lonepieman saying “Watch what you eat. Sometimes it’ll bite you back in the end.”

Quick picture of Friday posse

I don’t understand some dog owners.  I mean, I understand that people love their dogs almost like their own children.  They are like permenant children, needing to be protected and guided, but unlike children they never grow up.  I guess that just like parents, some dog owners think they are doing the right thing but are just completely clueless. 

So cutting straight to the meat of the matter, today at the dogpark there was an issue.  It wasn’t a big issue.  Basically a bigger dog and a smaller dog had a disagreement.  All said and done it lasted about four seconds before it was over.  The reason it became a big issue is that apparently the owner of the smaller dog, a boston terrier, was freaking out because his dog had a little cut in the back corner of his mouth…  could have been from the bigger dog, could have bitten it himself.  The entire thing was over almost before it started, and happened so fast that by the time I looked over all I saw was a little dog making savage noises while a big dog looked puzzled while being pulled away.

I’ve seen situations like this dozens of times.  It’s really no big deal.  The dogs got excited, pulled apart, and you just let them settle down.  The drama comes into play because Mr. Little Dog Owner started spazzing out and called animal control and reported a vicious dog.  Then this little douche gives the like to his own report by manhandling the dog he’s reporting to be able to see the dog’s registration number…  not subtly mind you, but quite agressively he twisted the dog around, jerking it here and there, to which the dog, the vicious dog, just stood there patiently with a very puzzled look on its face.

I’m at this dog park 5+ times a week for over an hour each day.  Yes, I’m a little biased because the owner of the big dog is there almost as often as Sharpie and I whereas this was the first time any of us who regularly take our dogs to the park who had seen this guy or his dog.

Okay, now that that’s out, no more ranting.  Just had to vent a little because I still get a little pissed thinking of how self-righteous people can be without the slightest grounds.  Hopefully he won’t be back, and if he does, well, definitely I will keep Sharpie away from his dog and will call animal control if he can’t keep his dog away from mine…  it’s what he would do if Sharpie looked at his dog sideways, isn’t it?

Well, just had another round of x-rays (this makes…  hmm…  5+7+2+4+3 so 21 x-rays since this started) and they changd the cast again.  Apparently my fingers were in the wrong position, which would have caused major flexibility issues once the bone was healed and the cast removed.  So, in the interest of a speedier recovery and (hopefully) shorter time in physical therapy once the old cast was removed, my ring and pinkie fingers were bent to as close to a 90 degree angle as they could be forced, despite the pair of 2.5 inch pins that go from above my top knuckle down almost to the bottom one.  Needless to say, it freaking hurt.  A Lot.  Aside from the constant ache and the little spasms that, if I’m not thinking about it, causes me try to flex my fingers…  let’s just say that every time it happens it’s a very sudden and abrupt attention grabber.  Oh, did I mention that the heads of the pins running the length of my pinkie still protrude slightly fom my skin?  The feeling of the open wound with the metal pinheads rubbing against the inside of the cast is, as an added bonus, simply indescribable…  maybe if I could actually get a good night’s sleep it would be a different story, but even when not painful the level of irritation is such that sleep is utterly impossible until I fall to either chemistry or exhaustion.  Fortunately exhaustion is not far from me this night, so I think it’s time to give sleep a chance…

Goodnight all.

Lonepieman out