The Intelligence Estimate

So my back has been giving me problems lately. This is not a new thing. My back acts up all the time. I used to think it was just a desperate cry for attention from a neglected muscle group, but now I'm starting to think it's something more. So I went on-line to find some upper back and neck exercises I could do to help out. I found exactly two, and last night I did them both. Today I have a pain in my back and a pain in my arm from the exercises. If you're scoring at home my pains have now doubled.

I was always told that you need to warm up before you exercise. Last week I had a conversation with someone who told me that you couldn't warm up until you've broken a sweat. When asked how you were supposed to break a sweat without warming up he got evasive and countered with, "you need the blood in the right muscles in order to warm up." This logic was lost on me as I keep blood in my muscles at all times...especially my brain. And now my brain is telling me that it may be true that I need to warm up before I exercise or I may hurt myself. And it may be true that I need to sweat first before I warm up or I may hurt myself as well. Well, I'd hate to choose the wrong path and end up injuring myself even further. So my choice is the the path I've tread all along: SLOTH! Screw this noise, I'm getting a sundae and going to bed!

Here's the first draft of this year's Christmas letter. Some of you may be getting a hard copy of the finished product...so try to act surprised when it shows up in your mailbox.
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Dear Friends,

I must admit I’m a little stumped as to how to proceed with this letter. I haven’t read very many of these holiday letters, and I only remember what I DIDN’T like about the ones that I did read. For example I’m baffled as to the tense of the letter. Do I talk about myself in the 3rd person as though I’m not really me? Do I pretend like we’re both writing this letter? Or there’s always the ever-repulsive “Letter Written From The Point of View of the Pet.” Here’s a little secret, our cat can’t write. However, for those of you interested in a litter box view of the world I suggest reading “Garfield.” He’s a little tricky to find because he’s only syndicated in about 30 million papers worldwide, but his hilarious hatred of dogs and days of the week are well worth the effort you’ll expend in finding him.

Well, in the pursuit of full disclosure I feel I should tell you that Jen is NOT writing this letter. So some of the information about her may be a bit lacking or just out and out lies. Also, while our lives may seem interesting to the uninitiated, let me tell you that we, the people who lived them, are not so enamored. If you are similarly uninterested I suggest you turn back now before it’s too late. For the rest of you….

Jennifer and I got married on December 4, 2004. If you didn’t already know that I don’t know why we are sending you this letter. Because of my job at the Civic Center of Greater Des Moines there was no way we could do a “real” honeymoon, so we waited until March to take a trip. We decided upon Los Angeles because Jen has relatives near there we could visit while in the area. The day before we left for Los Angeles we were informed that Jen had been accepted into the accelerated nursing program at Loyola University in Chicago. Pragmatically this meant we had three months to find housing and jobs in Chicago. Luckily we got to freak out on the always-balmy West Coast!

While in L.A. we went to Venice Beach, Griffith Park (Home of the Hollywood sign), The Getty Center and saw a sketch comedy show at The Groundlings. We would have done more museums in L.A. but they are all closed on Mondays. You can get no culture in L.A. on a Monday. And, as if to prove that fact, on Monday night the Lakers played the Clippers! We spent a few days in L.A. before moving out to Anaheim. We stayed in a Best Western that was right across the street from a Best Western. (I think they may have saturated the motel market in Anaheim.) We did Disneyland and Disney’s California Adventure. Both were fantastic. We then moved on to Palm Dessert where Jen’s uncle Roger and his partner Dick live. We spent a lot of time with them just catching up. I’d never met them, so I had 29 years worth of things they needed to know about.

When we landed back in Des Moines we realized that we hadn’t done nearly enough freaking out while we were in L.A. So Jen arranged to visit Loyola and while she was there she found a great apartment across the street from the campus. That took care of the housing issue, however we were still a little fuzzy on where the money to pay rent was going to come from. I had interviews with two theaters, The Goodman and Drury Lane Water Tower Place, for part time ticket office positions. I got them both. A week after I accepted the jobs I got a call from Water Tower Place saying that the assistant manager left the ticket office and they would like to offer that position. I took it.

I moved to Chicago on May 1st and stayed with Jen’s stepbrother and sister-in-law, Pat and Linda because we couldn’t move into our apartment until June 1. Jen stayed behind to settle our accounts and get things in order before her freshman orientation started. She moved in with me in Pat and Linda’s spare room two weeks later. Memorial Day weekend we went back home for a LONG weekend of packing, lifting, loading and swearing.

We moved into our new apartment on June 1st. We spent WEEKS unpacking. In fact there are still some boxes we haven’t gone through and may not get to before we move again. Jen dove into school and I drown in work.

I auditioned for an improv troupe that was being created at The Playground Theater. I was accepted. We perform a few times a month a rehearse every week. It’s a lot of fun.
Jen was quoted in an article in the Chicago Tribune about Loyola’s accelerated nursing program. Somehow she managed to work in a CIA agent’s name and life around here hasn’t been the same since.

I performed in the First Annual Iowa Fringe Festival with The Brink, my improv troupe in Des Moines. They asked me back to fill up a hole in their line-up. It was a lot of fun.
In September Jen participated in a dedication to the profession called “The Blessing of the Hands.” Her mom and stepfather came up to witness the ceremony and take in some sights. I got them tickets to see the show that was playing at Drury Lane. (A show that starred TV’s Ms. Katherine Helmond! Will someone please pick up that name I just dropped?!)

In mid-September my boss got unceremoniously fired for reasons that were never made clear to anyone. So, I got a “promotion” again, albeit one without any pay raise or additional benefits. All I got was the extra work and none of the authority to carry it out. I took that as a sign and promptly started to look for another job. Never being one to settle, I took two. I began working for The Blue Man Group on October 25. I work part time in the ticket office and part time on the run crew. I love it.

Jen has been VERY busy with school. She has finished one rotation of clinical experiences and is in her second round right now. She did a medical/surgical rotation and is currently doing her pediatric/OB rotation. She has not killed anyone yet and our supply of medical swabs is so great we may soon start our own hospital. It’s a win/win situation really. Because she didn’t think she was busy enough, Jen also took a job with a medical transcription company called Transcription Relief Services. Between work, school, performances and friends, we basically see each other for about three minutes a day. Usually one of us is going to bed while the other one is getting up. Luckily we have photos to remind each of us what the other looks like.

We had our first measurable snowfall today here in the Chicagoland area. Not much really, just enough to make things sloppy. Walking home from the train tonight I got to thinking about how they used to clear the sidewalks at school when I was in college.

I went to Iowa State University, a school known for its top rate engineering program. A lot of national merit scholars went there. There is a really great computer science program there as well. So there is no shortage of brain power on this campus...it apparently just doesn't seep into management or administration.

ISU never cancelled classes for snow no matter HOW bad it got. Conversely, they never shovelled the snow from the sidewalks until it had stopped snowing and the sun had come out. (Apparently the students are from a heartier stock than the maintenance crews.) In actuality, they never really shovelled at all. They used a small tractor with a whirling broom on the front of it. This was supposed to sweep the snow into drifts at the side of the sidewalk, and it may have worked if they ever did it in time. However because classes were never cancelled they always waited to sweep the snow until after all the student had tramped the snow into a thick sheet of ice. Well, by that time the crews got to those ice sheets with their brooms all they really did was polish the ice to a fine mirror-like sheen the same way a Zamboni does at an ice rink. I think this was done so that as you fall to your first collegiate concussion you have a clear picture of how rediculous you look. That way when you come to in the Student Health office your first instinct is to laugh at the absurdity of that face rather than to sue the college for negligence.

I was walking down the street with my wife today when we passed a lawyer's office. Now this in and of itself is not noteworthy. The fact that the lawyer had his fees listed in the window IS noteworthy. What I found shocking is that a will cost the same amount as a divorce, $399. I guess because you die a little with both of them.

I pointed this out to my lovely wife who said, "You'll never divorce me will you?" To which I replied, "Of course not. I don't have $400." She pondered this for a moment before determining that she would gladly give me the $400 to be rid of me. Then she reconsidered. "No. You'd just take the $400 and buy an Xbox and then I'd be stuck with you. I guess you'll just have to stay and suffer."

I don't care what anybody says, those conversations are what a marriage is made of! I love this woman!

I took a hearing test today at work. (I SAID I TOOK A HEARING TEST TODAY...oh nevermind.) A mobile lab came and set up in the parking lot. Five of us came in and filled out some paper work, listened to a presentation on hearing safety and then took the test.

We put on our earphones and grabbed the clicker beside it. We were told simply to press the clicker whenever we heard a beep in our earphones. Well, it took me awhile to realize that the testing had begun because (and I realize now that this is a horrible reason) the beeps were so quiet. I didn't realize that what I was hearing were my beeps. I figured that those faint rumblings were coming from the office that the tester was shut in, or the people next to me. I didn't think that anything THAT quiet could be a hearing test. Which, in retrospect, makes no sense whatsoever. They wouldn't ask if you could hear loud noises. They aren't going to start a band saw next to your head and see if you flinch. Of course you can hear that. But these beeps were so quiet I was afraid to swallow because it would make too much noise and I would miss it.

Sully said he thought they were quiet too so he compensated. "I was like, 'is that a car going by?" he said. "Well I better push the button just to be safe." I got to the point where I was just pushing the button when I felt like there SHOULD be a beep there.

I'm resonably certain that these hearing tests are going to show that the Blue Man Group is run by a bunch of deaf mutes.

I was listening to a segment on NPR this morning concerning technology, specifically broadcasting/streaming television to your PC. During the interview I heard two things that made me want to jump in a hole with a copy of WIRED magazine and never come out.

1. "I have like 5 remote controls and I can't run any of them." -Interviewer
2. "A lot of people are on the internet" -Interviewee

What? It was like they were broadcasting from another TIME...like 1983. I fully expected to hear an ad for Reagan's presidential campaign.

You have 5 remotes and you don't know how to run ANY of them? You don't deserve technology, go back to your flint and tinder. You'll be much happier in your cave. Honestly, go home. The other troglodytes miss you.

And a lot of people are on the internet? Hmmmmm...maybe, but I think it's just a fad. (But tune into my next BLOG to find out if that's REALLY the case!) Yeah, any moment this internet bubble's gonna burst and people will actually have to talk to one another again! And write letters, and shop in stores and purchase their porn from a swarthy guy in a shady part of town who answers to the name of Cool Killa B.

It wasn't so much that those statements were ridiculous (which they were) as that they were such hackneyed stand-up comedy premises. Do their VCRs still flash 12:00? And what about that airline food, huh? Men and women are sure different aren't they? But not as different as New York and LA, am I right or am I right? Thanks! You guys have been great. Seriously. Of all of the audiences I've had, you're one of them! Good night, folks! Don't forget to tip the wait staff!

*A horse walks into a bar and the bartender says, "Hey, why the long face?" Aren't you glad you read all the way to the bottom?

Today has been surprisingly productive for a Sunday. (It's technically Monday now, but I'm not gonna split hairs with you!) I took the recycling to the recycling center. (That's where they keep it, you see. So "recycling Center" is not just a clever name.) I did two loads of laundry. And most importantly, I'm making a lot of head way on some artistic projects. I finished off a cartoon for the company newsletter. I'm finishing a video project as we speak which I not only wrote and edited but also wrote and recorded the music for as well. And finally, I got started on my secret Santa project for work. Their rule at work is that you cannot BUY something. You have to either make it yourself, or at least ALTER it yourself. I'm doing a drawing of a Blue Man in a handmade PVC pipe frame. I may post links to all of this nonsense later.

Persnickity
Hooligans
Nogoodnicks
Jive
Gazebo
Schweppervescent
23 Skidoo (or 15 Skidoo, depending on the economy. Skidoo however much you can afford!)
Cattywampus
Muckity-Muck
Poobah
Helioseismologist

See what you can do about using those more often, huh? But not all in the same conversation or people will get hip to our jive and think we're a bunch of persnickity hooligans!

Last night I had a dream that I was entering a public bathroom to change my clothes. I don't know why I was, but I was. And behind me entered Robert Downey Jr. and another actor who I couldn't recognize. And Robert Downey Jr. started complimenting my work. I don't know why he was, but he was. In fact, I don't even know what "work" he was referring to. And then I excused myself to the privacy of a bathroom stall to change my clothes, but the door wouldn't lock. It was one of those locks that you turn an knob and the little bolt sticks out of the side of the door into a receptacle in the frame. While trying to lock the door I started to wonder about Robert Downey Jr and the other actor. Had I seen them in a movie together? What was that one movie where they were all in a gang? I couldn't remember. Anyway I got inordinately angry at the door that wouldn't lock. I don't know why I was mad, but I was. So I started to really wrench the knob to lock the door. This caused the bolt to shoot out from the door about a foot but I still couldn't get it to lodge in the receptacle that would cause it to lock. Instead it just pushed the door to go cockeyed in the frame so that it was now even further from the receptacle. So I gave the know one last good wrench. I don't know why I did, but I did. This didn't work either. The door did not lock. Instead it caused the frame work for all of the bathroom stalls completely collapsed and I was left there holding the knob. All of a sudden a woman shows up and starts to berate me for destroying the bathroom. And when I woke up I was disappointed that I couldn't think of that Robert Downey Jr. movie. In fact, I think I may have made up that movie.

I saw Hat Man again yesterday on the train. I kept waiting for him to DO something. I was watching him like a kid at the zoo watches the lion cages on a hot day: wondering if they'll ever do ANYTHING interesting. It was sad. I don't know what I expected him to do...tricks I suppose. So I was very disappointed when he just sat there like a normal human being. The nerve! "This is not good enough," I thought. "Dance monkey!"At one point he reached into his bag and pulled out a newspaper, but to my dismay all he did was read it. It's official, I'm back from the world of dreams.

I got on the train tonight I noticed something weird. Everybody getting out of the car I was waiting to get into was wearing a paper hat. An ordinary, run of the mill newspaper hat. I didn't think much of it. The Belmont stop, my stop for work, is the best way to get to boys town. Plus it's just south of Wrigleyville, so there are a lot of festive drunkards to be had on any given day. I figured the paper hat people were all in some bachelorette party or something. That was until I saw all the people IN the train that had them on too. This made me a little nervous. I don't know why. I just wasn't ready to be festive.

I looked around at all the people wearing hats. They didn't seem to be clustered together as though they were in a group. They didn't seem to be paying attention to each other at all. In fact, they were just going about their regular routines like nothing out of the ordinary was going on at all. Like they just got up that morning, went to the closet and picked out their best paper hat to wear to work. Ho, hum. Another day at the office.

That's when I saw him. Hat man. He was in his early twenties, probably in college. He was wearing a thick flannel coat and a paper hat. He was seated in the middle of the car frantically folding paper hats and, without saying a word, giving them to people to wear. He would just walk up to people, hold out a hat and motion to his head as if to say, "you wanna hat?" There was no rhyme or reason to who he offered the hats to. No one was descriminated against. If you wanted a hat, Hat Man was at your service. He had a copy of The Chicago Reader and he was quickly making his way through all the sections. I now feared I was not going to get one. "He's gonna run out of paper," I thought. He made eye contact with a few more people and made them hats. "He's not going to get to me," I thought. Then he reached into his bag and got another section of the paper. He looked up at me and pointed to his paper. I nodded. He folded. I'm still wearing the hat. I'm wearing the hat as I type this.

I wondered what we looked like to people on the platform as we whizzed by each stop. Whenever new people got on our train car they looked at us a little funny, until Hat Man approached them. Then their faces lit up and they too were in our gang. It was simple, it was poetic, it was beautiful. And it was a lot of fun. I couldn't stop smiling the whole way home, which is about a 20 minute ride.

Hat Man got off the train 4 or 5 stopps after I got on. He stepped to the door and looked around at his creation: all these smiling people. Then he tipped his paper hat to us and stepped off the train.

I hate being approached by beggars in the street. I hate it for all of the normal reasons that people hate that stuff. But it also brings out a very ugly side in me: I start to critique their sales pitch. I can't help it. I don't want to, but I've spent the last 4 years in customer service so I can't turn it off so easily anymore.

There was a guy on the train tonight who I've seen on there before. He hasn't seen me though, he's blind. At least that's the story. He shuffles from car to car making wild googly eyes, swiping his cane and shaking his cup. He mutters the same tired story about how he cannot see and he cannot get a job (didn't stop Stevie Wonder!) and he has no one so please give. *shakes change* Well, my wife gave him a dollar tonight and he said, "Thank you." Here's why I think that's BS: how can you hear a dollar bill hit the bottom of a cup on a moving train? You can't. But he said, "Thank you." So how did he know she'd given?

BEST PLOY EVER:
Last night a guy came up to me and said he was stationed at the Great Lakes Naval Training Center...or some such place. He showed me a military ID and a driver's license and then told me he was 14 hours AWOL because of a cruel prank by some crewmates. He asked me for $3 for train fare. I gave.

WHAT WORKED:
Patriotism Who's gonna say no to a sailor during wartime?
Specificity He asked for $3, not "Whatever you can spare." Makes the story more genuine.
Showing I.D. NOW I believe you GI Joe!

WORST PLOY EVER:
A few months ago I saw a guy laying on the sidewalk on Michigan Avenue talking to everybody that went by. He addressed everyone by a personalized nickname. "Hey pretty lady, spare some change?" "Hey sweety, got some change for a homeless man?" Hey dude, help a brother out?" He looks at me and I wave him off. He says, "Have a good day big guy."

WHAT DIDN'T WORK:
Calling me fat! You're hungry? Well it's just too damned bad I ate everything before you got a chance to pal! If you're looking for a bite you can start with my butt because apparently that's a four course meal!

It happened again tonight. The National Weather Service has declared a wind advisory for Cook County...which is all of Chicago and little else. Why? It's the Windy City. We knew that when we moved here. You don't have to warn people about it. It's like warning people that you may be mugged in New York, or slip into the ocean if you live in Los Angeles or die from boredom if you live in Des Moines. WE KNOW!

I couldn't sleep the other night so I spent a lot of time yesterday and today catching up. And, in an unusual move for me, I had a lot of dreams. It was cool because I haven't been sleeping well enough or deep enough or long enough to dream lately. It was an interesting change of pace. The coolest thing to come out of the dreams was a segement where I pondered cusines of other countries. When asked about traditional Canadian cooking I remarked, "It's just like American cusine, but it sits farther north on the plate."

*puts down Soap Box, climbs on top...wait does soap come in boxes anymore? Eh, whatever. The metaphor still works.*

I wish to register my displeasure at the advertisements for the new Curtis "50 Cent" Jackson movie, "Get Rich or Die Trying." They are an insult to thinking people everywhere.

There are two alarming issues at work here. The first of which is that I never feel so uniquely caucasian as when forced to use rapper's names in polite conversation. Why can't he pronounce it FIFTY cent like a normal human being? Why FITTY? I'm not saying it's a conspiracy to make me feel like a jackass, but I'm not say that it's not either.

I had the same problem when Sean Colmbs decided to go from "Puff Daddy" (Puffy to his friends) to the equally rediculous P. Diddy. What kind of Dr. Seuss parallel reality do these people live in? Honestly?! They sound like one big Sid and Marty Kroft show. Curtis? Honey? This is reality calling, come back to us. We miss you.

The second, perhaps more alarming, issue is the tag line for the movie. "Dying is only one of the options." Ladies and gentlemen of the court, may I remind you that the movie is called "Get Rich or Die Trying?" Isn't it patently obvious that dying is one of the options? Who needs this spelled out for them? And more importantly, are these simpletons the kind of people who you want coming to your movie? Because they're probably going to need it explained to them later using small words and sock puppets. Ohhhhhh, maybe THAT's where Sid and Marty Kroft come in!

Whateva's cleva yo! G-Dawg OUT!

*steps off Soap Box and busts a cap in its punk ass!*

The other day at work someone read a story from CNN about pirates who tried to hijack a vessel off the coast of Africa. We all had a good laugh about pirates. We wondered if they had a skull and cross bones flag. We wondered if they sang sea shanties. We wondered if the captain was forced to wear a parrot wherever he went just so people knew he was a pirate. Then, I lowered the hammer: I had a pirate story.

Years ago I dated a girl whose father, Dave, was a college professor. Every year Dave and his wife Marcia would go on an educational cruise called Travelearn. The gist of it was that the ship would sail to very different habitats. While you were traveling you would learn about these habitats and then go put your knowledge to work when you arrived at the next port. Dave was one of the instructors and he took Marcia along because it was a cheap way for her to see the world...at least the parts of the world Dave could teach about anyway.

Well, it seems that the people who planned these trips had neglected to make a few payments on the boat so the owners dispatched some repo men to take over the ship. They decided the best place to do that was on the high seas. Somewhere between England and Iceland the ship got boarded and taken over by these pirates who planned to return the boat to its port of origin: Russia. Long story short, after some tense negotiations the pirates made an unscheduled stop in Ireland to drop off the passengers and everyone arrived back home safely.

But the best part about this story is that for the next few weeks I knew that no matter what story anyone came to me with, I could top them.

"Oh, your girlfriend left you did she? Took your car? Burned down your house? WELL I GOT PIRATES! Check mate!

I was at a friend's birthday party tonight (Happy Birthday Sarah. Not that she'll ever see this!) She held the festivities at a pub called the Duke of Perth. The place went ot great lengths to provide the quaint pub atmosphere. There were animal heads on the walls. There was rough-hewn wood work on the walls. There was Celtic music, replete with penny-whistles and fiddles, fillingthe air. Well, most of the air anyway.

As the evening wore on I excused myself to go to the bathroom. The men's room shares a wall with the kitchen. And the whole time I was in the bathroom I could hear the merengue/salsa music bleeding in from the kitchen. If you stood in the doorway and tilted your head just right, I think you could hear Danny Boy with mariachi horns...just the way God intended it to be heard!

I've been working a lot lately. That's part of the reason that it's been like four days since I've written. (The other part is that the Blogger site was down for like a day and a half!) But here's what I've noticed about working long hours with strangers: the longer you're together, the stranger they become. And you usually end up talking about grossly inappropriate stuff that seems perfectly normal at the time until you try to relate it to someone who wasn't there.

Don't bother to try to relive the moment, nobody cares and they won't get it anyway. Just give up. It NEVER works. People will just want to know WHY you were talking about mentally handicapped pole dancers and what the conversation was that lead up to that point. And you NEVER remember what lead up to that point. So save yourself the embarassment and skip it!

And while we're on the subject of stories no one wants to hear let me give you this little piece of advice: lie! When you see the audience waning start making stuff up. Spice it up a little. There are three things that can make any story better a) hookers b) monkies and c) fire! A bad story that no one is listening to will suddenly become interesting if monkies show up.

And for the record, a hooker monkey on fire is the PERFECT story!

I spent the day cleaning yesterday. I had the day off and I spent it cleaning. The only two times I left the apartment were to get lunch and to put laundry in the washer. I was a cleaning machine. And in the course of that cleaning I gave myself two paper cuts and pulled a muscle in my back. I was killed by cleanliness. But that's nowhere near as bad as what happened to Sully.

Sully is my supervisor at work for the Lobby Jack position. (This is the job that my friend Shelia calls my "pirate job.") One night when Sully was training me we were standing in the lobby and he was pointing to various things around the room. That was fine. The real problem came when he decided we need to be on the other side of the room to see something close up.

"Let's go back and shut the CD player's off," he said and then immediately followed that with, "Owwwww, son of a bitch." And then he moved.

The chronology there is VERY important. He said, "Let's go," then he screamed, and then he moved. That last part is actually the most important because he was stationary the whole time until after he screamed.

"What happened?" I asked.

"I rolled my ankle."

"Doing WHAT?"

"Thinking about moving."

That's right, the THOUGHT of moving was enough to make Sully's body revolt against manual labor. He didn't actually DO anything. When I came back two weeks later after I had officially accepted the job, Sully told me that he had actually sprained his ankle that night. He'd thought of making up some activity that he'd been involved in, but in the end his accident report was just three words long, "Thought about moving."

I'm still learning a lot of new things at work. Today's new item? The bathroom habits of our UPS driver.

Now, in fairness, he's not OUR UPS driver. As one of the manager's (James) said, "I've never seen him deliver a package here, but he always stops to take a crap." I tried to tell them that that was a special delivery all its own, but they weren't hearing it. "I don't know what he eats, but you don't wanna go in there for about an hour."

One of the things I learned about the job is that we get free soda. They have a bar there that has a gun with Pepsi, Sierra Mist, Orange Juice...just about everything you could want. Well, I'm trying to get away from the sugar and caffeine of soda, so I've been drinking water. LOTS of water. I brought in this 48oz mug today and I was 1/2 through my second glass when I realized that I REALLY needed to go to the bathroom. However, this was a scant 20 minutes after James admonishment to avoid the bathroom after the "specail delivery." So I went upstairs to the bathroom ABOVE the one the UPS driver used. And you know what? That one smelled too. I suppose it's possible that someone else had burritos for lunch, but I prefer to think that our UPS driver's bowels are super-human and the stench actually ate through the floor! Because if that's true, I think the government needs to study him and his special brand of biological warfare.

You know, now that I think about it, I never did see that UPS guy walk out of the bathroom. He may have actually been killed in the line of dookie.