Norwegian Golf Course Mystery Pooper…the blog that writes itself.

Mystery Pooper

Source

For the last decade, a man has been coming to a golf course in Norway in the mornings, dropping trou and pooping in the cups.

That sentence should invite a lot of questions.

Stavanger Golf Club has been dealing with the mystery pooper since 2005, and the club’s staff is convinced a man is behind the fecal graffiti for a simple reason.

“We know it is a man because the poos are too massive to be from a woman,” said groundskeeper Kenneth Tennfjord, who added that the man in question often leaves toilet paper to go along with the turds, according to the Rogalands Avis paper.

The person in question only poops in the cups on weekdays, never showing up on weekends. Presumably, he has better things to do then. The guy apparently used to bike to the parts of the course where he would do his business, with grounds staff noticing wheels marks in the dew, followed by foot prints to the cup.

At one point, the club thought putting flood flights around the mystery pooper’s favorite target would stop him. Wrong. The guy just found a way to turn off the lights and poop in the dark.

I can’t speak to the customs and golfing traditions of the country of Norway as I’ve never been there nor have I shared a beer with any real life Norwegians, let alone Norwegian golfers (or Norwegian poopers for that matter).  Yes, the idea of hovering in gimme range and dropping your cargo in the cup seems strange to me.  But what kind of guy would I be to judge another man for being particular about his bowel rituals.  Aren’t we all? Sure, not everyone would want to complicate the matter with pin placements and break, but to each his own.  As I understand it, there are 3 internationally recognized tenets of being a successful man: make money, get laid, and last but most importantly, get regular. More power to you if you can take care of all three at the golf course.

Btw, honorable mention here goes to the Norwegian investigators and their decade long manhunt:

“Whelp, it’s a big dump so it can’t be a women.”

“It can’t be Tiger Woods as he wouldn’t go the bathroom on the green unless there was a whore lying there. Definitely didn’t see any whore footprints.”

“Doesn’t come around on weekends…must be a family man, trying to avoid 6 hour rounds on the weekends.”

“The presence of toilet paper rules out all Mt Pleasant members.”

Splendid effort, fellas.

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Sorry Puerto Rico, but you’re not quite lottery material.

http://youtu.be/igDuYyvyrGw

Boston.com

DES MOINES, Iowa (AP) — Tickets in North Carolina, Puerto Rico and Texas have matched all six numbers to split a $564.1 million Powerball jackpot, lottery officials said Thursday.

Sue Dooley, senior drawing manager and production coordinator for the Multi-State Lottery Association, said the Puerto Rico ticket was the first Powerball jackpot winner ever sold outside the continental United States.

Puerto Rico joined Powerball less than a year ago. Besides 44 states and Washington, D.C., the game is also played in the Virgin Islands, but there has never been a jackpot winner there, Dooley said.

The Texas Lottery posted on Twitter early Thursday that one of the winning tickets was sold at Appletree Food Mart in Princeton, Texas. There was no immediate information on the cities or stores that produced the winners in North Carolina or Puerto Rico.

Puerto Rico?  WTF?  When did this happen?  Like it’s one thing to tell us that we’re probably going to be splitting the jackpot with at least four other methheads from some of those states that were invented just to prolong slavery.  But it’s another thing to throw the Puerto Rico’s and the Guam’s of the world into the mix all willy-nilly at the last minute and think that nobody will notice.  I for one would have strategized differently.

But more importantly, allowing Puerto Rico to participate in Powerball is against the spirit of the lottery.  Besides that fact that they’re not really a state, lottery jackpots are intended for really downtrodden, desperate losers so we can be assured that their winnings make it back into the economy in the form of dirt bikes for all their buddies.  At that, I’ve never met a downtrodden, desperate Puerto Rican in my life.  They’re like the happiest people on earth.  They’re a piously devout, family oriented tribe of people.  They seem to live each day like its Saturday, and they can turn a mid-summer, gridlocked traffic jam into a Reggaeton dance-off with nothing more than a 1991 Toyota Tercel and a ¼ tank of gas.  I’m sorry, but they just don’t fit the mold of lottery winners.  The lottery is about giving false hope to people with no hope.

A Gift Givers Guide for the Ladies: Life of Burt Reynolds Auction Edition

burt-reynolds

Hey Ladies,

Let’s get something straight, “It’s the thought that matters” is an old holiday expression coined by losers that sucked at giving Christmas presents.  It’s December 9th already.  It’s time to get your heads out of your asses and start getting serious about honoring the men in your life to the fullest.  Don’t be a loser.

The bad news is that science has proven that shitty gift giving is a genetic predisposition that will haunt your life forever.  Fortunately for you, that doesn’t matter this year because every guy is asking for the same thing: something from The Life of Burt Reynolds collection.  No Malls, No crowds.  Just go ahead and spread out on your comfy couch with a glass of Riesling and a credit card, and let your imagination guide you.  I took the time to hand pick the best of the bunch for your and rated them using the Burt Reynolds Mustache Rating System:

Stache ratings 1 thru 5.

5 Staches being the greatest gift since they invented Jesus to add a little depth to the holiday.

BURT REYNOLDS 1952 PALM BEACH HIGH SCHOOL FOOTBALL TROPHY

Trophy1“A football trophy presented to Burt Reynolds in 1952 from Palm Beach High School in Florida. The two-tier trophy features a metal football figure at top with an eagle figure mounted to the wood base. At the center of the trophy is an engraved metal plaque that reads “Buddy Reynolds/ All Southern/ Honorable Mention/ All State/ First Team/ All City/ First Team/ 1952.” Affixed to the base of the trophy is another metal plaque that reads “Palm Beach High School.”

Fantasy Football blows.  I’m in four leagues, they all suck. But if you’re telling me Burt Reynold’s 1952 High School trophy could potentially be starring on my mantle, I’m back in.  Grab this piece of hardware for your favorite guy and he’ll be at the top everyone’s league invite list next season. (AKA, you get to captain the remote control… and its Bravo marathon’s for the entire month of August.)

Gift Rating: 2 Staches

BURT REYNOLDS MARTINA NAVRATILOVA SIGNED AND INSCRIBED PHOTOGRAPH

Martina Burt

“A print of a black and white photograph featuring tennis legend Martina Navratilova. Navratilova has inscribed the photograph “Dear Burt- / this is where the/ action is!/ Martina” in black marker. Framed.”

Martina Navratilova, one of the greatest Tennis players ever and perhaps the first universally accepted gay athlete…telling the Wayne Gretzky of sex symbols that “This is where the action is” is the funniest thing these eyes have ever seen.  I am woefully immature, and ignorant.  So is the guy you’re trying to buy a gift for.

Gift Rating: 4 Staches

BURT REYNOLDS ROBE Continue reading

If you don’t ‘Scoo the Poo’… you’re probably going to get stabbed.

poop

Boston.com

Police said a fight between neighbors over unscooped dog poop on private property escalated to a brutal double stabbing in Springfield Saturday. 

Authorities said that Michael V. Valentin, 33, of 60 Belmont Ave. was quickly arrested after other neighbors identified him as the assailant. Detectives said they also found a large kitchen knife they believe was used in the attack. 

Valentin is accused of repeatedly stabbing a 46-year-old woman in the back and slashing her 23-year-old daughter in the face. Both women are reportedly in stable condition at an area hospital.

The Springfield Republican reports that Valentin had called police to complain about his neighbor not cleaning up after her dog two hours before the attack. 

Valentin faces two counts each of armed assault with intent to murder and assault and battery with a dangerous weapon, and a single count of mayhem.

Look, I’m a reasonable dude.  I’m not going to sit here and say that “intent to murder” is a reasonable response in this incident…well, at least directly.  Fact of the matter is that these two birds are lying, semi disfigured in hospital beds for a mere lack of effort.  Hey, we’ve all been there…only a block left in your walk and Cujo decides to take his fourth behemoth dump of the session, and you’ve already exhausted your shitbag reserves. (Side note: most dogs are assholes.  Don’t think for a second they’re not counting how many shitbags go in your pocket before you leave the house.). But that doesn’t mean you’re without options.

Option one is for the suckers…where you scurry around trying to find alternatives like discarded candy bar wrappers, napkins/tissues, only to ultimately have to pay the price of completing the journey with shitty palms. (Not worth it, I’d think I’d opt for the stabbing if given the choice.)

Then there’s the old “phantom poop trick”, where you circle the crime scene for a minute or two, finally putting on a show of wild bewilderment as if the clump of shit mysteriously vanished. You throw out a “WTF,” raise your hands to the heavens, and even go as far as asking Cujo “did you see where it went?” Narc’ing neighbors tend to give you the benefit of the doubt because nobody wants to incite a confrontation when the Devils work is potentially in play.

Finally, there’s what I like to call the “Grass Grabber”. The Grass Grabber is the “phantom poop” alternative for those that are terrible actors.  You simply take the maxed out bag that you’re already toting, and scoop and pull the clean patch of grass, preferably in the vicinity of Cujo’s landmine.  While not required (but preferable), if you can sneak a couple leaves of lawn clippings over the evidence, all the better.  That should give you enough time skulk out of the neighborhood before your psychopathic neighbor is any the wiser.

Clearly there are options.  Some may read this article and conclude that Michael V. Valentin, 33, of 60 Belmont Ave, is an unstable lunatic.  Or you consider the real moral of this story, which suggests that, any level of indifference with regard to Cujo’s shits will likely lead to you getting stabbed.  Scoo that’ Poo, bruh!

Creatures of the Lowell Line: Superheroes

fleetwood

What is this guy’s superpower you ask?  Invisibility? Clearly not.  X-Ray vision? Unlikely.  The ability to break up “six….ahhhh, actually seven” fights at Saturday’s Fleetwood Mac concert?  You guessed it.  (It was 3 fights, two stops ago, but you know how it goes with Superhero’s… you get super exaggeration too.)  Hey, we all know how it goes with those Fleetwood Mac fans.  They’re all just normal geriatrics, complaining about the weather and speed limits being too high, until they hear the base lick in the middle of “The Chain” and they lose their minds.  Its like some sort of tribal call to arms.  One would have to imagine it was a scary scene.  “The ush’ahs were piss’n demselves.  Thank God I wuz they’ah.”  (Translation:  “Just went on instinct, No weapons needed.”)

And here he is two days later warming the purple seats on the commuter rail with the rest of us mortals, with hardly a scratch on him.  And unlike most superhero’s, who are all usually guarded and introverted when they’re not saving the world, he was extremely forthcoming.  For instance, we learned that he just acquired a pet Red Tail Boa, that he temporarily named “Destroyer.” (Temporarily?  Like he’s going to come up with something better than Destroyer?)  And haven’t you all wondered what superheroes order at Dunkin?!? Well, you’re in luck.  This superhero runs on a “Great One” Hot Chocolate with a Turbo shot…which demonstrates a palette and stomach lining that is operating on a super human level.  Clearly this man has no weakness. (Save for the onset of Type 2 diabetes or the eventual wrath of Destroyer the snake.)

When people are stabbing each other for meatballs, it means we need more meatballs.

Baltimore Sun

A dispute between two employees of a Fallston business over a meatball during lunch Thursday led to a stabbing, the Harford County Sheriff’s Office said.

Deputies were called around 11:10 a.m. to the business in the 2300 block of Belair Road, where they learned there had been an argument over one employee eating the other’s meatball from his lunch, Sheriff’s Office spokesperson Cristie Kahler said.

A fight ensued and the employee who had eaten the meatball was stabbed in the arm by the employee whose lunch he had taken the meatball from, Kahler said.

The victim, a 36-year-old Aberdeen man, was taken to a local hospital and later discharged.

The assailant, a 31-year-old Edgewood man, fled the scene.

An arrest warrant has been issued but the man had not been served as of Tuesday afternoon, Kahler said.

To be honest, this story is less a story about poor behavior among two colleagues in the work place and more of a story on society’s current relationship with the meatball.  Back in the day, it was nothing but “Spaghetti and Meatball this” and “Meatball that”…Americans dinner tables were just lousy with meatballs.  It was all about meatballs.  People even started being defined by their meatballs…how big, how rotund, how soft, and how juicy:

“Have you heard from Bill at all lately?”

“Which Bill?  Bill with the meatballs that are so big that they make him walk funny? Or Bill down the street who lost one of his meatballs when he was hopping a chain link fence running from the Cops in high school?” 

Now, it’s a totally different story.  I have north of 450 contacts in my phone and I’m fairly certain not one of them knows how to roll a meatball.  Meatballs are so scarce that some of us have no qualms about stabbing coworkers just to get a little nibble.  We need more Meatballs!  Go ahead moms everywhere; keep rolling out that cute meatless veggie red sauce bullshit on spaghetti night.  It’s only a matter of time before your kid is pawning your wedding bands to get their next meatball fix.  We’re seeing it all too often these days.  If you don’t want little Suzie hanging out behind the bowling alley in a year or two, “creatively” generating cash for meatballs, then it’s time to start rolling that meat!