Archive for Poo

Frain on Film – Eat Some!

Posted in Things Rank And Gross In Nature with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 20, 2009 by Buck Frain

OK, so I’ve been pretty absent of late and today I’m trading boundless rage for shameless self-promotion but there is a time for everything.

A most excellent Melbourne film maker, Craig Fox, has adapted my post about The Jesus Spoon into a short film starring none other than Ian Smith, best known for his role as Harold on Neighbours.

ian_smith_jesus_spoon

I’ve seen the film and it’s a fucking champion so I urge all you lovers of film, Frain, Jesus and/or dog shit to logon to the I.F. Awards and support independent film by voting for this haunting tale of youth and culinary experimentation.

Thanks for your support and I’ll write again soon…something’s bound to shit me off pretty soon!

The Power Of The Jesus Spoon

Posted in Things Rank And Gross In Nature with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 2, 2008 by Buck Frain

When I was three years old there was a strange boy who lived over the road from us. He was only a year older than me but to me at three, he at four seemed huge. His name was Danny, he had red hair, freckles and smelt a bit funny. He was also very strong. I think it must have been summer, I remember it as being hot, I remember the sound of cicadas and that we both wore t-shirts and shorts.

 

The thing that set Danny apart from anyone else was that he always carried with him a tarnished old silver teaspoon with a Christ-like figure on the handle. The photo above is a spoon I found in an antique shop a few years ago, it’s identical to the one Danny used to carry. The antique dealer told me that they came in sets of twelve and depicted the twelve apostles. To me, however, it was always The Jesus Spoon.

 

I don’t remember Danny and I being friends as such or ever playing together. I do remember being over at his house once. We were in his front yard one afternoon and he had his Jesus Spoon. He led me over to a big piece of dog shit on the lawn and we looked at it for a while. It was quite fresh and probably came from his dad’s dog, Brutus, a German Shepherd that scared the absolute piss out of me even from across the road.

 

Danny dug a scoop of shit out of the glossy turd on the lawn with The Jesus Spoon. If not for the odour it could have been a scoop of chocolate mousse. I watched with fascination as he turned the spoon and put it into his mouth poo-side down and drew it back out clean. He moved the shit around in his mouth and swallowed. From his mouth movements it looked as though some of it had stuck to the roof of his mouth like peanut butter. The thing that amazed me was that he did it and didn’t appear to be suffering. How did it work?

 

He dug out another scoop and offered it to me:

 

Try some. It’s nice.

 

I was unconvinced.

 

No thanks

 

Really? It’s really good.

 

He put the second spoonful of dog shit in his mouth and ate it. It was quite a trick. I couldn’t work out how it worked. Was it the spoon? Did The Jesus Spoon have some magical power over the poo that made it taste like something wonderful? He really was enjoying eating it and it really was poo. This was a very interesting day.

 

He went for a third scoop and offered it to me again. I was starting to feel a bit of pressure, he was 2-0 up on me and I knew that, if push came to shove, he could probably force me to eat it if he chose to.

 

C’mon, try it, it’s really good.

 

Hmm. No thanks. (pause) I’ve seen where it comes from.

 

There, I’d said it. I wasn’t going to be fooled, but how would Danny react? He stood looking at me, spoonful of dog shit in his hand. He looked right into my eyes, taking me in, looking for some sort of clue as to what was going on in my three year old mind. I knew I couldn’t run, he’d catch me easily and force-feed me poo, I just had to stand there and wait.

 

Too bad.

 

He just shrugged and stuck the third spoonful into his mouth and smiled a big gleeful poo-smile. He swallowed it and for a moment I wondered if maybe I really was missing out on something. Only for a moment though, I saw my cue and went home.

 

See ya, Danny.

 

Danny and I never became friends. Our differing views on munching dog turds set us apart. Plus, I didn’t trust that he wouldn’t try and force me to eat the poo one day. He never did, but a few days later he came over to my house and ate some of my dog’s poo.

 

This is my earliest memory and it still haunts me a little to this day. I suppose that’s why I bought a Jesus Spoon and put it on my wall.

Germophobia, stupidity and poo particles.

Posted in Things Rank And Gross In Nature with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 19, 2008 by Buck Frain

Germophobia is stupid, like most phobias I guess. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a big fan of hygiene but, fucking hell people, get it in perspective! The world is a dirty place and you yourself, no matter how much you scrub, are dirty. Yes, you, you dirty bastard! You are fucking filthy! Even when you’re clean you’re covered and filled with all manner of bacteria and microbes. So beyond basic cleanliness you might as well just get over it.

 

I had to have a quick slash in a public toilet today and whilst washing my hands I noticed a guy by the door who was pretending to talk on his mobile phone. Actually faking a conversation and occasionally sneaking furtive looks back at me. Weird. Was he there for a sly bummy?  I wasn’t about to ask, I dried my hands and left. He followed me through the door, I mean immediately behind me. I realised the sad fucker just didn’t want to touch the door handle. What a complete ballbag! How long had he been waiting there? Waiting at the door pretending to talk to his fake friends desperately hoping someone would let him out of the toilet.

 

Get a fucking grip! The same germophobic ballbag would touch door handles everywhere else in his life. Door handles, ATMs, shop counters and money that would doubtlessly have been touched by someone who doesn’t wash their hands. Someone with poo on their hands – maybe not big chunks but poo particles, at least. The harsh reality is that there are poo particles everywhere. Everytime someone farts and you smell it  – poo particles – in your lungs! That’s right someone else’s poo in your lungs. Deal with it! Plenty of people don’t wash their hands after going to the loo, fuckin’ bio-terrorists!, whether for a piss, a shit or even a crafty phone-wank. So it may be piss, blood or jizz particles, whatever it’s got germs in it. Everything does, everything you touch, everything you eat, it all has poo in it. Oh for God’s sake, STOP SCREAMING!!! What are you gonna do? Spend your life wrapped in cling film?

 

Before you go completely berko and start spraying everything in sight with anti-bacterial bullshit spray like those maniacs on the ads, here’s another thought: The sprays only kill 99.9% of germs. I’m going to assume most of you have heard of Darwin and his theory of evolution, survival of the fittest and all that. If you kill 99.9% of the germs regularly, what you’re left with is 0.1% of the germs. What do they do? The don’t just hang out in a little corner minding their own business, they breed. Like bastards! They breed and evolve and get nastier because they can’t be killed by your stupid spray. Don’t believe me? Go to hospital, they’ve got the deadliest bugs ever discovered in your local hospital, that’s why the doctors want you to leave. No, it’s not just to free up beds because the health system’s completely fucked, it’s because the longer you’re there, the more chance there is you’ll catch some really bad shit and die.

 

Remember you have an immune system. Its job is to react against threats to your body by surrounding and destroying them. If you insist on circumventing your own immune system like a namby, germophobic nob-end, it won’t work properly when you need it to. So in conclusion, if you want to stay healthy, wash your hands, keep yourself clean but don’t be afraid to eat a bit of poo every now and then, and for fuck’s sake, don’t fake-talk on your mobile in public toilets waiting for some other fucker to open the door for you ‘cause if I see you I’ll fucking sneeze on you – just to make you lose your mind!

 

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Sometimes They Come Back.

Posted in Random Shit That Gives Me The Cunt with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 29, 2008 by Buck Frain

There are two things I do in the morning, every morning. If either of them are missing the whole day seems to get a bit out of kilter and never quite comes right.

My routine isn’t particularly complex – I have a coffee and a shit. Over time it’s become a deeply ingrained way to start the day. In the beginning, I’d get up, brew a pot of espresso and after a cup I’d need to go to the loo. After a while it got so that the cup of coffee had to be set aside part-way through and resumed after nature had its call. Nowadays, my morning is pure ritual. I put the coffee on the stove and once it heats up so I can smell it, my intestines gurgle and I have to bolt off for what I’ve come to know as Pavlov’s Bog. 

This morning was no different. Put the coffee on, the aroma like Pavlov’s dinner bell sent me off to the toilet. Mission accomplished, I flushed and began washing my hands in preparation of the almost-ready coffee when I realised something was wrong. The water was rising in the bowl, a revolting tide was turning and the brown trout were swimming back upstream. And there was nothing I could do. NOTHING – I was completely helpless! The plumbing had failed and now I was a mere spectator. How could this happen? That modern miracle that protects us from the cruel and filthy biological reality of being an animal had failed me and I was staring in horror at an advancing back-catalogue of my recent meals.

The water edged up to the rim of the bowl and, I realise now, I was still in complete denial, vainly hoping that it would just stop there. I’d have been happy if it stayed there just so long as it didn’t go any further. It did. I let out what I think was probably a very girly scream as the feculant soup and the healthiest of the trout flubbed out onto the tiles. Sheer panic gripped me, the stench was impactfully violent. Brilliant! A dream come true – my own private bio-hazard! My house was a sewer. FUCK YOU, GOD, YOU CUNT! I yelled at the ceiling. The flow had stopped, bowl still full and threatening, but flow stopped. A miracle? Hang on, I’m an atheist. I stared at the devastation, at the pool of shit and piss and old toilet paper sludge over my bathroom floor. Ew, corn! IN MY FUCKING HOUSE! BALLS!!! ARSE!!!

 

After regaining some composure, I hopped the dry spots to the freedom of the rest of the house, shutting the door after me. Alright, I’ll just never use that room again! For half a second it seemed a realistic proposition. I phoned a plumber, then I phoned the obese, giggling bint that is my boss to tell her I’d be late. Oh, ha ha, Buck’s house is filled with shit! HA HA HA HA HA HA! CUNT! WHY DON’T YOU DIE??? Let me wrap up some of these turds in some bread for you and you can EAT MY SHIT!!! 

Fuck I hate my boss, but that’s another story. The plumber came. He didn’t laugh, I found that comforting, mind you I doubt I’d ever laugh again if I was faced with other people’s excrement every day of my life. He fixed the trout farm in my bathroom. It took him most of the day – a tree root from next door’s jacaranda had taken up residence in my sewer blocking it up and forcing the flow of traffic back to the source. Bastard trees, stealing my poo! Fucking stupid water restrictions, forcing trees to eat shit. Fucking stupid drought, forcing us to have water restrictions! Cunting bastard human race, overpopulating the planet and using all the water on golf courses!  FUCK!!! Ah! At least I didn’t have to see my cunting boss today, and at least my house is no longer filled with shit. 

Be grateful for your plumbing and remember when you flush…sometimes they come back.