Micromanagment

From Wikipedia-
In business management, micromanagement is a management style where a manager closely observes or controls the work of their employees, generally used as a pejorative term. In contrast to giving general instructions on smaller task while supervising larger concerns, the micromanager monitors and assesses every step.

Micromanagment may arise from internal sources, such as concern for details, increased performance pressure, or insecurity. It can also be seen as a tactic used by managers to eliminate unwanted employees, either by creating standards employees cannot meet leading to termination, or by creating a stressful workplace causing the employee to leave.

Regardless of the motivation the effect may be to de-motivate employees, create resentment, and damage trust.

Micromanagement can also be distinguished from management by worker to boss ratio. Any time there is one worker being given orders by one boss, both people are rendered useless. When a boss can do a worker's job with more efficiency than giving the orders to do the same job, this is micromanagement

I am not saying that I am being micromanaged or anything, but if you're wondering why I sometimes can't update everyday it's because I am on the phone listening to my ideas being repeated back to me with minor tweaks over and over and over again so that I can really only start my work towards the later part of the evening.

Iamlookingforsomestrangecock

Oh my god!! Me too!!

You know how your email account has a junk mail filter? And you know how you will scroll through there on occasion looking for maybe a lost friend who couldn't get through? Usually it goes something like- penis enlarger, SXY WIVES, 69, you've been preapproved for a mortgage and then like a trick one from 'John' with the subject RE: Well, they finally got me. I finally broke down and clicked on this one. Lord only knows what will now cum since I clicked on it. I really just had to know who else would be looking for strangecock. What, in fact, does strange cock look like? I am on my work PC so I was too scared to google it. I googled strange rooster instead and this is the picture I got. The email, by the way just says Can you give me what I want? and then there's a link to Miranda if you want to give her some strange cock, whatever that is.

The Temple of Ghostface Killah

I believe in GFK. Who knew? He is possibly the most lucid thinker I have heard in a while. Many try to mimic him, but they just sound uneducated and high. Ghostface is the real deal.





First of all, he's totally honest. Yeah sure he's robbed some stuff, but he wears a mask because he wants to dress up like the rest of us.

From an interview with Prefixmag.com
I’ve heard you first started to wear your mask because you were wanted by the police and needed to hide your identity. Once all that blew over, you decided to reveal your face. Is that true?

Ghostface Killah: Nah, fuck that. I started to wear the mask because my name is Ghostface Killah, man. I got that name from Mystery of the Chessboxing, a karate flick. Yeah, I was getting my hands dirty back then. Nigga do what he do. But, you know, Ghostface Killah sounds like a man who should have a mask on.

Here he transcends the bullshit of regionally based rap wars to explain that there is no war, New York prefered to go after profits, not the art; and he does it with pussy metaphor.

Lately you and many other East Coast artists have been criticizing Southern hip-hop, in particular songs such as “Laffy Taffy.”

Ghostface Killah: Man, that’s all y’all be talking about lately.


Playing devil’s advocate, do you think it’s because New York is jealous it lost the hip-hop crown?

Ghostface Killah: New York lost the crown because the New York deejays gave the crown away for some fucking money. New York be bullshitting. Right now, I say fuck New York. Yeah, I’m from New York, but fuck New York. Because niggas is pussy. They is so quick to jump on the next man’s dick and can’t even deal with what they got in front of they face.

That’s why I respect other states, man. New York, I don’t know -- for some reason we started to get really soft. And now we act like we want that real hip-hop back, when our fucking deejays is only programmed to play what they playing. They playing more other people’s shit than our own shit. Niggas is screaming that real hip-hop -- we trying to bring it back but we can’t even play that real hip-hop on the radio.

You know what's so cool about GFK? He delivers a sound argument in Ebonics. Any snob can Frasier Krane you with their, I believe it was Kierkegaard who first argued that...

but if you start to see the light from a guy who is using language widely believed to signal the disintegration of American intelligence- I think my head just exploded.


Back on Cuban Linx you had the “Shark Biters” skit, and more recently Raekwon on his new track, “State of Grace,” talked about “rappers biting up the God’s bible.” What are your thoughts on these new artists using your music as blueprint for success and the industry’s newfound love with coke rap?

Ghostface Killah: It’s like, really you supposed to stay in your realm, but if nobody don’t got another glass to sip off of and they only see that one glass, then they going to come at that glass. It’s out of respect, though. Subconsciously, they love niggas -- they carrying the torch for what we done did back in ’95. So I stopped getting mad at shit like that. They just attracted by the truth. It’s like a magnetic attraction that will draw you closer.

When you observing that shit that was hot back then, you start to follow that shit without you even knowing. Talking about the Cristal, the drugs, the silk shirts, how we was coming through -- you know, they get caught up in it. That’s how come a nigga like me, I keep it moving with different topics. I like to write about shit like “Underwater,” “Shakey Dog,” “Strap,” “All I Need Is You.” C’mon, man: If I got a pair of brown Tims and you came copped a brown pair, I don’t even want that shit no more. I’ll go to the black Tims. Or the new Nike boots. Whatever I got to do, I keep it moving on you.

That’s that New York state of mind.

Ghostface Killah: Nah, that’s my state of mind.

Word. We are just attracted by the Truth. You are the Truth, man.

When a kid gets one-years-old, I believe you go the right to hit him in either the throat or the stomach.

If you grown enough to talk back, you grown enough to get fucked up!

Bernie Mack said that in Kings of Comedy and Ghostface Killah wrote a song about it.

Interview with GFK:
On Fishscale you have a track with J-Dilla, “Whip You With a Strap,” that focuses on raising children, in particular the use of corporal punishment. What other advice does Pretty Toney have for parents? Ghostface

Killah: Listen, man, you got to chastise your kid. If you don’t lay your foot down, your kid is going to be [saying], “Fuck you.” And you going to be sitting there crying [in a high-pitched voice]: “Oh, what have I done; I haven’t done nothing to this boy.” And that little motherfucker barking on you [in a little boy’s voice]: “Nah, fuck you, mommy. I’m going outside with my friends. I don’t give a fuck what you say.” Parents get that when they don’t put they foot down. Niggas got to start going hard on they kids again. Ain’t no law and order any more. I am not saying you got bust your kid’s ass everyday, but you got to go back to the ole remedy. I don’t know about you, but I used to get my ass whipped, and that kept me on a straight path. If I did something wrong or said something wrong to somebody, fuck around and get popped in my fucking mouth, and that’s just what it is, G.

Source: prefixmag.com

Yo, Finger-Toes

*shudder*



To people with short toes:

Do not stare directly into the toes for too long. Seriously, pull yourself away and read this text. Allow yourself only a few seconds at a time to study these mutated, monkey- knuckled toes. No, they are not fingers. These are actual toes, on feet.


To people with long toes:
Can you hold a pencil with those things?

Making an Impact

I think one of the 7 people who read this blog might be Jessica Simpson



Judging from this photo she did exactly what I asked- let the lips deflate, real hair, human skin tone. I feel really proud. I guess it is possible for one person to change the world. Jess, have you read the book yet though? Where are you on the newspaper? Just because you don't look particularly beautiful doesn't make you smart. Smart and beautiful are not inversely proportional anymore. Do you know what that means? That means that you can wear mascara, dress pretty and still think things. It's awesome how much power women have these days.

Bartender! Pour me a tall glass of all Natural 7UP

7UP has recently launched a new version of 7UP and it's NATURAL. Unfortunately, the FDA has no definition of what natural means so it's up for debate if 7UP would qualify as natural if we knew what natural meant, but it sounds delicious to me!!

The new 7 Up, which started rolling out on April 1, is made from five ingredients that the company described as all natural: carbonated water, high fructose corn syrup, citric acid, natural flavors and potassium citrate.

Other ingredients, such as the artificial flavor preservative calcium disodium EDTA have been removed, Cadbury-Schweppes said.

The soft drink has also reduced its sodium content in its 12-oz. cans, from 75 milligrams to 40.



So if you're a fatty, and your taste-buds are so distorted from all the overly flavored, processed crap you eat that plain water is now just gross, then have yourself a 7UP.

Lufthansa: Helping the world continue to dislike Germans

What are some words that come to mind when you think of Germany? Rigid, rude, formal, bureaucratic? Are these words fair?
Germany has come a long way in the world. With a population of 82 million, it is the third largest economy in the world, and the largest in Europe, almost a third larger than the United Kingdom. We've just elected a female chancellor in charge of a new coalition government and with her there are upbeat predictions of improved economic growth. Germany continues to sell more goods into the world market than any other country, but it's not just economic progress. The World Cup has all eyes on Germany this year and recent polls reflect improved sentiment after years of depression.

However, for every step the German people make towards a better impression, Lufthansa takes three steps back. I think the words rigid and rude are part of Lufthansa's mission statement.
Lufthansa is not just a German export. It is THE German company. It flies planes made by Airbus which is jointly owned by a german company. It hires its surly flight crew from the German people and it gets money from the German government to fly all over the world with the mission to bring some people back to Germany. To that extent, Lufthansa is more than an airline, they are a flying German ambassador. A flying, sucking, German ambassador.



The following is a list things that actually happened on my last Lufthansa flight. I have bulleted them to avoid detail. This is only to highlight how terrible Lufthansa is, not how gross I am.

I:
- ran to the bathroom right as we pulled away from the gate
- threw up in the sink.... while flight attendents banged on the door to tell me to return to my seat
- clogged up that sink
- scooped my own vomit from the sink into the garbage bin with a paper cup in an effort to unclog the sink before take-off. I did this while still sitting on the toilet
- ran back to my seat in time for take-off
- actually told Alexander I thought the problem was solved
- proceeded to shit my pants while running up the aisle (just as we began take-off) to go throw up some more
- removed and washed the ass of my pants
- threw out my underwear
- stood for... (lost track of time) in the bathroom in an attempt to not have my naked ass touch any surface
- lost approximately 3-4 kilos of fluids.



After some time in the bathroom I just decided I would spend the entire flight in there. What happened in that little can is between me and that two square feet. I will tell you that there was a lot of moaning, a lot of hauling out the sink with my trusty cup and just to complete the picture- I had paper towels shoved up my ass. Oh, and high heels. No pants, high heels (I usually like to look nice when I travel) and a wad of paper towels jammed into my crack. It's not like I wanted a lot of fuss about me. But you would think that at least one of the paid staff on the flight would think to bring me some tea, a warm towel, or offer me... I don't know, anything?

The only attention or help that I got from any of the ten flight attendants happened in three brief and uncomfortable confrontations. My being sick must have really annoyed them.

1)I was told loudly and bluntly (in German which is WAY scarier delivery) that it would be very expensive to have to make any special stops for me. To which the entire cabin turned around to give me the stink eye.

2) A pack of two knocked on the door to ask if I was ok after take-off and to tell me that I shouldn't leave my seat during take-off ever again (in German)

3) The cost-conscious one yelled with a very loud sigh and I think a finger wave that because of me they would have to put a bathroom out of order. That was a lie. I went back to the one I clogged and stayed there the majority of the flight. Alexander told me later that this Steward actually went to Alexander's seat to tell him to tell me not to throw up in the sink anymore.

After four hours in the bathroom Alexander convinced me to come back to my seat. I sat in an aisle seat tossing and moaning in discomfort in between trips to the bathroom. You might recall from my smoothie post that at this point I didn't care anymore about throwing up and was drinking whatever I could get my hands on. At no point did any of the attendants make eye contact with me. Even the ones who reprimanded me did not check on me, offer me anything or even bother to yell at me some more.


I am not going to even go into how ridiculously uncomfortable the seats were, but I did pass time by imagining unscrewing my legs and putting them in the overhead. I literally have spent hours on the internet looking for seat-size standards. At what point are the size and hardness of a seat against basic human-rights laws? Is there some form of consumer protection for this? This is my fourth trip overseas since January and I have had some truly wonderful flights on Air France, Virgin and United Economy Plus because of reasonable seat size and my own movie screen in the seat-back in front of me.

By the way, it is the airline that decides how many seats to jam in a row and how many rows to fit in one plane. Seriously. Alexander measured that from the end of his nose to the back of the seat in front of him was only one hand length. He couldn't read a newspaper since it didn't fit. Strangely, Lufthansa provides newspapers for the flight. Is this the German sense of humor that no one understands? At this point I only weighed 54 kilos and I couldn't even cross my legs without turning sideways. Whatever money Lufthansa thinks they are squeezing out the of the extra seats could easily be saved by getting rid of half of the flight attendants. I am not convinced it takes 10 people to spill juice and sneer at the passengers when they ask for things. Looking back I should have just thrown up in the seat and made them have to deal with it. SCHNELL!


I did not write this last bit, but anytime someones rage moves them to Haiku... well that's really impressive.

here


On the way back home I had the worst flight of my life. The seats on Lufthansa were so small that there were at least 30 people standing in the aisles trying to relieve the intense pain. I will never fly Lufthansa again. I was sitting next to a 120 pound lesbian and even she could barely fit in her seat. So, in honor of the plane ride I've written this haiku.

Lufthansa:

Concrete slabs you call seats, tiny and unforgiving, I think you gave my ass exuma...fuck you.

Pushing Nick

That's right folks. Nick's album debuted

SECOND


I would like to think that maybe my one copy was the lift he needed.




ps. fuck you, Blogger for making me spend 45 minutes trying to create a link to your error page.

Things I am good at

There are two things that I am extraordinarily good at. Now, you might wave these talents off because there are people in the world who are real experts at important things like understanding accounting treatments for complex transactions or holding their breath underwater for longer than three minutes. I disagree. Sometimes the simple quality of your life can be determined by how well and how much attention you pay to the small pleasures of your day and of those around you. For me there are two things that bring me joy:

1) I make seriously good smoothies
2) I make seriously good sandwiches

Recently I was sick on an overseas flight. It got the the point that I was chugging the free waters and orange juice in the galley of the plane, knowing I would throw it up about 15 minutes later, just to have something to wet my mouth. I can not explain this thirst. If you've ever thrown up 28 times in less than 24 hours you probably know the feeling. I was literally dreaming about cold beverages. I was moaning for them in a feverish delerium. Alexander made me chamomile tea when we got home. Chamomile tea is supposedly great for your stomach, but also dries the hell out of your throat and mouth. Never drink it if you are thirsty. What was once a mild tea becomes Satan's drink. This is a torture I can not explain. With every sip of liquid somehow my mouth became drier. The more I drank the thirstier I got. I think I understand the undead pirates from Pirates of the Caribbean now. Arggh. To taste a smoothie....


´
I wanted one so badly. When Alexander came to check on me I asked if he would make a smoothie with just banana, ice, a little water and a dab of honey. He came back with an amateur smoothie that broke my heart. I wanted cold, smooth liquid. I got a banana-heavy, ice-light, sweet sludge. The man is almost a gourmet chef, but that doens't mean he can make a smoothie. So I made one myself. Don't be shy with the ice. Whatever liquid you choose, fill it up only as far as the ice, ice cream, fruit or whatever solids you have in there.

At our house we don't have anything to eat. What we have is stuff that you combine together that makes something to eat. It's unreal. At any one point I am two to three degrees of process away from thoughtlessly shoving something in my mouth. Since my little sick time I can't shake the smoothy obsession. I am thirsty to the depths of my soul still and wish I could mix all of my food with ice and drink it with a straw. Today I made a smoothie instead of having my usual piece of cake. One small banana, ice, a little milk, some sliced almonds and a dab of honey. Perfect. Delicious. I am a genius.




I don't know where I got my sandwich-making talent. It definitely wasn't my mom- whose sandwich inards were usually found glistening in mayonaise and dangling out of the back of my bread by the time I opened my lunch bag. She stopped making my lunch when I was twelve. I was angry, but looking back maybe it was part of my training. I spent the weekend with some kids (younger than 12) who wanted to "help" by preparing our sandwiches for the day. Alexander and I were nervous. In our house, I always make the sandwiches. I work alone. Why? because what those kids "helped" in was making some serious crap sandwiches. Kids, never under any circumstances just lay a stack of meat on bread and call it a sandwich. Get creative. Always fold the meat and cheese, seperate with lettuce or something else. No one likes to bite into an inch thick wall of salami.

I am actually sad as I said I would stop writing when I finished my smoothy. Sadly, I have finished my smoothy.

True Confession: I just bought Nick Lachey's new single and I am ordering the whole album.

I am not sure if I even like it. Why? Because I haven't listened to it yet. I bought it out of spite. I bought it because one time years ago before Newlyweds and before I think Nich Lachey was even married I saw him at NYSC early on a Saturday morning. He made an impression. He is unbelievably good-looking in real life in a way that I typically hate: chunky jewelery, muscles, muscle-shirt, gelled hair. No matter. The man is hot. Yes. This chumpy guy is hot.

Then, I saw him on Newlyweds and really liked him. He does yard-work and tries to make everyone happy. He hangs with his brother. This is someone that I want to support no matter what his music sounds like.

I was devasted to learn that America liked his wife better. What? Come on people, Jessica Simpson is the reason there will never be a woman president. She is the definition of an insecure, malleable, twit. She's that girl in school who would lick a dirty ashtray if you told her it would make her look cool. In one episode of Newlyweds she almost had a nervous breakdown when her hair-stylist couldn't do her hair for her performance of the national anthem.

I bought the album because I want to tip the scales. I want Nick to be the next It-Girl. I want Jessica to go away now. Go away, Jessica. You are not relevant anymore. We are ushering in an era of women with more to offer us. I don't know who they are yet, but I know they are coming. They are going to be like Eddie Veddar after New Kids on the Block. So, go.

Bring that vibrato, forced, lip quivering, hand-waving crap you call your music back to the shower where it belongs. Apologize to your husband- who for whatever reason really thinks you're great. Don't waste that. He's really hot in a totally unexpected way. While you're at it, read a GD book. Try applying your own makeup, choosing your own clothes and styling your own hair. Try only wearing hair growing out of your own head. Reintroduce yourself to your natural skin color. You're white, right? Reintroduce yourself to your natural lip size. Read a newspaper. Work on developing an opinion not based on anyone's expectations. Spend some time alone. These are all things we need from you. Otherwise, we're all going to have to continue to buy Nick's albums. I will even go to a concert if I have to!!!

We'll let you back in the public eye when you can pass your GED, ok?

Bertros. Schirley.

Whenever you have an interview or a meeting with someone you have never met who is a superior be sure to follow this rule: use whatever greeting and style that they use.

If they walk into the meeting in all sweaty and exasperated and tell you to sit down don't offer your name just sit down. If he says his name is Jack, but friends call him Skip, then your name is Robert, but your friends call you Dickie.

It is very hard for me to not blurt out in my giddy way that my name is Katie! However, today I had a job interview and wasn't sure if the meeting would be in German or English, if I should call him Dr. or if we could use the familiar "du" form. He was late to the meeting so I went to the ladies. I came back to find him in the meeting room. He stood up and gave me a friendly, hearty hand-shake. I shook back, looked him in the eye and said nothing. Silence. Silence, more eye-contact. I smile ever so slightly in a satisfied way.
Finally, he says, "Bertros."
"Schirley, " I say and sit down to begin the interview.

Bitter Betty- This one is for the Ladies

Today I woke up to an hilarious email from one of my best friends. She will remain nameless to protect her from her own harmless bitching, but basically she asks me if she is being a Bitter Betty because she is angry. Being the bridesmaid in an upcoming wedding is costing her too much. She lists out her expenses here in bullet form. Isn't she great?

My expenses are:
Bridal Shower Gift
Wedding Gift
Bridesmaid Dress ($200 mind you)
Shoes to go w. dress
hair do on day of wedding
Plane tickets & hotel/meal/nightlife costs for trip to xxx for bachelorette party
Lingerie shower gift for xxx (yes thats right! one of the bridesmaids decided we should throw yet another shower for her and get her lingerie)
Bride's trip to xxx (apparently I have to help pay for her trip too. WTF?)
Plane ticket to opposite coast for Wedding
Hotel room for night of wedding

Ladies, can we keep the wedding hooplah to a minimum here? It has really gotten out of control. None of my close friends are the sort to go nuts, but I used to date a guy whose sister had tons of those kinds of friends. Every week it was another production.



Look, you are going to get your strapless dress. Your hair will be elegantly pulled away from your face in a chignon. If you're lucky, you might even have little tendril curls on both temples. You are way too sophisticated and 'easy-going' for a big poofy dress. We know. You will be the perfect combination of bride, but not too "bride" without, of course, looking boring. Your makeup will be soft and dewy, yet striking. He is going to cry when he sees you walking down the aisle. Everything will be perfect. No one will remember anything, but that's ok. Your job is to look beautiful and 'have your day' and make that $3000 dress worth every penny.

Last week I was in Disney World, the home of all Magical Princesses.

Who wouldn't want to get married there? By the time we were done visiting and eating in Epcot's version of Morocco the park had closed. It was just us and a few people cleaning up. If you know Epcot like I know Epcot you would know that the International part is laid out around a large pond where they play firework show every night at nine over the water. It's beautiful and it really made me think twice about how we really are all just one, big world. At some points along the water they built private terraces that you can rent for say, a wedding reception. It's magical. There's a castle in the background. Disney pumps out music 24/7 in every corner of the park.
It's such a unique place to get married- dancing and dining on the shore of Epcot just like the carved bush sculpture of Mickey and Minnie at the entrance.

As we were walking home we saw a bride talking to a table of guests. She was the one in the white dress with a veil. Everyone looked happy. It was lovely.

As we turned the corner around the lake and arrived near the British section we noticed the exact same scene not 100 meters from the other wedding party terrace. Different bride, same white dress and veil talking to her guests. They could see eachother too. They might even have waved. You know those brides had like closed-cage, blood and tears screaming matches with their mothers over whether they should choose lilac napkins with silver writing in BLOCK or white napkins with violet writing in script- All to find out that no one gives a crap. The exact same party in style B was happening right across the water on France's terrace. I wonder if they felt like it was harder to maintain the this is the most important day of my life feeling while seeing someone else in the same outfit having their unique most important day of their life?

Ladies, let me tell you something. I had a wedding. It was beautiful and perfect, but I hardly think about it anymore. When I do think about the wedding, I think about my friends and how great it was to have them in one room. I get choked up about how they all made the effort to travel far to help me celebrate what is turning out to be the best decision I ever made. That probably won't happen again until my funeral.

It's not 1350 anymore, Ladies.


Your wedding is not your life's peak. You don't gather the whole town for three days feast, go away to a tent to hump for a week as your life's last hurrah before you pop out kids and begin your descent into a short, knarled, hairy potato working the cold fields and cooking 18 hours a day until you die. This is not the first nor is it the last day that will be entirely about you. If you chose the right guy you have about a million more days to feel like the greatest thing on the planet. And if you chose the wrong guy, you probably get to have another wedding anyway. So please- spare us from having to be Bitter Bettys. We are very happy for your marriage. But we want an awesome party, not a reason to question why we are friends.

I have three friends getting married this year. I know they will effortlessly pull off a perfect wedding without hoopla. If you need any advice I can give you their numbers.

That's not a knoyf

The men of my family were playing golf in Florida recently. Jason and Alexander spent the first day digging balls out of ponds and searching for lost shots without a care in the world. On the second day they played a nicer and well known PGA course. Alexander hit one near water and some brush. He went over to take some practice swings when the course ranger pulled up on his cart. He said to my brother, "when he goes over to take his shot you need to stand behind him with your three iron. If an alligator comes and tries to grab him, bash it on the head." Then, he drove off.

Disco Poop- Son of Jeopardy Winner wins debate

Hey Gang!
I am back and almost in fighting form after some serious stomach issues on the flight home. I will share some stories of my wonderful trip as they come, but it is not time yet. Today I was doing a little personal doctoring and Web MD wasn't really helping as much as usual. I searched bloody stools and all I came up with is that I might have colon cancer. So to google I went. At the risk of writing about low-brow stuff one too many times on this site, I would really like to share this forum that I found. It's called the Poop Report and people chat with eachother under the names of: Skiddy Poop, Disco Poop, Brown Streak and Snapper. By the way, Disco Poop's name is accompanied by a picture of Principal Skinner in a Fat Elvis costume.



To cut a long and embarassing personal story short, I have trouble going when I travel and wanted to know if I am alone in this. Turns out I am not alone and there are all sorts of theories having to do with if this is a female issue- or as my brother puts it- result of 28 years of female posturing. There are also theories about constipation when traveling coming from vibrations of cars or planes, cabin-pressure or even from your uptight, anal-retentive parents who didn't have the decency to fart around you as you as a child.

The Moderator and Über-Shitter of this site kicked off the debate saying that less-educated, rural and then blue-collar people are less likely to be shameful shitters because they had to learn to do this publically.

"I've never been that way (a Shameful Shitter). I guess, however, it's a matter of social class and occupation. Guys like me who are from blue-collar families just get used to shitting around other folks at a real early age. When I was real young, we had an outhouse (a three-holer) on the farm and my cousins and me often took a shit together. The farm schools I attended had either no stalls around the crappers or doorless stalls so you just got used to other guys being around when you took a dump."
Interesting theory...
Skiddy Poo and Brown Streak offered some pretty weak supporting material about their snobby parents resulting in their travel issues.
Then, the ultimate rebuttal that won this one came from Disco Poop. I mean, I don't think he got that name by accident:

"I don't think that your education/job necessarily has much to do with if you discuss shit or not. My dad is obsessed with shit and he's got an MBA and he won on Jeopardy. My step-dad is a doctor and he talks about shit a fair amount. On the whole I guess what you guys are saying is true a lot of the time, but not always. That or my mom's just married the two smart guys who talk about poop...."