Fresh as a morning dump

I’m a girl true to my word. It may take me several years and a handful of reminders to get something done. But I’ve never let anyone down. I don’t think. Except maybe that time I promised I’d fix my brother’s GI Joe after Barbie ripped his leg off in a fit of wild passion. But maybe other than that I’m squared up with the world.

So a couple of weeks ago I shared Poo-pourri’s hysterical promo video. If you haven’t seen it, and you’d like to crack yourself up, poo-phemistically speaking, you can find it here.

If you’re all caught up, then let’s talk poop. I’ve got a product to dish.

poopourriI ordered my Poo-pourri from their website. It was easy and it came in just under a week. If you’re in more of a hurry, they have expedited shipping, or you can get it on Amazon with free two-day shipping if you have an Amazon Prime membership. (which on another note, is the greatest value since, like…. ever, if you do much online shopping)

Anyhoooooo…. I bought a bottle of Poo-pourri to give it a shot. I chose the “original scent.” For me, it was love a first whiff. The original scent is lemon verbena… my favorite herb in the garden. So, yay me! The scent of the product made me happy as a pig in slop. (And if you’ve never seen a pig in slop, that’s the giddy kind of happy.)

With product in hand, when nature called, I gave it the suggested four squirts into the bowl… the Poo-pourri product, not me. With Poo-pourri in the bowl, I sat down and did a little reading. The product scent was nice, and it did seem to mask, and even “trap,” as they claim some of the, ummm, steam. I was pleasantly surprised after washing my hands and emerging from the loo, there was no scented evidence of my business, other than the lovely lingering lemon verbena. I call it a win.

Now if your little astronauts have a longer hang-time before taking the plunge, there may be more odor escape. Or if, heaven forbid, your loaf’s been baking for a while, giving it more time to develop its foul bouquet, and built up some gas power, then your cloud will likely hit the air and just mix with the Poo-pourri, creating a questionable scent of lemony-fresh poop. I didn’t experience this. But I can see where this could happen. But for me, it was effective.

The real test came with my big ol’ stinkers. I’m not going to divulge who it is in my house that smells like death, and whose stench lingers with the hard and fast staying power of the first guy in line at Best Buy on Black Friday. It goes NOwhere. You can throw whatever scented spray you’ve got at it. But it ends up smelling like cinnamon-dipped poop. Or rose-dipped poop. For hours. These are the poopers who are the true Poo-pourri test. I’m so proud of my family.

Test subject #1, who will remain nameless, gave it the four sprays and set out on the bombing run. This particular tester is courtesy flusher. I was thinking that flushing the product right away might reduce it’s effect. But it still seemed to reduce the stench cloud significantly, though not entirely. There are some clouds that refuse to be tamed. But I will say that the smell o’death cleared much more quickly than without Poo-pourri.     Winner.

Test subject #2, is the lingering smell o’ death pooper. I’ve considered building a special outhouse bathroom for this particular one. I’m quite certain that Deathbutt provides such a pungent punch because the stinker refuses to go anywhere but home, and holds it beyond its expiration date. The gaseous brew that comes with subject #2’s number twos is so dense, I swear to y’all, I can see it wafting in the air. So I wasn’t too sure that Poo-pourri would even put a dent in it.

I suggested that Deathbutt use six sprays into the bowl. The label suggests 4-6 squirts. And six seemed appropriate for this one.  Surprisingly, the angry brew seemed to have been taken down a few notches. It didn’t linger quite as long as usual. Although I wouldn’t assume this subject could complete a Poo-pourri-assisted stealth bombing run at a party, and get away with it. It definitely helped lessen the grumpy family comments relating to Deathbutt’s stink factory. Call me Little Mary Sunshine, but I call that somewhat of a win as well.

Finally, subject #3 used four sprays and emerged from the bathroom, fresh as a bushel of verbena. There was no lingering odor other than the Poo-pourri. I think #3 and I shared the same results. We, and Poo-pourri were the biggest winners. Our other two subjects were questionable. But keep in mind that some people have atomic poop, which will never be tamed. No matter what.

Regardless, I’ll still call it a win. I love the original verbena scent, and it worked like a charm for two of us, while helping a bit with the other two. For me, it’s worth every penny. Plus it has a money-back guarantee. I figured I couldn’t go wrong by trying it out.

Comment below or like the Bullcasm facebook page, and I’ll pick a winner to get a free purse spray size Poo-pourri for you to try yourself.

Happy pooping!

Note: I wasn’t paid nor supplied with the product for this review.
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Burnt sulfur and feces

Does your brown business smell like the dumpster behind a butcher shop?  Does the thought of going #2 anywhere but home scare the poop back up the chute? Will you pinch back a prairie dog until the fear of shitting yourself outweighs the nightmare of a brown cloud walk of shame? There may be help on the way.

If their viral video is any indication, this is one kickass product. My completely juvenile sense is entirely too entertained by this cleverly hilarious, yet informative spot. I’ve ordered a bottle. So I’ll follow up with my product review soon. I’ll let the video explain the product and use.

My home should be the perfect test ground. My feces aren’t foul, of course. Mine smells like a rose. But everyone else here makes a barnyard smell like a daisy.

So stay tuned. I’ll have a product review next week. And in the interim, just know that no one is fooled by the lit match. It just smells like burnt sulfur and feces.

Until then, *in my best proper British accent* enjoy a little poop humor, won’t you? I’ve watched this several times, and it still makes me giggle like a six-year old boy with a naked Barbie.




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Hands off the lady business, please.

So ya, apparently my vagina possesses some sort of magnetism this week. I swear to God, I didn’t really do anything differently—no particularly extra-special adornment going on down there. Personally I’ve never understood the bedazzling, kitty feathers, or any of that cutsie stuff that some girls do. I mean, as temporary as all the Victoria’s Secret purchases seem to be—they’re on for three minutes, and then they hit the floor in a silky lace pile. A jeweled cooter just seems like overkill. Amiright?

But even with the lack of glitterfication of my lovemound, it seems to be the most compelling thing I’ve got going on the last few days. And it’s starting to make me wonder what the fuck. I can tell you, it’s not like you’re thinking, and this is not heading in the direction you may assume. I swear. And now I owe you an explanation. Because if I let you walk away now, you’ll just imagine I had a really whorey week. And I totally didn’t. I’m just not that exciting, y’all.

So I deliver meals on wheels. It’s normally uneventful. But every so often you might catch one of the memory-challenged ol’ folks on a day that they forget that the rest of the world wears clothes. Those days are extra special. And consequently why I gave Meals on Wheels, (MOW), it’s tag line… “MOW chica MOW MOW.”

But there haven’t been any bare naughty bits on any of my runs for quite a while. Meals on Wheels has been welcomingly ho-hum these days. Ho-hum… until Bijou, that is.

Bijou is the whippet that bolted out the door on my last delivery on Tuesday. He was very quick, and very cute. At least I think he was cute. It’s hard to say, since his face was very busy being in my crotch. Ya, it was like that. Before I knew it, he was out the door, and he had his nose straight up my skirt, and all up in my business before I could say, howdy fella. I usually require a nice dinner and a movie or something before you go there. But not Bijou, he’s a take-control kind of guy.

Bijou’s owner was mortified. He couldn’t stop apologizing. And long about the twelfth “I’m sorry,” I told the guy it was seriously ok. “It’s not like it was you who stuck your nose up there.”

*blink blink*

That didn’t seem to help matters. My humorous efforts to help nose-rapey dog’s human feel less pimpish were lost on him. And realizing that there were no words to help things out, I turned, tossed Bijou my panties and left.

Ok, I didn’t give the dog my panties. But in my mind I did. And it was fucking hilarious. Trust me. It totally was. But rather than making pimpdaddy feel worse by saying another word, I just did the humane thing and fled the scene, in my own version of a walk of shame.

Since my vagina’s date with Bijou, things were pretty quiet. It was business as usual for a couple of days. And when I say business as usual, I mean pretty much no one has an interest in my vagina except my hubster and possibly my lady gardener. And that’s the way I prefer it. Otherwise I start questioning the universe’s unwelcome interest in my goods. But I’m really wondering now.

I mean, no one expects that people (maybe an occasional dog) will just walk up and touch your stuff. Right? So ya. I guess that’s why I got a little yelly yesterday when the little boy in line at Nordstrom whacked me in the lady business. A little wake-me-up cunt punch. Jeez dude. The second time this week, a public pubic assault.

I said I got yelly, but I didn’t make a squealy scene or anything. I was a little startled… he went where folks don’t usually venture… in public anyway. So I may have been a little pitchy in my delivery…

“Whoa hey there lil guy, what was that all about?”

When he looked up at me it was obvious that he thought he’d just whacked his mom, who was standing in line in front of me. I wondered… does he usually smack his mom in the clam bed like that? Is this his typical attention grabber? Cuz y’all, it grabbed the fuck out of my attention.

When his mom realized what had gone down, she apologized profusely and scolded him. But now that the little guy and I shared a bond, I mean, he did touch my fancy bit, I felt bad for the little beaver-whacker. He was wrapping himself around his moms legs in an effort to disappear. If I’d smacked someone’s Private Idaho, I’d probably do the same thing. But I felt bad for my little pal. It was an accident, right?

So I told my new friend about the time I was in the store with my dad. And for a second I got a little turned around, and ended up grabbing some guy’s hand, thinking he was my dad. Of course it was only the dude’s hand. Unlike my little friend, I didn’t grab a stranger’s junk. But as a kid, I remember sharing my friend’s wanting-to-die embarrassment. So my wee groper and I bonded over our shared experience, and realizing I wasn’t mad at him, by the time we made it to the front of the line, we parted company as pals.

And hopefully that’ll be the last time my vagina is anyone’s business but my own for a while. Because all this interest this week in my nethers is creeping me out a little.

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Luuuucyyy, you have some splainin’ to doooo

lucyI was just looking at traffic stats for my site for the week and noticed something in today’s search engine terms that jumped out at me. It’s always interesting to see what someone was looking for when they came here. But WHAT exactly was someone hoping to find when searching, “dildo goes in ass and comes out of mouth”? And I guess the question that concerns me more is, did this person find what he/she was looking for here? *violent heebie jeebie*SEO-terms

I’m usually a pleaser. But in this case, I’m pretty sure this searcher’s visit here was a short and unsatisfying one. And I think I’m ok with that.

• • •

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Booger eaters will rule the world

They say there’s a time and a place for everything. I suppose at some point in my life, I would have agreed. But that ended abruptly the moment I was told I should consider eating my own boogers for my health. Yes. You heard me right.

Eat. my own. fucking. boogers.

Ordinarily, in a situation like that, I would have ventured somewhere between a choked-back puke and an, “ARE YOU INSANE!?” But at that second I was unable to verbalize even a single syllable. It took me a moment, after snorting with nervous laughter to determine that he was serious. The deadpan look on his face confirmed it.

“No, seriously. Studies show that eating one’s own boogers can boost the immune system and help with allergy problems.”


Lord knows I’ve had it with the seasonal plague of allergies. But the mere thought of …*gag*… I can’t even go there. I get the theory, people. The gut is the key to our immune system. And if we introduce seasonal environmental allergens through our gut/digestive tract, the body is less likely to go on the attack when they come through our respiratory system. BUT, and this is a big fucking BUT… WHO decided on the booger-eater study, and WHO participated… willingly?

I know college students will do a lot of things for beer money cash for food. That’s why they call them starving college students. But, holy shit… that’s a whole new level of starving. (Note to my children: if you’re ever desperate enough while away at college, that taking money to eat boogers sounds ok, please call home. I will send money. And xanax.)

I’ve done some searching for more natural allergy relief. Ok, ya, I know. Boogers are natural. But NO. No way. No how. Someone actually mentioned trying locally-sourced honey. It’s the same theory as the boogers… local environmental allergens, collected by our bee friends, introduced through the digestive tract. But honey rather than… eeeeeeew.

I can wrap my brain around the honey idea. I’ve already spent a small fortune on medications. So spending $24 on $6 worth of honey seemed like a worthwhile experiment. Plus I’m supporting the local economy… ‘cuz you know those poor Newport Beach people need the cash. And let me say the honey is delish. I’m only half way through my supply. One tablespoon a day in my pitcher of green tea isn’t a tough way to go. However I do expect it to take a while, if it helps at all. But it’s not boogers. So I’m not complaining.

Studies show it tastes better than boogers.

Studies show that locally-sourced honey tastes better than boogers.*

There is plenty I would do to stop the flow of allergy boogs. I’ve run the gamut of medications. And they either don’t work, or make me feel like crack-monkeys have invaded my skull. I’m not good at drugs. So I choose to stumble through allergy season, snotty and coughing. It’s not pretty, people. But I guarantee you, it’s one hellava lot better than eating boogers. *ohmygodgag*

Sure, I suppose there may be a time and a place for everything. But eating boogers will never be one of them. Though I guess the upside is, if their booger theory is solid, and you believe the Darwin thing, booger eaters will eventually take over the world. So, there is that. Yay, booger eaters.



*Ok, it was my own study. And no one here will eat boogers.
I think that says enough. My conclusions are solid. Trust me, people.

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If a camel winks at you, just run.

I know, this is an old one. I saw it a few years back. And I’m pretty sure I laughed my ass off at that point. Though I can’t be certain. Let’s be honest. The older I get, the less I remember. But it’s totally in my nature to disregard the horrifying reality, and go straight for laughs at the expense of someone’s life… or lack thereof. Ya, I suck like that. Stop nodding your heads in agreement. You people are here, which makes you just as bad, by association. Isn’t it cool how I drag you down with me? Welcome to the trailer park, people.

Anyway, I ran across this again the other day. Initially I laughed myself into a snort. But I started thinking about it. Poor Pam woke up that morning, and may or may not have thought about a camel ride. But I’m thinking her expectations probably would have been more like her in the saddle, rather than her ginormous furry friend doing the riding. I’m certain she never expected to go this way. Who would, right?

I mean, for crying out loud, I hope the last thing I see before I die isn’t a camel penis coming at me. There are for sure worse ways to go. But how much would it suck, knowing that what was going on was the funniest thing that’s ever happened to you, while at the same time knowing you’d never be able to tell anyone. Mostly cuz you’d be dead.

So I just wanted to say, R.I.P. Pam. I’m sorry your camel was so rapey. What an asshole. Although I think we’ve all known for a long time that camels are assholes, right? And I’m really sorry I laughed. Both times. And to the rest of you, if you ever see a camel with a boner, it’s probably best not to stick around. Just run. I don’t know why I’m thinking in a zig-zag pattern. Or maybe that’s just alligators. Oh well, it probably can’t hurt. You’re totally welcome.


P.S. Spell check is telling me there’s no such word as boner. No wonder this spell check is so uptight.

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You people are sick

If you’re a savvy subscriber and you’ve been getting your daily dose of Bullcasm this week, you’re up to date on the Gummy Saga. If not, there’s still hope for you. Isn’t that nice of me? If you don’t want to miss out in the future, you can subscribe over there on the right sidebar. ———>
And then you can catch up below. Dang. I am such a giver.

So anyhooo… now you’re all caught up. I’ll keep it brief today. Cuz that was a lot of reading this week, huh? The photo below is in response to requests for Gummy Cannibal follow-up photos.     Seriously?

Apparently the verdict is in, and three out of three Gummies prefer red meat.

You people are sick.

Oh well. Ok then… here you go. Sorry for the graphic nature. I know. It’s pretty gruesome. No one said cannibalism was pretty. And you asked for it.

And on a related note, YES, I’m feeling a little lazy today. Hey, it’s a short read. You’re welcome!

It’s FRIDAY! I hope you all have a lovely, non-cannibalistic weekend.


You’re a little skeevy, Google

Wow, people! A whole new level of interest has just been added to Bullcasm. Someone brought it to my attention, that if you google “bullcasm,” not only does “bullcasm” not come up anywhere on the first page, but google is so very kind, and assuming you meant to type “bullcams,” they go ahead and search “bullcams” for you. Isn’t that nice of them!? And, let’s just say there’s a whole “bullcams” world out there that I didn’t know existed. Although as the name would imply, it seems to have little to do with large male bovines. Though horny animals seem highly likely to be involved. Who knew… bullcams was a thing? Cleeeeeeeeearly I need to get out more. There’s a very spankalicious world to be explored out there. Hey, you’re welcome!


Things that Go Bump in the Night.

smilies-scaryI heard a loud noise last night. And then what I thought was a muffled scream. Since we had an attempted break-in last year, I’m easily startled when I’m sleeping. There’s nothing like someone breaking the glass out of your front door in the middle of the night to make you a tad neurotic for a while. And btw, I’m glad you’re still in jail, you dick. I’ll bet trying to beat up those two cops doesn’t seem like such an inspired idea now, huh?

Anyway, I was concerned about the scream, and waited it out, doing my best corpse impression. Wishing my heart would shut. the fuck. up. I couldn’t hear a thing over the loud beating. Beating that sounded like a weasel desperate to get out of a plastic tub. Not that I have any idea what that actually sounds like. I don’t even have a weasel, nor would I put him in a plastic tub, if I did. Really, PETA. Not even if I were a teenager. And it was a friend’s brother’s weasel, named Jorge. And we were really bored.

My heart finally calmed down, and I didn’t hear anything else. I figured my neighbors were having another karaoke smackdown with their windows open. Which by the way, is utterly charming when you’re trying to sleep and someone’s howling, “Hit Me with Your Best Shot,” with all the grace and talent of a horny cat. Think about a little consideration, karaoke people. What you sound like in your head is not entirely true-to-life.

However, knowing it wasn’t the neighbors this time, I rolled back over and closed my eyes. But I was still waiting for more clues as to what woke me up. And then I felt it. My stomach. And it seemed pretty pissed. Since I have a severe gluten intolerance, the slightest bit in my system can send me into a tailspin. Well, less of a tailspin and more of a… tail nnnnever mind. And I had eaten dinner out earlier, which can result in unintended gluten. Which can result in all kinds of bad shit. Pun totally intended. I’ve gotta have some fun here, y’all.


If anyone has a photo credit on this, let me know. I would love to give credit where credit is due for this powerful visual. *snort*

I put it all together, and realized that the loud sound that woke me up was a huge fart. in. my. sleep. Yes, people. My own. My husband has since decided the word for that should be fartled. I fartled myself awake. You’re welcome, Webster’s. Now there’s a word for that. This is something that every less-than-careful person with Celiac disease can relate to. Gluten = farts. That, and so much more. Yaaaay, gluten!

So, once I figured out the loud noise, the source of the scream became clear. Apparently when I startled fartled myself, I also let out a little scream. Hey, those can be scary. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. Everyone does it… on average 35 times a day. Look it up. Perhaps yours are all when you’re alseep. And they don’t fartle you awake. Lucky you.  But I’ll bet your spouse can tell a tale or two about you tooting your trumpet in the middle of the night. They’re just too polite to mention it to you. Or they’re keeping the recordings for ammo, to whip out at your next party. If I were you, I’d ask before it’s too late. There’s nothing like a surprise video of you farting in your sleep to liven up a party.

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Dog Wood

Please see disclaimer below. And note additionally that I will be held harmless if your dog follows you around with a lurid grin after using this technique. Using the word “technique” sounds a little pornishy. Please note the “assistance” I have provided to my dog in the past was in no way sexual, nor pleasurable for either of us. Ok, though really, I can’t speak for the dog.

So here’s the deal. Sometimes a dog’s rocket gets stuck on the platform. You know, the missile is locked and loaded and won’t retreat back into the silo. This used to happen to my dog on occasion. If left hanging in the wind for too long, it’ll become swollen and dry, and won’t retreat without “help.” Mind you, this isn’t “help” like the guy claiming a need for assistance with potential blue balls. Your canine boy will have pain and possible infection if left untreated. I’m not talking an hour, or even a few hours. Usually, it will resolve itself. You’ll be able to tell when it’s a problem when it becomes dry, swollen and looks like a bright red, morbidly obese squid that is being choked to death by a pink turtle neck. Trust me. You’ll know.

So here’s the deal. Due to my childhood dog of seventeen years, Herbie, I was able to clutter (scar?) my brain with this useful knowledge. Thanks to Dr. Gregg, the song, “Pour Some Sugar on Me” took on a whole new meaning. (You’re welcome, Def Leppard.) He demonstrated that taking a pinch of sugar and sprinkling it on the, um, offending area reduced the swelling, and provided necessary lube to slide his little turtle neck back over his squid head. Voila! Almost instant relief, and a sweet treat for pooch to enjoy later. (Oh please, don’t go all, “Eeew, that’s so gross, I can’t believe you said that.” We both know dogs do that.)

So there you go. You can thank me next time pooch’s privates are all dressed up with nowhere to go. And let me note, this always sounded to me like this would set up a petri dish of medium for infection. I, or, uuh, my dog never had this problem. But if you’re the litigious type, please google it, and/or ask your vet before doing this. I refuse to google dog penis, or stuck erection. I don’t need to see what “pops up” in that search. Nor do I want to be placed on any google-freaky-shit watch lists.

So if your canine pal ever finds himself in this predickament (*snort*), you’re welcome.

*Bullcasm helpful hint general disclaimer: On occasion, I try to provide useful, sometimes obscure info. I am not an authority on this topic. I can only offer what I’ve experienced. Before using any helpful hints from this site, please do your own research. I take no responsibility for damage, death or maiming caused by using any information found here. So there.