I wish you, my egg-nog-saturated readers, a fricking fabulous holidays.

In honour of the occasion, I present you with… baby reindeer.

Hi, baby reindeer!

Rock ‘em and sock ‘em, people. Rock ‘em and sock ‘em…

Walking upstairs. My Lovely Wife, changing in the bedroom, hears me coming down the hall.

My Lovely Wife: AH! DON’T COME IN! I’M NOT DRESSED!

Realising this may not be the best strategy to keep me out of the bedroom, she changes tactics.

My Lovely Wife: SPOILER ALERT! SPOILER ALERT!

I stay out of the bedroom.

• AnswerWiki: “If the animals from South America had a ‘rumble’ with the animals from Africa… which group of animals would win, and why?” (via digg)

I am in awe of this complete and cogent argument. Truly.

There exists a large inflatable pool filled to the brim with awe and I am in it… doing laps.

I have nothing funny to add here.

All the funny is in the article. Go read it. Now.

Pooping.

I mean, REALLY?

That’s the BEST WAY to remove (pun completely intended) CRAP FROM OUR BODIES?

Even when it’s working at optimal levels, it’s still COMPLETELY HORRIBLE.

Seriously, if this thing was designed in any way — whether it be by a bearded omnipotent in a flowing robe or a subcommittee of slightly near-sighted turtles — we would have seen some massively DRASTIC upgrades to the procedure by now.

Area needing improvement that I’ve come up with (albeit with very little consideration but a great deal of vehemence):

• Stink alleviation: Possibly a series of options available to every user — might I recommend citrus, pine, and piña colada? I welcome your suggestions.
• Convenient scheduling: if I can schedule a Windows computer to backup at down times, this shouldn’t be that hard.
• User-friendly indicators of completion: I like reading multi-volume fantasy epics as much as the next person, but COME. ON.
• Post-procedure cleanup: Do you need me to go further with this one?
• Colour-coding: I don’t have a concrete reason for this, but colour-coding is always a good thing.

Personally, if I was at all convinced that there was ANYONE involved in engineering the whole pooping schematic, I’d be on the phone tout suite to my local poop ombudsperson.

BECAUSE THEY’VE GOT SOME SERIOUS EXPLAINING TO DO.

People are dorks and I feel like a bucket of crap.

…

EVERYBODY NOW!

[Singing]

People are dorks and I feel like a bucket of crap,
People are dorks and I feel like a bucket of crap,
People are dorks and I feel like a bucket of craaaaaa-AP,

[Dramatic pause. Big finish.]

People are dorks… CRAP CRAP CRAP CRAP CRAP!

…

Give it a good bass line and we’ve got a solid pop hit.

…

Note: I do exempt all of you, my three-hole-punched readers, from any dork-based blanket assertions.

…

Unless there’s something you’re not telling me.

[Stern glare in general direction of lurking dorks.]