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Checklist of the Parasites of Fishes of Latvia

Not really about Latvian fishes

Category Archives: Bathroom

Mrs. Hewlsby's Behind

Here at Fleshy Bottom not much happens that is new. Day to day, we experience the same things and have come to expect the expected. We have a tight community here. Everyone knows each other and we struggle together. A community spirit you might say. We don’t like change much. Luckily, Mrs. Angie Hewlsby is highly predictable and we look forward to a long and uneventful life down here.

You usually enter our community at Sweaty Defile, near Lint Trap Point. From here there is but one way in; you must follow the defile to Dark Speck Canyon, where the weather gets decidedly humid and dank, especially in the summer months. The Canyon is prone to flooding, as sweat rolloff tends to innundate the lower reaches, and affecting our community downstream. However, this regular watering is a blessing for Fleshy Bottom, allowing for a rich diversity of organisms to flourish there. We have the Miniature Grossbeetle, Fecal Aphid, and Stinkmite in abundance. Our community tends to harvest these organisms for our own consumption. After the rather hot and fetid summer of 2009 we had such a cornucopia of species that we could nary keep our bellies empty. Oh what a feast that was! This summer of 2011 was promising to give us yet another bounty, but Mrs. Hewlsby turned over her entire collection of cotton underwear, leaving us with a modest harvest despite 175-degree temperatures.

Following Dark Speck Canyon south you encounter the Great Gorge, also known as The Deep, where the Sun is rarely seen. Despite this dreary setting, most of our population resides here or at its outskirts. It is here that the climate is most regulated: warm and humid year-round, with regular breezes or gusts that spew life-living bacteria which supports the whole ecosystem. The existence of matted hair gives some fauna to the landscape (this fauna is rare and uneven in the Canyon). Here in The Deep the community is buzzing with life, as both mother nature and its inhabitants form a co-dependent whole. It is hot. It is noisy. But we thrive!

Most residents of Fleshy Bottom dare not venture up the Canyon walls nor head further south. Up the canyon walls one is (1) likely to slide down again, and (2) if he or she makes it to the Fleshy Plain, may well get squashed by Mrs. Hewlsby’s buttocks. Only in one of her many dimples do exiles from Fleshy Bottom reside. As of now, there is a dimple mapping project underway. We only have limited knowledge of the communities in these remote areas.

Should you be curious to venture southward, you will enter a most harrowing landscape. Dank ridges and folds await you, as well as Pimply Hills and the dreaded Taintway, which leads to an oily maw that nobody (that we know of) has survived. We urge all residents of Fleshy Bottom to not travel south of Pimply Hills. You know you are there by the increasing thickness of fauna, and a curious stench that no one has identified.

Before you judge our lifestyle and environment here in the recesses of Mrs. Hewlsby, think for a moment about your surroundings: you are comfortable because it is all you know. You were born and raised there. You enjoy the fresh air and the sunlight, and consume animals that smell of grass rather than ass. To us, YOU are the weirdo. But you are always welcome here. There is enough room in Angie Hewlsby’s butt to accomodate most anybody. Come take a look!

The writer is the senior editor of Fleshy Bottom Times and head of the F.B. Chamber of Commerce.

Your hatred has made you powerful, young Skywalker

Special for the Today Show by Edith Crudmuffin

LONDON, England

Ahoy, commoners, and a ballyhoo from the royal residences. Specifically, I am in her majesty’s loo, where the Queen has been busy – as always – overseeing the decoration of the royal lavoratory. For a monarch, she is quite the micro-manageress. She has made it known, from the early days of her reign, that the royal lavoratory must be in prim condition, spackinated, and tally-beed. She relates a story of when Chancellor Hitler’s personal secretary visited one of our loos. Apparently, Herr Meinhof was quite disatisfied with the facilities. He made his displeasure known to her majesty, who was appalled that our Hun cousin would dare compare the foecal receptacle to a Moravian peasant’s. Well, with a huff, the Queen ordered her staff to remove the offending latrine and send it to a public library in Norwich.

Since then Her Majesty has been very keen on latrinal quality. The Queen herself does not possess an anus, but that does not stop her from employing a staff of hundreds to polish and spiffinate the hundreds of comfort stations at Buckingham Palace.

Each washbasin must be gold-plated with a platinum and silver faucet. There must be three settings: warm, cold, and Sherry. Any residual water must be soaked up hastily by Sir John Thielwick’s East Indian Sham, the Queen’s preferred cloth-wipe. The hand towel, made of Scottish beard clippings, must be dried and warmed. The bath-mat must be of superior quality, and the floor mustn’t feel colder than 76 degrees lest Her Majesty gets a chill during a midnight urinary.

The toilet, bane of Herr Meinhof’s existence, is now gold-plated with Welsh lamb’s wool covering, and coated with Lord Rodney Bull Hawhaw’s Anti-Stench Tonic, lest a foul odor cause the Queen to take offense. Next to the toilet is a control board that allows the user to choose his or her entertainment: BBC Radio 4, Sky News, or EuroSport is at your command. (Rumor has it that the Queen herself enjoys the Shipping Forecast as she evacuates herself.) Built into the entertainment device is a ticklefanny and bumswaddler, should you need “extra encouragement”. Cleaning up is not an issue as one of dozens of personal wipesmen are at your disposal, summoned by a red button. There is no need to flush the potty, as there are also several trained flushmen on the premises.

Don’t forget that in England, one washes their hands first and does their toilet last. It is not uncommon to see specks of foeces upon royal cuffs, which they will refer to as “Windsor pudding”.

I hope this tutorial has been illuminating. Cheerio for now, and huzzah for the prince and princess!