We are number 1!!!!

We’re number 1! We’re number 1!...in corruption.. (cue in Prices Right fail music.)
A week ago some international watchdog organization, I don’t know which one, one of the important ones I suppose because people have been making large deal about, voted Liberia number 1 in corruption in the world. That’s right, we beat out the mighty Nigeria to hold the number one spot in corruption. Now in general speaking I love being number or the best, that’s why I love Jayhawk basketball, but in this case it kinda hurts. I mean we beat out Nigeria, really, that country has been stealing, or trying to steal, my credit card information for years. Nigeria has just gotten lazy in corruption I guess, or more stringent on their anti-corruption laws. It depends on how ya wanna look at it. I prefer they have gotten lazy and we have won! Good on us! Anyhwo the best part does not stop with us being number one in corruption the best part comes right here: of all the sectors that are corrupt in the country, police, health, finance, everything, EDUCATION is number 1. Education is the worst, the most corrupt part of this country. So in the most corrupt country in the world I work in the most corrupt sector. That fills me with all sort of something that is the opposite of happiness and pride. Needless to say this country needs work, but have no fear I am on the job! O shit this country is in trouble…

In other news I have gone America all over this countries ass today! And while this has nothing to do with corruption or my fighting of it, it makes me happy. Today I started my day by waking up at 10:30! Boom! Now that’s some fucking sleeping in bitches! After I arose from bed I scooted on my trust chacos and made for the door. I walked out in the blasting furnace that is the December heat of Liberia and headed for the grocery store. I walked past several street vendors all yelling random insults, and or kind comments trying to get me to look their varied goods, I passed by them and walked down a short side street onto the sidewalk to has been permanently sullied black as satans soul by the selling of coal. I smile at the 20 woman selling coal trying to get the $1.25 a day most Liberians live on and keep on rocking to the grocery store (while we are number 1 in corruption we are only number 8 in poverty, with countries like Somalia, Mali, and number 1 Niger beating us out). As a side note coal pots is what majority of people cook there food on in this country, so coal is a huge market, I mean they sell more coal than America sells porn, but only because most people in America are getting there porn free on the internet these days. Anywho after reaching my destination that is the grocery I proceeded to order a delicious toasted sub sandwich (ala Quiznos), than I bought a Dr. pepper that’s right the mother fucking 23 flavored soda pop with a degree of the highest education, and also found the Dr’s good friend, the king of beers Budweiser! I found the king in the country and while in America I am a banquet beer man (only a man drinks from the yellow can) I will admit that Bud is the most American American mans beer there is. I of course bought it to accompany the rest of my American celebration. I went on to find a jelly donut and a slim jim. (Snap into a slim jim! Do you guys ever wonder what happened to macho man randy savage?) I came back to my little monk cell in the convent and proceeded to crush on the food and beverages until my belly hurt from over eating. In case you are wondering over eating in a country where most of the people are living on $1.25 (83.9% live in poverty, with 83.9% living on a $1.25 a day info courtesy of Oxford University) a day does make you feel like shit, big time, but sometimes I gotta embrace my americaness to stay sane, even if it makes me a dick rod. Stop judging me, STOP IT. And while all the food items really did a lot for boosting my americaness meter it really gets topped out by the fact that last night I was sitting at a Liberian bar listening to We are the World (god I hate that fucking song) and watching WWE wrestling. As an important note WWE wrestling isn’t even dudes wrestling anymore it’s just large chested woman in skimpy outfits rubbing their titties and ass all over each other, which I thought we already had we just called it a strip club? But all the same here is toast to WWE for taking the degradation of woman to the national level! I mean nobody wants to watch sweaty dudes in underwear grope all up ons each other, but woman, well yes please and thank you! I gotta say that the woman thing was not my favorite part, because it was not the most American part, my favorite part came in the form of the audience. Aw let me tell you it was so refreshing to see 300 pound fatties (sometimes I wish I could use their big tummies for a bed, I bet it more comfortable than a water bed, but way more smelly) eating junk food watching mind numbingly stupid “sports.” I am guessing that WWE tickets are not cheap either so god bless them for spending their welfare checks to get front row for this high class form of entertainment rather than providing for the children’s education. Ew I just realized I bought nacho flavored slim jim, god its fucking gross, but I will keep eating based on principle and pretend to enjoy it. God I am drenched to the point of dripping in american goodness! U! S! A! This will probs be my last for 2010 so enjoy the last few days of the year! And we will talk again in 2011.

Scotch and Cookie!!!

Merry Christmas you fuckbags!!! For christmas this year I got myself a wicked sweet sunburn on the beaches of Robertsport. Turns out that fucking equatorial sun is hot mother fucker, which loves burning the shit outta my white white skin. Robersport is where a couple volunteers are stationed, it also happens to be the most wonderully beautiful beach I have ever seen in my life. Picture Gigantic white foam waves crashing against the jet black rocks that are jutting out of the golden sands, not to mention it is utterly devoid of all humanoid life. Anywho I cruised down there with a friend of mine who is in Liberia visiting her mother and father, though I am still counting her as MY first, and likely only, visitor to Liberia. Yay! Anyhwo yesterday was an entirely lovely day, which now brings us to today. Christmas Eve as I sit here sipping my Jack and coffee staring at the wonderfully blue Atlantic ocean I find myself wondering what my family is doing this day, than I remember o fuck me it’s like 5 in the morning there so they are probably sleeping unless they started some new tradition where they get up at 5 in the morning and do some sort of traditionally new tradition thing, which I find unlikely, so I am gonna assume they are sleeping. Though they better respect the greatest Christmas tradition ever, Scotch and cookies mother fuckers! For those of you who don’t know, which is most of you, scotch and cookie consists of taking a bite of Christmas sugar cookie, but wait! Don’t chew, first take a shot of Walker and then proceed to hold that in your mouth and chew the cookie, than swallow that awful concoction! The one who can do it the most times without vomiting wins! Or loses depending on how you look at it. Now that’s Christmas! Anywho this will be the first Christmas I do not spend with my four older brothers. I am finding this harder than I thought it would be, so I am doing the only logical thing: drinking. Which brings me to one important side note: I did an ultra sound this week (I am still sicko) anywho in the ultra sound the one titties on my silk sheets thing I found out (a saying I commonly use for awesome, because having silk sheets is awesome but having titties on those silk sheets is double awesome, everyone knows this) anywho during the ultra sound the doctor commented on what a perfect liver I have! Haha! My liver is alpha and the omega of livers, that mother fucker is titanium plated and filled with kick assery! 10 years of drinking (don’t do the simple math it will only disturb you, but then again I am from Kansas so it shouldn’t shock you) and that liver is still looking handsome and debonair (just like the man whose body it is housed in). Anywho I just wanted to point out how badass my liver is! Boom bitches! Back the point, if I even had one? I looked forward to christmas time every year not for the senseless gift giving (though that fucking rules) but for me coming from a big and spread out family Christmas always represented that time of year for a day or two when my entire family was together. As a baby brother this is fucking amazing as I greatly love and respect each one of my older brothers and parents not to mention no one quite gets the sarcastic ass hole Stolz sarcasm like my brothers and parents. But alas, here I sit in Africa, at Christmas time. I gotta say it is entirely weird to experience this time of year in another country. There are none of the usual American signs its Christmas, those signs of course being people racking up credit card debt like there aint no tomorrow, the repetitive and nauseating repeat of the same old shit ass Christmas music that has been redone into a fucking oblivion (sadly I kinda miss this), the lights and constant saying of Merry Christmas, and finally the cold weather. In this country my indications come in the form of dudes walking around on the streets with plastic Christmas trees on their heads trying to sell them, horrible battery powered Christmas items playing creepy renditions of Christmas carols that serve more to make me like I am in a horror movie about to be chased by a limping, angry never knew I had half brother out for blood. And the final indication people saying where is my Christmas, which is the nice way of saying hey white man give me some fucking money you rich prick! To be honest I have replaced the Dean Martin and Willy Nelson carols usually playing in my house with the great artist Prince’s Pussy Control and ODB Hey Dirtay, now those really put me in the Christmas spirit! Anywho I gotta get back to cooking grandmas stew for the wonderfully sweet person taking me in this Christmas time and laying by the Oceanside pool. I hope this christmas finds you warm (not in the sense that I am, actually I am fucking hot) and surrounded by the people you love! Merry Christmas bitches!

Drink lottsa wish-kay.

Poop…
Goodness all over graciousness fucking face mother fuckers. My apologies for not writing in weeks, if you had stock in the word fuck you woulda seen an epic Wall Street-esque plunge in your investment without my blog. Don’t worry we will sure as mother fucking shit fix that fucking fuck up in you fucks fucking lives. Fuck. Anwyays where to begin with all the fake and real news flashes that have been flooding in my office (bathroom). Well I suppose we can start with right now, the present moment, because it is fresh on my mind, soon to be fresh on the fucking toilet bowl. I have been In the Rove (great fucking city) for a minute or two now trying to get whats wrong with me figured out. Guesses have been wide, they have been varied, and they have been getting more accurate. If only Blues Clues had a fucking medical degree we coulda had my problems solved in a 30 minute television block and still had time to watch salt and pepper dance on the table. Anywho my totes rad PCMO (peace corps medical officer) has been working his balls off to figure out what is wrong with me. I mean I didn’t really give him a lot to go off of, I feel like shit, like all the time, that’s my symptoms. Anywho after much detective investigative work we found out that I am quite literally full of shit. Sorry, this blog, its kinda gross, uncalled for, most people would not talk about these things, but good for me and bad for you I am not most fuck faces. Anwyho for whatever reason my colon and my shit have formed a relationship and they have decided they don’t wanna part ways. What a bunch of shitheads. So we have been spending some time on making them part ways, now even I have some scantly clad morals that I more often than not keep in the back of my closet right night next to the tight leopard skin pants. But occasionally, just occasionally I bust them out, this is one of those times. I will spare you most of the talk of what the past week has been like, lets suffice it to say unpleasant. My most recent task has been hounding down some salty salt water and Milk of Mag. Sweet Christ take it from a kid who aint pooping, those things make you poop. A lot. So that’s where we are at right now. I will keep you posted. The only other thing I will mention is this: pooping in cups, its not fun, its gross. The follow up to pooping in a cup, moving the poop from cup to test tube vial is even less fun especially when the tool you are using to scoop said poop is not adequately sized. Such was my case. One thing that this experience did teach me is that I am definitely one of those people who shit mother fucking stinks. So if you ever hear anyone say that that fuckhead Tj walks about like his shit don’t stank up the joint, you can say “untrue fucker that fuckhead Tj is more aware than most people of how horrible his fucking turds smell.” I would also like to point out for those of you still reading that I have been calling the shit poop. Haha. Anways I will get off the subject here because I think that’s enough and also I gotta poop!
Other news, good news comes in threes, or is that bad news, I don’t know, but I am gonna give you three things of good news, first in highlight form, than in more depth analysis. 1. I hung out on an empty, beautiful beach. 2. I had KFC-esque chicken. 3. I found Harry Potter 7, The Deathly Hallows pt. 1 for sale on the street. 4. I gotta shit again.
Ok so that was 4 and one them good news to me but gross news to you, the reason it got mentioned is because it was true. Deal with it. Anways back to 1. We had Peace Corps meeting at Tinkers beach a little outside of Monrovia. It was lovely, it was relaxing, it was full of meetings. Anyway the beaches in this lovely little country are amazing, simply amazing. Though I don’t really have any right to judge beaches I am a mountain kid, and god do I miss those snow covered rocks. I am having straight crack head withdrawals over snowboarding right now. But I must say there was a moment in time sitting under a palm tree, digging my little pink toesies into the course tan sand, breathing in the salty ocean air, watching the sun close down another Liberian day where I had to seriously sit and think about whether it was real or not. It seemed as though I was in one of those high school movies about a calfiornia school. You know the ones that are always too good to be true and more likely than not have Freddie Prince Jr in it. Whatever happened to that guy?
2. Monroe chicken mother fuckers. It is fast food chicken here in Liberia, and it is delicious. For reals and seriously it is just like KFC except better and in Monrovia. The first bite of it I took I jazzed my pants and found the meaning to life. The meaning of life is to eat crispity crunchity chicken. O my god, I gotta shit again. Sorry, but its true. And if I gotta do it you should know about it. Anways the chicken is the dankity.
3. People sell these ripped DVD’s on the streets here, I have bought such instant classics as The Expendables, Predators, and now I have added HP 7. Boo ya! Ka sha! That’s really all I have to say about that.
Well before I go sit and wait 20 minutes to download the new Conor Oberst “Coyote Song” for the 30th time in my life I will leave you with this life altering question. IF a man (or a woman, I am not a misogynist and you can have it what other way you like) came up to you and said if you do not speak/write/sign language for a year you will turn into a bear. What would you do? I mean you wouldn’t turn into some kind of little shitty bear (koala, black bear, panda bear) no you would turn into either the most vicious bear in the world (Polar Bear) or the most badass salmon eating thing on the fucking planet (Grizzly bear). Anways if I stop talking and writing and all that we all know what happened, and you can come see me in Alaska.
Also one last thought, I felt kinda bad about this blog, you know what with all the swearing and judgments I passed, but then Wikileaks released how our diplomats talk about shit. Now instead of feeling bad about my language I think I will just put it on my resume and go talk to the state department. Fuckya.

Alas! Alas! Alas! It has happened. My streak is over. I have sharted in my pants. Poopy water all over the fucking draws. Shit. Quite literally shit. To be fair I feel pretty good about the length of time I made it without shitting myself in Africa. Much better than I can say for some of my counterparts, and mine was a relatively “small” incident, contained only to my under draws as opposed to running down my leg is oozing embarrassment. Ew sorry that was gross. No I am not mad about the pants shitting, I mean these things they happen, I am mad at how it happened. I was sitting here, jamming some tunes and reading “A Fraction of the Whole” (great book) and I realized I needed to pass gas, or in crude terms I had to make farties, or toot. In my mind I started going through a debate that went something like this…ah man, I gotta fart, but this book is really good and I am at a critical point and I really don’t wanna get up right now.- Yea but the bathroom is like 10 feet away and you are on a lot of laxatives, lets not risk it. –fuck it I will just do it with a certain amount of caution, how can this go bad…AH FUCK! The ah fuck is where I made dookie in my pants. The moral of the story, or the lesson to be gleaned here is NEVER risk it when a on a shit ton of laxatives and the bathroom is 10 feet away. You can always resume reading a book, you can never unpoop your pants. I want that put on my gravestone when I die. Actually I want it to read “here lies Tj fucking Stolz the fucker who partied with polar bears.” Followed by that piece of advice. Also I want it to be diamond encrusted. Also while we are on the morbid subject of my death I want to give my own eulogy. Instead of giving my money to my family or some charity bullshit I am gonna spend it all on hiring the best puppeteer money can buy. Then I will have him string my dead corpse up and right in the middle of my funeral I will pop up outta my casket walk up, mime to my pre-recorded eulogy about what a great man I was and how I fought hordes of evil troglodytes and saved millions of children and damsels in distress and single handedly stopped the world financial crisis than walk back to the casket, light it on fire and close the lid. Now that’s a fucking a funeral!
Yes, to answer the question you are all asking yourself after reading that last paragraph I do realize how fucking weird my mind is. What to do?