The Bowel Braggadocios

Something with greater volatility than Alec Baldwin reaching your voicemail has been fermenting in the pit of my stomach. ChinoTrojan’s gotta uncork the agitation by talking some sh!t.



The humble author of ChinoTrojan.blogspot.com was dealt an incredible internal waste management system, which has brewed bitter jealousy among my cohorts. In fact, I have grown peeved by the incontinence of complaints from hosts and building superintendents that I was responsible for clogging their porcelain privies. Stock a plunger and liberate yourselves from the excremental envy, please. Whenever I heed the constipated claims and gastrointestinal grunts that once a week is no need for alarm, my stomach churns and I immediately turn unsettled because ChinoTrojan always root for Big Brown and wants you to neigh and buck like champion thoroughbreds, day in and day out.



Exerting an earnest push to promote burly bowel movements across America and in the septic systems beyond her borders, ChinoTrojan unabashedly presents: The Bowel Braggadocios – Mine is Bigger than Yours.

Beloved readers, I want you to develop a healthy ego about your regularity as you experience the pleasures of enjoying a robust colon. Akin to producing real change in American politics, this calls for a concerted sweat by the people. It’s no secret that holding it in only makes it worse, so let us all serve as compassionate purging agents by releasing testimonials, dropping genuine advice, and flinging pellets of encouragement here on ChinoTrojan.blogspot.com, and together, we can work to alleviate the bloated strain from waiting for the payoff.

With The Bowel Braggadocios forum, guests can compare their schedule of visits against that of altruistic contributors from all walks of life. No matter where you flush, ChinoTrojan appreciates the diversity of participation, because variety is the spice of life, and spices help us “go.”

To stimulate peristalsis of feedback, I will select and honor “The Bowel Braggadocio of the Month” on the first Monday of each month. I want to set it off proper at each turn of your calendar, since a case of the Mondays is almost as dreadful as a case of the runs—and ChinoTrojan recently triumphed from a weeklong bout with that familiar foe. Who knows? I may just start to hook up a guerdon for earning such distinction…Like stubborn smudges from yesterday's sloppy joe, however, that will inevitably be in your hands.

And so, the next time you’re doing the savage Braveheart revolt at the job and happen to spot a set of shoes in the stall adjacent to yours, acknowledge your fellow colleague, as opposed to carrying out any feeble attempts to buffer the battle cries with a faux cough during the blitzkrieg. Only then will you defeat Longshanks and be on the path to true discovery of why the caged bird sings.

In closing, I dedicate this cathartic web log to:

my Maker,

the , , ,

and the countless publications & periodicals comprising “bathroom material” that chip in to make #2 the #1 part of my day. ChinoTrojan goes once, goes twice, more frequently than vintage Ferraris at RM Auctions. Place a winning bid and be the wind beneath someone’s wings today.

“I have taken off my makeup. Now, let’s see if you can take off yours.” – The Joker, Tim Burton’s Batman (1989)

My name is ChinoTrojan, and I am a Bowel Braggadocio.

Caveat for Participation:
Let’s maintain decorum here. Without vacillation, ChinoTrojan will gladly watch the Coriolis effect pirouette your dingleberry comments down le potty if you don’t exercise the common decency of a courtesy flush prior to submission (ref. “M-V-P!!! M-V-P!!! M-V-P!!! :one:”). Remember: a five second spray covers a 50 sq. ft. room. Keep your finger on the trigger and save a life. Thank you, please go again.

Before I go…

Sharting* sure soils the mood, but winning disperses a warm sensation throughout that leaves you exultant. The Los Angeles Lakers have made prompt disposal of the San Antonio Turds, and it would be refreshing to see irresponsible, urban dog owners following suit. Don’t call it a comeback. We—yes, WE—are en route to our 15th NBA Championship!


*Sharting (verb) = Sh!tting + Farting = When a baker slathers schmear on a kettle-boiled, hearth-baked, pumpernickel air bagel after you ordered it dry. Come again? Squeezing pulp from juicy flatulence.

Here's to your health.

Cold. Play.

What’s that bumpin’ in the enthralling iTunes commercial?



Viva la Vida - Let it swirl around and make you merry like



If this doesn’t Fix You, then you must be a toe-tagged stiff.



Viva la Vida or Death and All His Friends drops June Seventeenth.

Cold. Play.

THANK YOU VERY MUCH

I told you, you, you, and all of you in the back, and in the middle in the front yo
I told you, you, you, and all of you in the back, and in the middle in the front yo
I told you, you, you, and all of you in the back, and in the middle in the front yo...

... for your steadfast support of ChinoTrojan.blogspot.com !

The Audience Is Listening to ChinoTrojan

Brush Your Shoulders Off

Wade Buys Mom a Church After She Completes Turnaround

Dear Lord,

If I buy a church for my born-again mother, please trade/save me from the Miami Heat before the start of the '08-'09 regular season. I also promise to dissociate myself from the bug-eyed Ursula, Star Jones.

Thank You for Your boundless mercy and grace.

In the Name of the Father, AMEN.

- Dwyane

I Pity the Fool

That's real talk, B.A.

And Kool Keith aka Keith Turbo aka Keith Televasquez aka Keith Korg aka Matthew aka Dr. Sperm aka Dr. Octagon aka Dr. Ultra aka Dr. DOOOM aka Black Elvis aka Poppa Large aka Mr. Green aka Mr. Gerbik aka Mr. Orange aka MC Baldylocks aka The Fourth Horseman aka Blonde Man aka Clean Man aka Shark Man aka Elephant Man aka Alien Man aka Jimmy Steele aka Willie Biggs aka Big Willie Smith aka Willie Natural aka Reverend Tom aka Mike Stanley aka Larry Lopez aka The X aka Rhythm X aka X-Caliber aka X-74 aka Fly Ricky the Wine Taster aka Rico from Puerto Rico aka Funk Igniter Plus aka Robbie Analog aka Sinister 6000 aka Crazy Lou aka Lonnie Hendrex aka Light Blue Cop aka The Kid in the Commercial aka Joe Kingpin aka Black Linen aka Elvin Presley aka Deli Boy aka SK8 Johnson aka Platinum Rich aka Exotron Geiger Counter One Plus Megotron aka Activity aka Exxon aka Captain Kool aka Captain Black aka Exotron Geiger Counter One Gama Plus Sequencer aka Robert Perry aka John Clayborne Cousin of Jimmy Hicks aka Mr. Nogatco aka Tashan Dorrsett aka Naquan-aka-Underwear Pissy aka The Best MC in the World aka Keith Thornton wants to holla at some people, so I lend him the microphone and the stage:

"Why are you looking hard with a hood on and Timberland boots, staring at me for one hour, when you could walk up and shake my hand? Why?

Why are you making those mean faces in your videos, with the fish lens effects? Why?

Why do you walk in the clubs with 30 people around you and stand in the corner with big bodyguards for no reason? Why?

Why do you pull up in valet parking with your Benz that is rented, fronting on a cellular phone that doesn’t work? Why?

Why are you smirking up your face, making obnoxious facial scenes like I supposed to be scared? Why?

Who are you?"

A pathetic Kobe hater.

ChinoTrojan asks: How much do you loathe these?

M*V*P!!! M*V*P!!! M*V*P!!! :three:

EPISODE III – THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK

“Finally, Lakers’ Bryant is an MVP”

Maurice Podoloff trophy - NBA MVP

Following eons of Jedi pedagogy, the Padawans have at last earned their haircuts.

And ChinoTrojan has sounded off plenty on this matter.

Ay Yoda, kick Knowledge:

Hustlin’ everyday, the Jedi Master is
Everyday I’m hustlin’
Everyday I’m hustlin’
Everyday I’m hustlin’
Everyday I’m hustlin’
Everyday I’m hustlin’
Everyday I’m hustlin’
Everyday I’m, everyday I’m, everyday I’m hustlin’
Ev-ev-ev-everyday I’m hustlin’
Everyday I’m hustlin’

M*V*P!!! M*V*P!!! M*V*P!!! :two:

EPISODE II – A NEW HOPE

Okay, I’ll relent.

K.O.B.E.’s just too gangsta wit it, right? I mean, he did release a rap record [dubiously] entitled “Thug Poet.” Pertly self-assertive is the criticism? I love that about him. Haven’t granted amnesty for taking Moesha to the senior prom? Hmm...touché.

Or, perhaps this is the resultant lingering stench from fantastically publicized infidelity? Dismiss all the vain, judicial grandstanding and media mayhem. Kobe has already turned in his best Dimmesdale, and if A man could afford a $4 million 8-carat, purple diamond bribe like a Filet O’ Fish sandwich during promotional Fridays throughout Lent, then he might fancifully dunk his McNugget in a spread of sauces. Under no circumstances would ChinoTrojan transgress the Seventh Commandment, and I adamantly decry such primitive impurity. Nevertheless, I do occasionally indulge in the unwholesome pleasures of a classic Filet O’ Fish and 20-Piece.

But, I digress.

A man can be an artist…in anything, food, whatever. It depends on how good he is at it. Kobe’s art is basketball. He’s a man on fire painting his masterpiece. Bada baba ba, I’m lovin’ it.



And y’all thought Chuck Norris was the reigning All-American badass. Don’t get me wrong – I can hum the theme song from The Delta Force (1986) on cue and would never graze Walker’s smooth ostrich boots. However, the current front man for Total Gym did turn a bit soft when he started Nair-ing his back after critical remarks assailing his hirsute appearance in The Way of the Dragon (1972). Granted, he resembled a lycan suspended in transmogrification, but what’s the big deal? At least he can boast that Bruce Lee singed his hairy hide while The Dragon was breathing fire (RIP).



ChinoTrojan pecks the hand of The Don of Movies.
ChinoTrojan tips his 12-gallon hat to The Texas Ranger.
ChinoTrojan salutes The Dragon with a Jeet Kune Do bow.
ChinoTrojan incessantly licks his upper lip as tribute to The Mamba.

From Kobe to Marty to Chuck to Bruce and back to Kobe. *pant* Talk about a drill in blog-and-weave. When you ride shotgun with ChinoTrojan, the destination takes a back seat to the expedition. Tell Ma and Pa to lock up the Mossberg, pour another nightcap, pop in that Terms of Endearment (1983) VHS, and get cozy on the couch because ChinoTrojan will always bring you back home safely by curfew.

Yours truly once dispatched $13 worth of highly processed grub, saturated with heat lamp radiation, from an AM/PM convenience store, then crowned this tour de force with a decadent Choco Taco just because I felt like it. (Do the math; that’s a lot of burgers and corn dogs.) It’s a feat that rivals the accomplishments of a single baseball player hitting for the cycle and pitching a no-hitter in the same ballgame—immediately after dominating the Triathlon earlier that afternoon. ChinoTrojan receives acknowledgement to this day for this glorious exhibition of human triumph. “No way! Dude, you’re the guy who”—Yes, I am he. The relevance? Give props where props are due.

“I coulda had class. I coulda been a contender. I coulda been somebody, instead of a bum, which is what I am, let’s face it.” – Terry Malloy, Elia Kazan’s On the Waterfront (1954)

The voters of the NBA are drowning in their own miserable denial. What a blessing though, because it is not too late to atone for recent offenses by doing the classy thing. If your mouth forms a skewed oval when shoveling your nose, let me get an “Amen.” Don’t you be in denial too, folks. And you stay classy, Kobe Bryant.

Shoot to Kill? Scoop to Chill

Death List Ten

1) French Vanilla
2) Fudge Brownie
3) Makin' Cookies
4) Mint Chocolate Chip
5) Oreo Cookies'n Cream
6) Pink Bubblegum
7) Pralines'n Cream
8) Reese's Peanut Butter Cup
9) Strawberry Cheesecake
10) York Peppermint Pattie



Ever since Honey Vanilla Häagen-Dazs ran out on me without even leaving a note on the dresser, ChinoTrojan has been consumed by a plot for methodical retribution on the frozen dairy hussy and all her wanton kind. I intended to swiftly snuff out the impenitent scoops of saturated fat and empty calories, but execution of the blueprint to convert the local Baskin Robbins into my personal abattoir was thwarted by a swarm of Crazy 88's.



There was a horde of hopefuls waiting in line for the 31 cent scoop celebration (ref. "SOL if You're Lactose-Intolerant"). Had I been in the dark about the reason for the gathering, ChinoTrojan may have speculated that The Man Himself was personally handing out FASTPASSes to His divine digs.

Alas, no revenge served tonight, and for better ends. Short of people holding hands and caroling "Kum Ba Yah," I witnessed 31 flavors of creeds and cultures peacefully enduring the s~l~o~w procession from down the sidewalk to inside the parlor. In fact, my glaring rage was effectively softened by the cheerful countenance on the myriad merry moo-vers who, in the profound words of Mr. King, just got along with each other. No, not Martin Luther--Rodney Glen.

Prescribed by Baskin Robbins' awesome promotional campaign was fumigation for the wild hornets' nest of current international diplomacy: Put down the semi autos and pick up pink, plastic spoons; scatter rainbow sprinkles in place of spraying full metal jackets. Have you ever seen the demented stare of Private Pyle on the face of someone eating ice cream? If so, it's only a consequence of the distraught individual arriving at the bottom of the cone. ChinoTrojan doesn't sport a doctorate in history or IR, but I profess that Adolf was a lactose-intolerant fecal-face, so my point on this should be crystal.

Like compassion in my soul, Honey Vanilla has been restored in my life, born again as Vanilla Honey Bee Häagen-Dazs. I've made peace with ice cream, so dig in and chill.

WWJD? Have another scoop.