Thomas Neil Rodriguez adopted a mixed-breed puppy from an animal shelter in 1999. Fifteen years later, the loving dog owner learned his beloved pet Poh had several terminal health problems and would not live much longer. So Rodriguez decided to give his loyal pal the trip of a lifetime.
Poh, Rodriguez, and his fiancee took to the road for seven weeks, visiting 35 cities and traveling over 12,000 miles. They set off from their home in New York City for California so the water-loving dog could swim in the Pacific Ocean. And along the way, Poh got to see dozens of famous landmarks in Texas, Oregon, Arizona, and more.
Although Rodriguez was worried Poh wouldn’t make it through the first two weeks, the pup got to enjoy every bit of the adventure and document every stop on his own Instagram account.
Poh is back on the East Coast now, but still going on adventures. During Memorial Day weekend, the pup got to see Coney Island for the first time. Says Rodriguez, “I am super blessed that I have actually gotten to do this … People think I take care of Poh, but Poh takes care of me.”
Poh enjoying the lights of Time Square
When I was 17 my girlfriend at the time was finally ready to have sex. I, as one might expect of a 17 year old, was excited. Neither hell nor high water was going to stand between me and my final destination.
I get ready for the night, trim everything up, shower extra well. Unfortunately there was also an issue. I have a digestional disorder that sometimes cause my shiet to become large and quite solid while still inside me. I wasn’t aware it was a treatable problem and, in fact, just thought everyone had to deal with the equivalent of anal kidney stones. I bring this up because I had a mighty one which had been loaded into the gun for several days.
Let me set the scene. Her parents are away. We have her house to ourselves. She was always a little kinky so she demands we do it in her parents bed. I walk in to a candle holocaust. She’s been working on this all day apparently, and its as bright as high noon in there with the lights off. Which is good, because she proceeds to do a sweet, sexy little dance for me. At 16, she was AMAZING. For those of you who never experienced a female at that age, I pity the fool.
Now I’m sitting on the bed, watching this dance. I smile and tell her how good she looks. Unfortunately, most of my attention is focused on the dull throbbing from my sphincter and the large amount of intestinal discomfort associated with not dropping duce in days. But somehow I still get hard and we go to town. She starts out on top, then we switch. I bend her over the bed, and I even smack her ass (a ballsy move at the time, but she loved it). Due to my built up distraction, I last for what seems like FOREVER. She can’t stop moaning and telling me how good it feels, and then she says what every man wants to hear “I want to make you cum in my mouth.” I fu*king love women.
So she goes down on me. She was always average at best in the head department but at least she tried. She pops my cock out of her mouth long enough to look up at me and say “tell me if you like this”. Then I feel it.
Telegraph – A British Airways flight to Dubai was forced to return to Heathrow Airport when a “smelly poo in the toilet” became unbearable for passengers.
The pilot announced that the long haul flight had to be aborted, after cabin crew were unable to prevent the pungent odour emanating from an overflowing toilet.
Around 30 minutes in the seven-hour flight, the plane returned to London amid health and safety concerns.
Hertsmere councillor Abhishek Sachdev, who represents Potters Bar Parkfield was on the plane and said it was “insane” that passengers had to wait 15 hours for another flight due to a “smelly poo in the toilet”.
He told Mail Online: “The pilot made an announcement requesting senior cabin crew, and we knew something was a bit odd. “About 10 minutes later he said you may have noticed there’s a quite pungent smell coming from one of the toilets.”
Mr Sachdev, who was not seated near the toilet in question, said: “He said it was liquid faecal excrement, those are the words he used. “He said it’s not a technical fault with the plane, and he was very adamant about that.”
The captain said the plane’s crew had investigated the problem, but were unable to fix it, so the plane would need to return to London for health and safety reasons.
I would be so proud if I were the pooper. I’d have lifetime bragging right and It would be an awesome story to tell the grandkids. “Gather round children, there was one time when your old granddad took a dump so wretched, it brought down a freaking plane!" Legends of my sh*t will be passed down from generation to generation.
This Story Will Reduce Any Grown Man To Tears…Family Gives Dying Pit Bull The Vacation Of His Lifetime
This is a photo series I shot back in August in Assateague, Maryland. My boyfriend Christian, and I took our three pups on an overnight stay at the beach. We dedicated the trip to our 11 year old American Staffordshire Terrier, Dyuki (Mr. Dukes). He was in his final stages of Grade III mast cell cancer at the time. His most favorite activity was swimming in our family pool, but until then, he had never seen the ocean. It was a very special trip for us, and I’m so grateful we were able to make it happen. He passed away a month later, but he put up one hell of a fight—almost two years.
The drive to Assateague is about 3 hours, and we were being blasted with sunlight pretty much the entire time. But the moment we pulled up to the ocean, the clouds quickly rolled in, and it started to drizzle. Who cares though? We love the rain!
I was addicted to meth for a few years (well, I’ll forever be addicted to it; I have absolutely no control when it comes to amphetamines). It started out wonderfully (like any drug) and was even responsible for getting me a couple great paying day jobs (gotta love the motivation meth provides; if you can harness it) and even a promotion! Eventually my usage increased to the point that I felt I should offset my costs so I started dealing too.
My girl at the time was a waitress so I used her and a couple of her hotter waitress friends to sell my product to both customers as well as most of the other staff (turns out the food industry is LOADED with users, DUH!). After a few months, the demand began to get so high I was having trouble keeping up with it. My regular hookup flat-out admitted that He would not be able to keep up with my demand (He had a regular job too and this was nothing more than fun for him) so He pointed me to another guy who He thought might be of some assistance. That is when shit began to get real serious. I quit my day job as I no longer wanted to go (or even needed to).
Things continued to go very well as I continued to expand my business of using waitresses to sell product (high turnover means waitresses are constantly changing locations, thus getting a new customer base). It worked out beautifully as we were effectively a delivery service. Nobody was ever coming to my house so there never appeared to be any suspicious activity. Practically a perfect system.
At this point my usage had been pretty heavy for a while (I was up to 10g a day on average, or about $750) and it had begun to take it’s toll. I was only sleeping a couple of hours a week (more like taking fitful naps) and that was catching up (I had been doing it for over 2 years now). I was angry and psychotic pretty much all the time. It was destroying relationships and I truly did not give a single fuck. I began to see that my inability to control it was destroying everything around me. Being in the throws of addiction is…. a complex thing. I was fully aware that I was an addict, that it was taking it’s toll and would almost certainly eventually kill me. I did not care. I mean I really, truly did not care. Total apathy. All that matters is the drug; if you can get that, then everything else is less important or can be fixed after..
Many years ago, when I was in high school, I worked at a movie theater. Allow me to preface the story by saying that I pride myself on my ability to accomplish tasks that I find unpleasant. My parents own several section 8 rental properties around Youngstown, and I had been roped into innumerable “This house is a mess, we’re not paying anyone to clean it, we feed you, here’s a bucket, get started” adventures in my short life. I had dealt with festering diapers left in the open air for months in summer, rotten food, spoiled milk, animal corpses, used hypodermics, anything you could imagine. Cleaning the grease trap in the concession area did not phase me. I was woefully unprepared this day.
I arrived in my polo shirt and slacks through the lobby entrance as some of the theaters were letting out. I could tell immediately something was amiss. One of the managers had put the caution tape we normally used to mark defective chairs over the door to the women’s restroom, and was standing in front of the door looking worried. When a patron would try to enter, the manager would stop them, nod apologetically, make a brief “mia culpa” gesture with her hands, and usher them away. When she saw that I had arrived, her eyes immediately brightened and she waved emphatically for me to come over.
I was introduced to everything through one friend, I’ll call him Theo. Before him, I was a good kid. Straight As, never skipped school, didn’t even smoke cigarettes. He was a goth punk, started off stalking me and somehow we became best friends as a result. He was my first real friend, and in those days… he was a damn good friend. He took care of me. He cared. He was kind, generous, and just the greatest guy in the world. We started drugs at about the same time. Our first drug was LSD. Never did it often, though. Stuck with pot for years and years.
Eventually, we were introduced to meth. It started out as something we did rarely, but eventually it overtook everything. Whenever we hung out, we got high. The first three years, I was high every other week. The last two, I was high every day, except for when I would crash after being up for five days straight.
I had a job overnight stocking, and my job performance improved due to the meth. No exhaustion, no need for breaks, easily occupied with mundane tasks.
In the end, what lead me to quit was a moment of clarity. When I took a look at my situation. I used to be a straight As kid, with a future. Now I was a high school drop out, working at a dead end job where I never spoke to anyone, and at that moment I was sitting in a trailer with five other filthy guys. One was missing an eye, telling me about how he sucked dick in jail. The other was a gay man who had his relationship destroyed by meth, and he was busy picking at a sore on his forehead that had grown to the size of a half dollar. No one had bathed in days. Everyone had been up for days on end. There was a bunny that someone had caught decaying in the back room, under the bed. Where the fuck was I? What the fuck was I doing there?
Context is childbirth is the most pain any human will ever feel :
Bullshit dude, bullshit. I once ate a tray of 24 assorted muffins: blueberry, lemon poppy-seed, cranberry apple, banana nut, even bran. Large muffins too, like you’d buy at the bakery, not grocery store mini-muffins. I ate the first five or six out of hunger, and the next dozen I can only attribute to gluttony, but the last half dozen were devoured by determination alone. A part of me wanted to stop – I was full, the muffins had become repulsive, and there was a disconcerting pressure in my chest. The other, stronger part of me knew that if I gave up on that muffin platter I would admit limitation. A limited man can rationalize his every weakness, turn away from every challenge, live his life within the narrow confines of comfort; that’s not how I live my life. But I digress. It took six days for my bowels to move, and when they did I shat a monolithic muffin block so wide it could not be flushed, so dense it would not dissolve with repeated flushing, and so heavy it took two hands to lift. The measure of anxiety, pain, pride and love is indescribable, so don’t tell me I don’t understand childbirth – thenewaddition