Fight Funnies: Day In the Life of Clay Guida

Great Vacuum Sealer...or Greatest Vacuum Sealer (for organs)

As a hospital mortuary technician, I have tried probably every trick in the book to try and properly store various appendages and organs, with no success in finding a method of near 100% preservation, post-thaw. Either for research purposes, autopsies, evidence, verification, substantiation purposes or otherwise; samples selected for testing and/or specimen analysis must be properly maintained to uphold organic composition. Basically, if someone's suspected of being poisoned, suspiciously found dead, murdered, and so on, certain body parts are harvested, and must be stored, sometimes for extended durations and defrosted later on to be tested. Sometimes it's just for med students that get some homeless Joe's liver to poke and prod for "educational purposes." Which let me tell you, is overrated. The job seems morbid, but we do have fun, and even joke around a bit. For instance, we might pick up a finger and point to someone and say "This guy isn't looking too well, but I can't quite put my finger on it."

Anyways, I came across the vacuum packer one night while watching infomercials. The host guaranteed your meat would stay fresh for a year in this vacuum-sealed bag. I thought, wow, we keep organs in the fridge sometimes just laying on cookie sheets, and they surprisingly don't last a month without early stages of seepage; this vacuum bag could really help. And it does. We've had stuff in the freezers, which would usually be freezer burned, so long in these vacuum bags we don't even know what it is anymore. Helpful hint: label those bags, and put a date on there too. It's easy to forget after a few years where you stuffed that one specific spleen, especially if it's in a containment unit that's overflowing with them.

For what reason I was never trained in the use of vacuum packing internals/segments and nobody else in the profession employs the use of a vacuum packer, I will never know. Its preservation capabilities are truly sensational. It might sound like I'm describing a meal at a fancy restaurant, but I was really impressed. I can pack like four hearts per bag, which you're not supposed to do, because of convoluted contamination practices, but how else are you going to determine a bag's storage capacity for say, hearts. Voluminous measurements for organs certainly aren't specified on the side of the bag. So I felt like a pioneer, in a way. PM me if anyone wants to know info for any other organs. No inquiries from psychopathic killers though...well, maybe if you ask nice.

I'll admit, for Halloween I did bring some of these baggies (yes, with organs) home...just to scare some kids. And really, you don't even need a freezer when transporting a vacuum-sealed bag. Nothing to worry about, since the vacuum packing helps keep the contents stable longer. At least I think that's what I read in the manual, I haven't had any issues with the tissues. I almost had a buddy try and eat a lung I brought home. He thought it was a steak, had the pan all heated up and everything. I caught him right before he was about to toss it in. Although, I'm sure if he did eat it, he would say, "Wow, I'm amazed at how this bag preserves the freshness of this meat... meat which is unidentifiable, yet delicious." Don't worry, I wiped off all the seasonings he put on it.

Some reviewers complained the machine is loud. It is a little loud, however, I wouldn't say it's loud enough to wake the dead. No complaints from my clients.

The sealing process is seamless. Literally. And it better be, can't have any of the stuff I'm packing leaking onto my lunch when we have to store this stuff in the fridge. Sometimes the freezers get full, what are you gonna do. Do pay attention when sealing these bags. Why? It uses heat. I may or may not have accidentally "cooked" some contents that were too tightly packed, that got pressed up against the heat seal element. Mistakes are easy to hide, stuff gets lost frequently and without difficulty around here.

The process of sealing is easy. Slide the open end of the bag under the sealer thing and hit the button, remember not to cook the meat inside, watch the patented Seal-A-Spleen system work its magic, let the overflow catch all the biohazardous juices, spray with Febreeze to clean, and you are done. Oh, and take it from someone who has learned the hard way; don't forget to toss that sealed bag in the freezer. Otherwise, you've wasted a vacuum bag, and they aren't cheap.

Overall, the vacuum sealer is priced right for such a quality product that can really handle some heavy usage. I hope my review helped some people with their purchase decision and that maybe some mortuary techs will read this and start using the vacuum sealer to get the longest shelf life possible for the unusual stuff we need to store.


The Amazon Review 

Fight Funnies: Dean "The Boogey Man" Lister

Constipated Man Eager to Finish Book

All 47 year-old Minneapolis resident, Bill Haste, wanted to do was finish reading The Davinci Code; a book that he had been unhurriedly reading for over two years whilst sitting on the toilet. With only 15 pages left, Mr. Haste was one decent discharge away from completion. Then, the unthinkable happened: Bill Haste couldn’t poop. “I can’t describe how disappointed I am with my inability to take a dump,” Mr. Haste passionately expressed. Bill was fervent to finish the book, only to have an act of God, in the form of intestinal impediment, present itself at the absolute worst time.

“It’s the principal of the thing,” says Bill, “I have been slowly chipping away at this book for so long that to even think of reading it while not on the toilet, just doesn’t make sense at this point.” Bill’s commitment to toilet-reading has conditioned him to only want to read in that particular environment. His bowel barricade is blocking more than his internals, but his reading habits as well.

Nearing a week in duration, the defecation difficulty is starting to take its toll on Bill’s psyche. “I try not to let the issue clog my mind, but I can’t even count how many different things I’ve tried to rectify...my rectum. I can't work it out, absolutely nothing is helping.” His list of hole-hindrance remedies includes: incessantly munching on chocolate laxatives, walking his dog so he can watch it poop, looked at (but did not read) the children’s book Everyone Poops, introduced his butt to countless enema and even consumed some questionable clam chowder.

One who analyzes the situation might think that with an extended o-ring obstruction, as in Bill’s case, there would be even more time spent on the toilet trying to break the defecation dam. Jeff counters, “My constipation has reached the point where I have no urges whatsoever to unload, it’s been nearly a week, so I stopped attempting altogether.” Bill is most certainly no quitter, but he’s also certainly no shitter.

 

At this point it is unknown when Bill will crack the constipation code. If there is one thing we do know, it’s that when it comes time for Bill to face the feces, he will do it book in-hand. Here’s hoping we can soon say “Haste makes waste.”

Editor's note: If you were wondering, yes, this entire shitty article was written so that one joke could be made at the end (more like rear end...okay, that's enough).

Quick Review: Timex Dive Watch, a Gentleman's Timepiece?

I had received this dive watch in praise of my achievements from an institute of higher education. The watch is exquisite, however I was irresolute on whether or not to keep the timepiece. For one, it is only rated to a depth of 100 meters. I frequently and leisurely free dive to depths well beyond the range of 100 meters, typically to wrestle with giant squid. Subsequently, the wristwatch is only shock resistant. The utilization of a watch only capable of being resistant to shocks is not well suited to my rugged way of life; a time keeping instrument must be shock 'proof' to find its way onto my wrist. In addition, the watch I received displayed a yellow face, largely indicative of cowardice. I for one am no coward, hence my mention of battling giant squid. And lastly, but most importantly, I only wear Rolex timepieces. Good day.

Guest Editorial: Fat American Pigdog Parents Ruin Their Children

Greathouse of Humor got a lot of responses to yesterday's article about the American Idol parents, this one in particular stood out to us.

Recently, I read article on this site about two bourgeoisie parents supporting their offspring in fruitless endeavor that accomplish nothing but stripping needed resource from rest of society. One parent even said, “I told my son he could be an astronaut, a football or baseball player, even a famous singer.” This perfectly highlights spineless, greedy way fat American parent decide to raise their offspring. Why are you letting this child have choice in what they do when they reach adulthood? I had three children, and within two weeks of being born I assign them career which they would be trained in for next 18-20 years. Do you think Han, my glorious first-born son wanted to be doctor when he was four? I tell him, “Look little rat, you do this or I take away abacus.” Then he start learning periodic table, along with rigorous course in Latin and algebra.

The weakling parents in the article “supported” their child to the point of taking acting lessons to act surprise when child’s unrealistic aspirations come crashing down. Why? So the ungrateful, lazy offspring wouldn’t cry? True support for your child is to be strong, unyielding foundation of rock that forces your child to do what best for them. When Han used to cry into his pillow late in night, because of sheer exhaustion from eight hour academic lesson after school or hunger pangs from having his dinner withheld due to poor performance in partial fraction decomposition, I was there latching deadbolt on bedroom door every night.

I remember one day when Han told me that he wanted to go outside and play decadent American football with some capitalist progeny instead of learning how plot in three dimension. Lazy parents would let this travesty occur, with silly excuse of “free time” or “socialization.” Typical American, this is wrong kind of socialism! After I said no and Han asked me second time I slap him across the face and told him his insolence shame entire family and he was treasonous snake, roughly translated. Only after I threaten to unfriend him on Facebook, leaving him friendless, he go back to graphing. Western parents probably find this treatment harsh, but this is because you treat children as weaklings, like you are. If you treat them like strong people, they will become strong people.

While the child in the American Idol article is still living with parent and will continue to be failure in life, my Han is successful heart surgeon making millions every year from fat America. I now live with him in gigantic house, surrounded by decadence only America could come up with. Let your children lay on couch drinking soda, eating your big macs and watching Jersey Shore. My people thank you for it.


-Superior Chinese Mother

Parents of American Idol Contestant Do Their Best to Act Surprised

Bob and Maureen Nelson always knew their child, Alex, couldn’t sing. They were just doing what they thought every parent was supposed to do; feign that it’s possible to accomplish anything they set their mind to.  “I told my son he could be an astronaut, a football or baseball player, even a famous singer,” explains Maureen, “but apparently when I said he could be a famous singer, he took it to heart.” This led to years of instilling false hope in Alex. Bob and Maureen were always selective with who their son sang in front of. Besides Alex’s half-deaf grandmother, he only sang in the presence of his parents, or alone, in the privacy of their own home. Mr. Nelson says, “At times, the singing could be very disturbing, with my son shrieking and moaning; we even had the neighbors call the police once. I told Alex it was a false alarm.” Then, Bob and Maureen pulled off what would be their biggest triumph yet; Alex singing to a crowd of over 100 people at his 13th, Jewish coming-of-age, birthday party. “We paid-off everyone at his Bar Mitzvah to applaud and compliment him after he sang ‘Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go’,” says Mrs. Nelson, “And let me tell ya’, the singing was really terrible, but in the end, it was well worth it. After that, he thought he really was that singer in the band…the one with the hair…George Michaelberg.” 

The insincerity struck an all time high when Alex asked his parents if he should try out for American Idol. Mrs. Nelson innocently reveals, “We knew he would most likely be humiliated on national television and mocked on the Twitter and YouToo [YouTube], but we felt we had invested too much time in building up this fictitious confidence that it would be a waste to stop now.” Bob tries to justify his actions by saying, “I was hoping he would just be so dreadful that he would be cut in the preliminary auditions.” The Nelsons knew it would not be easy to tell Alex he was not a good singer, so they decided it would be best to bring him to the audition when it came to their city.

Mr. and Mrs. Nelson planned out exactly how they were going to act when their son came out of the audition room after being rejected for his horrendous singing. “I knew we would need plenty of tissues, so I hid a small box in my purse in a spot where I could quickly grab them,” describes Mrs. Nelson.  Mr. and Mrs. Nelson even went as far as getting acting lessons.  Bob says, “We didn’t want to come off as disingenuous.” Maureen elucidates, “I needed to know how to act shocked and upset when I really wasn’t going to be, and at the same time be angry with the judges’ poor decision in not choosing Alex.”

Alex and his parents went to an audition, wherein Alex surprised his parents by making it to the celebrity-judge riddled, televised audition.  “Even though we knew he would never make it, we were still nervous,” says Mr. Nelson. During the audition the Nelsons could hear the ear-splitting shrills through the heavy doors.  “I did an interview outside the audition room with Ryan Seacrest and I even told him I wished my son would make it to Hollywood…and I think he believed me,” says Mrs. Nelson. Predictably, Alex came out crying after being eliminated. His mother Maureen was prepared with tissues and an excess of astonishment. Maureen and Bob were questioning the judges, the producers of the show and just in general, spewing skepticism at the cameras.

Mr. Nelson summarizes, “I think it went very well, both Maureen and I remembered what those acting lessons taught us and followed all the steps of the plan we made. Before we even got to the car, we had Alex convinced he was an incredible singer and to tryout again next year.”