"Misterrogers" can be found between the orbits of Mars and Jupiter, and is about 218 million miles from the Sun, which it takes about 3½ years to orbit.
The asteroid was formerly known as Number 26858, and was discovered in 1993 by E.F. Helin at Palomar Observatory in California.
<LJ-CUT TEXT="I think these may expire, so here they are for posterity (posteriority?)">
You ruined my poo
Reply to: firstname.lastname@example.org
Date: Fri Apr 25 14:19:44 2003
Yes that's right you ruined my poo. I don't know if it's always you, but after today I imagine it is. Everyday I go to the toilet after lunch to take a nice enjoyable crap. I walk in and if no one is in there I enter a stall pull out a couple butt gaskets, wipe down the seat, drop my pants and plant my ass comfortably on the seat.
I relax and let the poo fall out. I of course then do the courteous thing and flush making sure I or no one else has to stew in my stink. Just when I feel some more poo about to fall you come in. I let it fall and promptly perform the courtesy flush. Why? Because I don't want to sit and smell it so down it goes. You enter the stall. Not just any stall you have to pick the one next to mine! Why!? There are 2 others further away and you choose the one next to me! I'm bothered, but not quite finished yet so I stay there . I now try to speed up the process. Without making great grunting noises I move things along. You on the other hand don't care what noises come out of you. What did you eat!? Jesus! it sounds like you're going to blow the bowl away right out from under your ass!. Grunting and breathing deeply through your whistling nose. It hits the water and you don't flush!! Please Please!!! Learn to flush!! The smell of course reaches my stall and you don't seem to care. You like your own brand I guess, but why subject everyone else to it? Flush damn it!
Quickly I'm trying to finish when I hear your phone ring. To my great surprise you fucking answer it. You answer the phone while you're sitting on the crapper, Jesus what the fuck is wrong with you? So there I am finishing up and listening to you talk on the phone. Can the other person not hear the resonance of the bathroom? Do they not hear the occasional fart rip into the hollow of the bowl? What could you possibly be thinking? What could they be possibly be thinking? Not just any call it sounds like a freaking business call, not your wife, not your girlfriend, not your boyfriend not your mom, but a freaking business call.."yes Phil, I'll send you an e-mail regarding the figures on the Marconi account".
It is at that moment I decide. I finish and before you can hang up I have made the decision. I want the caller to know what kind of freak you are. I decide to just do it.
I flush!! The glorious sound reverberates throughout the room. Before I know it I do it again.
there you bastard! Maybe that will learn you.
An Open Letter To The Poop-Picking Up Girl
Reply to: email@example.com
Date: Sun Apr 27 19:20:26 2003
I just wanted a slice of pizza. It sounded good to me at the time. And so that's why I was in the pizzeria. Eating a slice in the window. And I looked out and saw a very attractive lady, yourself, with a dog.
I know nothing about dogs. Not a thing. So I couldn't tell you what it was. It was medium-sized. Not the tiny, mousy, barky, hateable dogs that gay guys and freakish old women have. And not the oversized dogs that paranoid ladies and loser guys have. Just a medium-sized dog. I don't even remember the color. Obviously I'm not a dog guy.
So, you're attractive and all. And the pizza was quite nice. I'm not even looking for a girl because I have one. I married a lovely woman. A European. And she's great and I'm all set for life, which is really nice. And I don't cheat. Won't cheat. Not in me. I'm not the type. But at this moment I was eating my pizza, and watching an attractive woman and her dog. And the newspaper she was holding.
You really have a lovely body. You're a very attractive lady. Some day you'll meet and marry someone. Not me of course. As I've mentioned, I'm spoken for. But some day. But not that day. And I can imagine not any day in the near future, as long as someone watches you stoop down, hold a newspaper under your dog's ass, and wait for poop. Patiently waiting for poop. And the dog obliged, as they do, delivering a steamy load onto the newsprint poop plate you so casually held under your dog's ass. The pizza, as you can imagine, was ruined. As were my memories of you.
My dear, lose the dog. Or risk dying alone.