Tag Archives: TMI Thursday

TMI Thursday: Attack of the Feminine Product

And yes.  I’m male.

So I’m sitting at my desk chatting with a whole bunch of co-workers.  I turn my chair and my coat falls on the ground.

Female Coworker: “Hey, your coat fell, you might want to pick it up.”

Me: “Oh thanks!”

So I grab my coat and pick it up and hang it on the back of my chair.

The room suddenly gets really quiet.

So I turn around, and notice everyone staring, mouth agape, at the floor under my chair.

After an awkward pause.

FC: “Uhh, is that what I think it is?”

Fuck.  What did I just drop?  A condom?  Did I have a bottle of lube in my pocket?  A vibrator?  A 12 inch dildo?  Shitshitshitshitshit what did I have in that coat??????

I look down…. and the blood rushes from my head.

Keeping in mind that there are now 5 of my co-workers standing around….

And there, sitting on the floor, under my chair was…..

a tampon.

It was very clear to the entire room that the tampon came from my coat.  There was no other explanation.

Uhhhh what do I say? Err uhhh I get really bad nose bleeds a lot and so I keep it around just incase? No no no they won’t buy that.  Uhhh I have a tendency to crap my pants, so when I’m really really nervous I pop it on in just incase?  Yuck.  No.  Uhhhh shit I’m running out of time.  Quick! What’s the excuse here?????

So, I did the only thing I could think of at that moment:  I said oops yep, picked it up, and put it right back in my inside pocket in my jacket as if this was completely normal.

Keeping in mind that my face was 17 shades of red.

I guess I must have shoved one in my pocket for GF at some point in the past and forgotten about it.  Can we all say “whooooooops” together now?

Oh well.  I guess it could have always been worse.

It could have been used.

(Pause for “Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwws”)

ToBlogOr's Pocket Buddy

ToBlogOr's Pocket Buddy

But wait, there’s more!

In honor of TMI Thursday – I am posting a list of my favorite TMI Search terms from this past week.  Keep in mind, not only were these people searching for these disgusting things…. they found MY blog using them.

TMI Thursday: Search Terms Edition


  • how long it takes to poop out food
  • naked hairy man on bed
  • two muscular hairy guys fucking
  • men with really hairy butts
  • smurf asshole
  • i have hair everywhere
  • i have a hard time passing my poop out
  • hairy balls porn
  • what do genital crabs look like
  • i hate pooping in public bathrooms (Amen brotha!)
  • suck a christmas dick
  • old farts on bicycles
  • fat ball sack
  • gay hairy asshole
  • “i had bad gas” fart
  • gravity and pooping
  • how long it takes you to poop
  • how long to push for pooping
  • sexy bathroom poop
  • toilet paper stuck in crack
  • hairy muscle gay bears
  • guys poop more then women
  • how to get rid of little bitches
  • hair continues down neck women hairy
  • why does my girlfriend act like a little bitch

And my favorite for the week:

  • do all dogs have hairy ass holes

So, with that, I wish you all a fabulously fantastic TMI Thursday!

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TMI Thursday: TP Philosophy

Toilet paper usage is a highly under-discussed philosophical issue that I have decided to bring to the forefront of our TMI Thursday work.

Over or Under?

Over or Under?

I find this issue to be important enough that I will refrain from my usual joking around, and play this completely straight.  With that in mind, let us proceed.

A quote from Wikipedia:

Although paper had been known as a wrapping and padding material in China since the 2nd century BC, the first use of toilet paper in human history dates back to the 6th century AD, in early medieval China. In 589 AD the scholar-official Yan Zhitui (531–591) wrote about the use of toilet paper:

“Paper on which there are quotations or commentaries from Five Classics or the names of sages, I dare not use for toilet purposes”.

Further:

Wealthy people used wool, lace or hemp for their ablutions, while less wealthy people used their hand when defecating into rivers, or cleaned themselves with various materials such as rags, wood shavings, leaves, grass, hay, stone, sand, moss, water, snow, maize husks, fruit skins, or seashells, and corn cobs, depending upon the country and weather conditions or social customs. In Ancient Rome, a sponge on a stick was commonly used, and, after usage, placed back in a bucket of saltwater.

Uhhhhh can we say OOOOOUUUUUCCCCHHHH???  Stone??  Sand???  Wood shavings?  Good lord.  My ass can’t even handle the single ply stuff, let alone one of those things.  I can’t even imagine.

“Hey Bill, gotta shit.  Looks like the bathroom is out of rocks.  You mind grabbing a handful of pebbles for me on your way in?”

Yikes.

Oh wait, I was supposed to play this blog entry “straight” – sorry about that.

Where was I?

Anyway, the reason I bring this up is that I faced a philosophical issue when I was on my trip to London recently.

Wait wait wait.  Hold on.  I’m getting way ahead of myself.  Let me take a step back again.

So, let’s talk shit basics.

Step 1:  Pull down your pants/underwear

Step 2:   Sit on the toilet – preferably with the seat down

Step 3:  Flex the muscles that control your anal sphincter

Step 4:  Do a crossword puzzle, read a magazine, etc

Step 5:  Shit magically drops out of your butt-hole and into the toilet

Step 6:  Grab some toilet paper and wipe

Step 7:  Repeat step 6 until no more shit is left

Step 8:  Flush

(and no, we are not going to talk about the philosophy of the courtesy flush.  This is an entry about TP – let’s give it the time it deserves.  Ok??)

So, let’s examine step 6 & 7. 

My question is:  how much toilet paper do you take when you wipe your ass?

My answer is:  it’s different every time.

I mean, depending on the consistency and quantity of crap, it all varies.  At first I grab a nice handful and do a scouting run.  Depending on the results, I will vary my usage.

  • The drippier the result, the more I use, and the more I crumple the TP.
  • If the crap is fairly hard, I might not need to wipe again (although I always do, just in case I missed something the first time).  In this scenario I usually just use 2-3 squares folded neatly.

We all do this kind of thing.  There is really no question about it.  In fact, it really sucks when you have to use an alien bathroom and the toilet paper dispenser doesn’t work quite like you want it to.  This means you can’t follow your normal TP philosophy.  An example is when the toilet paper roller isn’t well oiled and it’s hard to get any more than 1 square at a time. 

I f’n hate that. 

Or how about when the roller is TOO well oiled, and when you pull off your expected amount, a huge pile of TP forms on the ground, as the roll comes… well….. completely unrolled. 

This brings up so many other questions, such as, do I really want to wipe my ass with TP that’s touched the floor in a public bathroom?  Probably not…. but I also don’t want to be that guy who leaves a huge pile of TP sitting on the floor.  It’s wasteful, it looks nasty, and it’s embarrassing if the guy in the next stall over notices (I mean, who wants to look like they suck at pulling toilet paper off a roll??)

As you can see, I’ve put a lot of thought into this.

Anyway, it might be time for me to get to my point….

Recently, I took a trip to London.  On that trip, I learned that public bathrooms in that city are fantastic.  Clean and well maintained.  In fact, some of the bathrooms in the malls there were treated better than the one I use at work!  It was fantabulistically grand.

Except for 1 thing

The toilet paper dispensers were all fucked up.

While everything was normal in my hotel room, in public areas, they all had the same kind of toilet paper dispenser.  And they all did the same god-damn thing.

They rationed toilet paper.

Apparently there must be a shortage of toilet paper in the UK, because these fuckers were calibrated exactly the same.  When you grab some TP from the dispenser, it will only give you 2 sheets of toilet paper, with exactly 2 squares each.  You see, there’s no roll, just a big pile of pre-sized TP sheets.

What the hell??

Did someone decide that we’re not smart enough to decide how much toilet paper is appropriate for our own ass?  How did they decide that this was the perfect amount of TP for each wipe?? 

I’m sorry, but 1 size does not fit all!!

Let’s consider this for a moment.  By controlling the serving size of the TP, they have actually altered the physics of wiping. 

Really?  C’mon.  It’s just toilet paper.  How can you start bringing up lofty topics like physics when talking about wiping your ass?

Because if there were a Journal of the Physics of Ass-Wiping, I would be the editor.  You see, it is physically impossible to create an effective crumpled ball of toilet paper from separate sheets containing only 2 squares.  If you are REALLY bored and want to know the science behind this, go here.

Oh whatEVER.  Suck it up buddy and wipe your ass.

Shut up and pay attention. 

You see, your options are pretty much limited to the “fold and wipe” when you only have 2 squares to work with.  This is a problem when you are traveling long distances overseas and your digestive system is unhappy with the overall situation.  Why?  Because it could mean that your ass is a wee bit more drippy than usual.  Or a LOT more drippy than usual.  Or just a freakin’ faucet. 

So?? It’s not like you’ve never encountered that problem before.  Quit your complaining and wipe your ass like a man.

You aren’t paying attention.  Stay with me here.

So, wet shit soaks through thin sheets of TP, which is why the crumple works so well.  By crumpling the TP you  increase surface area, as well as the distance between your hand and your shit.  These are 2 very important concepts, because……

When you can’t do the crumple effectively, you know what you get?

SHIT ALL OVER YOUR HAND.

Or in this case, shit all over my hand.

This is not exactly a preferred result of ass wiping.

Oh stop, why can’t you put together a whole bunch of those sheets and form a nice crumpled ball?

Physics my dear inner-voice, physics.  It’s because the sheets aren’t connected. 

In order to form an effective crumple ball, you need at least 5-8 sheets.  When the sheets aren’t connected, and you crumple them up, it doesn’t guarantee they are going to stay together.  It’s not like they’re glued together.  No, you see, it takes very little force to jiggle 1 or 5 of those single serving sheets free from the crumple ball.  And when I say “very little force,” things such as gravity, or a slight northeast breeze on the western plains of Mongolia, are enough to jiggle things free.

What does that mean?

MORE SHIT ON MY HANDS.

and even worse?

A shit covered piece of toilet paper sitting on my lap.

Ew.

———————————————————————

When visiting London, there were many cultural differences that I observed, but it was the variance in their ass-wiping philosophy that was the most shocking.

After a week, I was finally able to identify the driver of the philosophical difference: diet

The lack of fiber in the British diet eventually made me super-constipated.  Hard shit means less toilet paper usage.

I guess that explains why the British always have pained looks on their faces.

 

TP Philosophy

TMI Thursday: Work Edition

I’m pretty sure this is going to be the best (worst?) TMI Thursday post ever.  LiLu over at Live, it Love it inspired me with her post on Tuesday about her first day of work.  And it got me thinking about my first day at my last job.

I learned a lot that first day of work, and 1 important lesson will stick with me for a lifetime.

You know when you buy new shoes you can “wear them out” of the store?  Well, apparently you can do the same thing with new boxers at the Gap.

Maybe I should start at the beginning……

It was April 2005 and I was massively nervous.  Why?  Because I was just about to embark on a new job and a completely new career.  Even though I was brand spankin’ new at this stuff, I’m not completely moronic, and was able to negotiate myself into a pretty nice position at my shiny new company.  That said, while all my peers were about my age, they were also all significantly more experienced than me. 

I hate it when people know more than me.  It makes me nervous.  Being nervous gives me gas.  And I had bad gas.  Really bad gas.

It started right at the beginning of the day, when I transformed from ToBlogOr the sterling-new-employee, to ToBlogOr the fart-o-matic.

 Work Edition

To the front desk assistant:

Me: Good morning! I’m ToBlogOr, it’s my first day. *fartfart* I’m supposed to meet Lisa – where should I go? *fartfartaudiblefartfart*

FDA: Welcome! Just go ahead and sit down in the waiting room and I’ll call up for her.  She’ll be here momentarily.

Me: Ok! *fartfartfart*

Me: *Waiting* *fartfartfartreallystinkyfartfart*

*Lisa walks in, breathing normally*

L: Good morning ToBlogOr! coughcough It’s coughcough nice to coughcough see you.  Hmm it smells like someone might have left rotting carcasses spilled something in here, lets coughcough go out to a conference room to talk. coughcough

Me: Uhhh, yeah, I noticed it uhh smelled a little funny when I uhhhh walked in.

L (while walking with me down the hall): Oh hi Steve, this is ToBlogOr, he’s just starting with us today.

Me: Hi Steve, great to meet you! *fartfartfart*
 
S: Great to meet you.  Looking forward to coughcoughcoughgagcoughcough Excuse me please. *walks away dry heaving*
 
Me: Who was that?
 
L: Oh, Steve?  He’s the president of the company.
 
Me: Oh.  *fartfartfartfartfartfartfartfartfartfart*
 
So, let’s review. 
 
I’ve been at my new job for about 15 minutes and I’ve already gassed the secretary, the HR lady, and the president of the company.  In fact, in those 15 minutes, my ass was the 4th largest gas producer on Earth.
 
Great. 
 
I’m so fucked.  I can see it already, Steve is going to go talk to the IT guy about the smelly new guy and my email address is going to be fartface03@company.com
 
So anyway,  Lisa and I talk for about an hour and I do my best to keep my butt cheeks clamped as tight as possible.  Last thing I need is a police investigation about the death of a local DC HR officer from unknown sulfur and methane gas emissions.
 
We finish, and I’m off to find my new desk and computer. 
 
Unfortunately, the company has been running out of office space, so instead of having a nice little office or cubicle to myself, which could privately contain my gaseous emissions….. they stick me at a desk in the middle of the hallway, right next to the main printer.
 
FUCK!
 
So, for the next 2 hours or so, I basically gas every employee at the company.  They must have thought I wasn’t very nice, since I was so embarrassed I never even looked up when someone walked by or stopped at the printer.
 
Ok, ok.  Enough of this.  I should go to the bathroom and see if I can do anything about this problem. 
 
So I search out the bathroom, sulfur smell in hot pursuit.
 
[Editor’s note:  Why hadn’t I gone to the bathroom earlier?  Well, if you haven’t been keeping tabs, I’m not a huge fan of pooping in public bathrooms.  But since my career was at stake here, I had to suck it up.]
 
As I’m trying to decide which stall looks best, I feel a HUGE fart coming on… since I was alone in the bathroom, and without thinking, I just let ‘er RIP.
 
Except.
 
It wasn’t a fart.
 
KABLOOOOOIEE!!!!!!
 
I just shit my pants.
 
And I didn’t just shit my pants.  I totally explosively diarrhea’d my pants.
 
You know the saying “shit rolls downhill” right?  Well, apparently it drips down the leg as well.
 
There aren’t enough expletives on earth to explain what went through my mind in that moment.  Thankfully, I’m a quick thinker, and just about as fast I could, I dove into the closest stall, whipped off my pants/boxers, and planted my ass on the toilet.
 
Problem solved, right?  NOOOOOOOOOO!
 
Problem 1: I had a pair of boxers that were absolutely destroyed.  And when I say destroyed, I mean completely shit soaked.  The biggest problem is that boxers are un-flushable.  The last thing I needed right then was to clog a toilet, so I had to figure out what to do with them.  It was like I had just murdered someone and had to dispose of the murder weapon.  Except in this case, the murder weapon was a pair of extra-soiled boxers.
 
Problem 2:  I was in possession of a very nice pair of khaki’s with a huge brown shit stain from the ass part right down my leg. 
 
Work Edition

What. The. Fuck. Do. I. Do.

Here it is my first day of work, I’ve gassed out the whole company, and now I’ve shit my pants.  There’s no way I can walk out of the bathroom without any pants on and still keep my job.  But, if I wear my pants, there’s no way I can get through the day without people barfing on me from the smell.

I tried to quickly formulate a plan. 

Hmm this toilet paper is pretty hardy.  Maybe I can weave it together tightly into a new pair of boxers and pants.  Damnit, if only I had my loom. 

I created a small diaper out of TP, but it ended up sort of looking like a thong.  Since I’m not really a thong kind of guy, I decided it was best to just go commando and I put my pants back on.

Then I waited.

Once the coast was clear – in one swift cat-like motion I exploded out of the stall while simultaneously shoving my tp-wrapped soiled boxers as far down into the trashcan as I could get them.

I had several things going for me at that moment.  Firstly, it was lunchtime, so not too many people were around, and secondly, the bathroom was right next to the stairwell.

Out of the bathroom and down the stairs I bounded – going 6 floors in a world record time of 4.2 seconds.

I ran out onto the street.

FREE!! WOO!! I’m out!!

Uhhhh. What do I do now?

Since it was my first day on the job and I didn’t really know the area, I had no idea where to go. Luckily I had my cell phone on me, and I called the only person I could think of. 

My girlfriend.

I spoke quickly and gave just the most relevant facts.

Me: Shit myself. Need new pants quickly.  In middle of DC.  Where do I go?

Her: ……………

Thankfully, there was a Gap only about 4 blocks from me.  After sprinting to the store, hoping no one caught a glimpse/whiff, I was able to purchase a new pair of pants and some boxers.  My career was saved!

Oh, and there was 1 positive that came out of all of this.

At least I didn’t have to fart anymore.

TMI Thursday: Thanksgiving Edition

“I dare you to do it”

6 of the worst words I’ll ever hear.

Why?  Because I don’t like people questioning my manhood. 

Of fucking course I’ll do it.  You dare me, and I’m going to prove you wrong.  Not only prove you wrong, but I’m gonna make you look bad when I do it. 

It was Thanksgiving 1995.  I was over at my buddy J’s house, as usual.  I’ve been going to his house for Thanksgiving dinner for 20 years now.  Why?  Because his mom is a freaking amazing gourmet chef.  Going to their house for Thanksgiving is 1 of my 2 favorite days of the year.  The other is the $35 all-you-can-eat sushi gluttony-fest during the Cherry Blossom Festival at Sushi Taro.

So what I’m saying here is that I spend weeks preparing myself so that I could gorge myself with as much food as possible, during the 2 or 3 hours over dinner.

But I digress… Where was I?

Oh yes, 1995.  I had a fro.  I’m pretty sure I was wearing an untucked plaid flannel shirt and acid washed jeans.  Of course, that in itself should qualify for TMI Thursday.

I tried to find an appropriate picture to post to give you a better idea of how badly dressed I was, but apparently google images burned all fashion pictures from 1995.  It’s probably for the best.

Anyway, me and my badly dressed self were sitting at the table with 25 other ravenous people, tearing at the turkey like lions on a wildebeest.

I was thirsty, after piling forkful after forkful of tasty cooked muscle and flesh down my throat.

Luckily, my buddy J had just brought a large pitcher of water to the table, much like the one below:

 Thanksgiving Edition

Sort of off handedly I sad something like, “I’m so thirsty, I could chug that entire pitcher.”

His response was swift, “No you can’t.  Not without puking.”

Are you saying that this pitcher of water is better than me?  Are you questioning my testicular fortitude?  Are you calling me a girly-man? 

ARE YOU????

“Oh yeah I can, no doubt about it.” I replied confidently.

We went back and forth about the pitcher for a couple of moments, and suddenly we had an audience.  People I knew and didn’t know started making side bets about whether I could do it.

And then the coup de grâce:

“I dare you to do it.”

I heard it over my shoulder, and I knew I was in trouble.  It was my Dad.

Who wants to let their dad down…. so there was no backing down now.  And suddenly I was the main attraction of the evening.

Sleeves got rolled up.  My belt loosened. 

I lifted the glass pitcher to my lips, and the chugging commenced – and just like at a college frat party, I had people chanting “Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!”

Down the water went, coursing down my esophagus just about as fast as I could pour it.

I could feel my stomach expanding….. bigger…… and bigger……. bigger than I had ever felt it before.

As I finished the last few drops of the pitcher, I had a weird feeling.  A really weird feeling.  It was sort of a combination between pain and extreme fullness.  Like I had reached the point that my stomach would burst at its seams.

And then I realized I was in trouble.  On a normal day, I would have been able to chug that pitcher no problem (living in a Frat with lots of football players provided a fabulous education about how to chug beer out of a pitcher properly, so water was easy).  But today was not a normal day.  It was Thanksgiving.  This meant that, along with the water, my stomach was already filled to the brim with a super yummy Thanksgiving dinner.

Uh oh.

I excused myself from the table, and said I had to go to the walk outside.  Get some air.

Out I went into the brisk evening air.  I paced.  With each step, my body sloshing audibly. 

I couldn’t decide if I felt like I was going to burst like a water balloon, or maybe I just had to pee…. or perhaps this is what the onset of water poisoning feels like.

I swallowed, trying to help calm things down.

Have you ever seen an avalanche?  It always starts with a single rock falling…. and then it picks up steam and more and more and MORE AND MORE AND AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIGGGHHH AAAAAVVVAAAAALLLLLAAAAAANNNNNCCCCCCHHHHHEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This would be an accurate description of the next 3 to 5 minutes of my life.

Yes, I lost the bet.  My pride took a pretty big hit, and I still hear about it to this day. 

But all was not lost.

I cleared enough room to have Thanksgiving dinner all over again!

—————————————————-

Happy Thanksgiving!

The Poop Time Principle

Poop is like income tax.  Neither are pleasant when you consider them singularly… but when you put them in context, both are great.

  • Taxes: Giving money to the government is no fun, but having to pay income tax means that I have a job, which is a positive.  There are also all sorts of super useful and important government programs that my taxes help fund.  Things such as the $221,490 the government gave for the Brown Mansion in Coffeyville, KS because it is believed to be a site of paranormal activity and has recently been popular for ghost hunters looking for a scare.  I used to love the X-files and thought Scully was hot.  If the government wants to use my tax money to fund a real-life Fox Mulder and Scully, then I’m all for it.

The Poop Time Principle

  • Poop: Pooping means my digestive system is still mostly intact and that I have cleared room so I can eat more food.  I like to eat, so clearing room is very important.  Pooping is also important for other reasons that I’m about to discuss.

The point here is, if we didn’t have either, we’d be up shit’s creek (cue groans).

So, why do I want to talk about poop today?  Well, in honor of the whole TMI Thursday thing (known here as Randomly Rambunctious Remarks III), I want to discuss “Poop Time.”

“Poop Time” could refer to the amount of time it takes you to push some poop out of your body, but that’s just icky and it’s not what I’m talking about. 

Let me tell explain.

Growing up, I was a fast pooper.  I was always in and out of the bathroom within 90 seconds at the most.  It actually became lore among people who knew me well.

And then there’s my Dad.  (Hi Dad!  Look, another mention in my blog! You’re famous!)

When I was growing up, every day after breakfast my Dad, along with several sections of the newspaper, would disappear into the downstairs bathroom for 15 or 20 minutes.  It was such a routine that I made sure I read the sports section before breakfast just so I wouldn’t interrupt it.

The thing is, I always wondered what he did in there.  I mean, I figured he was reading, but I couldn’t understand why he would need to.  For me, it was a waste to bring a book into the bathroom, since I would barely make it through a page or 2 before I was done.

This was all so very confusing…. so one day I finally just asked. 

“Dad, why do you spend so much time pooping?”

And that’s when I learned about the stunning principle of “Poop Time.”

Poop Time refers to the block of time that a person is in the bathroom, but it’s all a cover. 

It’s really bonding time with ourselves. 

You see, to most of the known universe, the concept of someone else’s poop is disgusting.  I’m pretty sure we’re born with the knowledge that bothering someone while they are pooping is, using a technical term here, yucky.  By taking advantage of this principle, a person can legitimately book a significant amount of guaranteed uninterrupted time every day, under the guise of pooping.  Everyone needs alone time, which is especially hard to get when you are at work or at home with your family. 

My Dad told me¹ that it was Sir Isaac Newton who first discovered the Poop Time Principle.  Apparently Newton was on the toilet dropping a deuce when he formulated the concept of gravity.  The problem was that he wouldn’t have any credibility if he told the rest of the world that he discovered this groundbreaking concept while looking at some medieval porn on the shitter.  No, another story needed to be created.

Newton puzzled over this conundrum for hours while relaxing outside under a tree.  Suddenly, out of nowhere, an apple fell and knocked him pretty hard on the head.  While rubbing the rapidly growing bump on his oversized noggin, he realized something: with all of the distractions in the world, he did his best thinking while sitting on the toilet.

The Poop Time Principle

Thus the Poop Time Principle was conceived.  Eureka! 

Newton then realized that he could use the falling apple thing as his cover story for discovering gravity, and it would also be a secret tribute to his more impactful discovery of the Poop Time Principle. 

From that point on, fathers from all over the world have taught their sons the importance of the Poop Time Principle.  With the advent of women’s rights, some pioneering women have also learned to apply the principle as well.

Just as my father taught me about it, I will pass this knowledge along to my children one day.

You probably didn’t know it, but today is the 300th anniversary of the discovery of the Poop Time Principle.  On November 20th, 1708 Newton’s poop changed history.

So, in honor of this anniversary, I ask you to take an extra moment while in the bathroom today and appreciate your alone time.

I did, because that’s where I wrote this entry. 

¹This may or may not be true.