Canadian Poop Clap


My dad, like me, is fascinated by dollar-type stores, so he got the kids gift certificates to a place called “Five Below,” and took them there to get their presents. Rex bought this game:

The name of the game is the game

Karena texted me from the store for permission for Rex to buy it because it has poop content. Several months ago I forbade Rex to purchase a stuffed poop emoji, even with his own money. (Later he got my MIL to buy it for him – she thought it was a chocolate ice cream). Despite the content of this blog, and the content of my life – Rex’s nickname is Cloggo and Coach Jr’s nickname is Soggo – you cannot have poop-related toys and games in this house. Amended rule: Karena asking my permission for things puts me in an uncharacteristically good mood and thereby lenient.


Not ice cream.

The game is basically like charades. About 700 of the cards are emojis (you get 741 cards; this is awesome – until you spill them). Thirteen are category prefixes like “70s” or “TV show.” The rest are  golden poop emojis used for score tokens. (The Engrish instruction book calls the banker the “poopmaster” –  amazing) Guess three emoji puzzles right and you win. But it has to be three in a row since you lose one for each wrong guess, so if you have three people with totally different cultural/age backgrounds…prepare for a long game.


Rex: He’s a character from Pokemon!

Me: You’ve never heard of the Opium War?

Not only that, but good luck making anything sensible out of like, a wheelchair, a rooster, and a sad face.

So I bent the rules and just went with simple rebuses


Me: Close, but not quite.  You lose a golden poo.

Rex: Canadian poop clap?




wt: 172.8

t/h: 58/94%

CGB: 215 x 6; 225,235,245 x 3

HBPS: 255 x 2; 265,275,285 x 1

BTN: 161,162.5,163.5 x 1

SGDL+3: 305,335 x 2

RC: 85 x 5

WSF: 5.5 x 3


time: 1:04

Fri, 12/30/16

wt: 170.8

t/h: 45/61%

FP: 235,245,255,265 x 3

S: 295,325,345 x 3

MP: 185,187.5 x 1

SLDL+2: 275,305 x 2

WSG: 3 x 5


time: 1:01


10 thoughts on “Canadian Poop Clap

      • My folks were the suspicious type as well. Last week I found out that my mom had gone to some suicide awareness thing at my high school when I was a teenager. This led her to hide all the tylenol in the house. The real joke is that I wasn’t even suicidal/depressed as a teenager; I had hopes and dreams back then.

        • “The real joke is that I wasn’t even suicidal/depressed as a teenager; I had hopes and dreams back then.”

          That’s too real for me, man.

        • Oh, speaking of parents, mine sent me this article today:

          They said it seems like something I’d do.

          Spending my senescence painstakingly alone, walking the same riverbank over and over, every day, for hours on end. Carefully logging each futile lap as a pale synecdoche of a far grander circumnavigation. Busting my Goddamned hip and being reduced to pacing around a fucking parking garage. Finally reaching the goal that is actually impressive in how disproportionately costly it was to reach relative to how unimportant and unimpressive it was. And then, having finally lost even that glimmering bit of lunacy, the decay sets in before my body even goes cold.

          Fuck my life, that does sound like me.

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