(no subject)
Now I know this has nothing to do with the home brew. That’s a side story, completely unrelated.
Last weekend, I went to the local rock bar with a guy from work, and together we drank about 8 pitchers of beer (hey, at 7 bucks a pop, it aint bad) Needless to say, shitfaced doesn’t even begin to describe our condition. Between post mortem beer shits, and zesty southwest omelet for breakfast, I was a mud volcano waiting to happen. My penance, of course, was to have to go Sam’s Club on a Saturday afternoon, during the Christmas rush, with anal leakage so bad my sphincter got chapped from non-aloe wipeage.
So I am at Sam’s Club and I feel my stomach glug (diarrhea, diarrhea)
I occupy the Cadillac of stalls, the handi-capable luxury shitting booth. I proceed to let loose a resounding king’s herald with my butt-trumpet, which makes most of the bathroom giggle, and the child in the stall next to me, laugh outright.
Until the smell wafts over.
Its deathly quiet, except for muffled whimpering coming from the stall next to me.
A voice breaks to silence:
“Jake, what’s wrong son?”
A small boy’s voice replies from within the stall
“Daddy *sniff* *sniff* It SMELLS TOO BAD!!!!!”
And the child begins to cry. Not just teary eyed. Straight bawling. Heaving sobs of wretching disgust.
Deciding that the better part of valor was discretion, I waited until the child left before emerging from my bunker with the largest, most toothy grin you have eve seen.
Yes, my ass smelled so bad, I made a young boy weep like someone ran over his mother in front of him.
I tried to work the phrase “chocolate eruption” in there, but it was more of a pea soup green.
Last weekend, I went to the local rock bar with a guy from work, and together we drank about 8 pitchers of beer (hey, at 7 bucks a pop, it aint bad) Needless to say, shitfaced doesn’t even begin to describe our condition. Between post mortem beer shits, and zesty southwest omelet for breakfast, I was a mud volcano waiting to happen. My penance, of course, was to have to go Sam’s Club on a Saturday afternoon, during the Christmas rush, with anal leakage so bad my sphincter got chapped from non-aloe wipeage.
So I am at Sam’s Club and I feel my stomach glug (diarrhea, diarrhea)
I occupy the Cadillac of stalls, the handi-capable luxury shitting booth. I proceed to let loose a resounding king’s herald with my butt-trumpet, which makes most of the bathroom giggle, and the child in the stall next to me, laugh outright.
Until the smell wafts over.
Its deathly quiet, except for muffled whimpering coming from the stall next to me.
A voice breaks to silence:
“Jake, what’s wrong son?”
A small boy’s voice replies from within the stall
“Daddy *sniff* *sniff* It SMELLS TOO BAD!!!!!”
And the child begins to cry. Not just teary eyed. Straight bawling. Heaving sobs of wretching disgust.
Deciding that the better part of valor was discretion, I waited until the child left before emerging from my bunker with the largest, most toothy grin you have eve seen.
Yes, my ass smelled so bad, I made a young boy weep like someone ran over his mother in front of him.
I tried to work the phrase “chocolate eruption” in there, but it was more of a pea soup green.