Tuesday, April 07, 2009

The S**t Post

      I don't know if you have every watched the show "South Park" on Comedy Central, Company, but they do fantastic satire on all the events of the day. Well, a couple of seasons ago they did an episode in which a TV network said the word s**t in a broadcast and that basically brought about the end of the world. Like, it allowed evil forces and whatnot to come and try to take control, and as usual the four grade-schoolers from South Park, Colorado were able to save things. Well, in the interest of trying to bring about the end of the world, I am going to help contribute by writing my whole post today about s**t.
      The reason is that recently I had the good fortune to literally scare the s**t out of someone. Well, maybe not exactly some "one" but definitely some "thing," and by that I mean a dog. I think that was just fantastic. Here is how s**t went down: Some time ago Guy H. got another dog, and I don't know how he spells her name, because I am sort of a s**tty speller, but I think he spells it Beebs. I, however, call her Hound 2. So anyway, Hound 2 was a little puppy the last time I saw her, and we did some s**t with one another, like lying on the s**tty hammock (which I put my foot through) together, and she lived for a few minutes in the front pocket of my s**tty old sweatshirt that I used to wear everywhere; it was good times. But apparently it didn't mean s**t to Hound 2, whatsoever. Because when I came back to meet her the other day she didn't even remember who I was. So, like many dogs, she decided to jump into the sink. That, I believe, was a s**tty decision, because there were dishes in the sink and plus she smacked herself on the faucet, and that probably hurt and made her feel like s**t.
      After she fell out of the sink, presumably because it was all wet and s**tty in there, she decided that her best course of action pertaining to me was to go ahead and just hide behind Guy and bark, as would be expected. The grand moment came when Garm, in an effort to foster interspecies peace and most likely to stop her from barking, picked up Hound 2 and brought her over to meet me. And the result was completely predictable. Like most women, the prospect of having to get close to me literally made her s**t on the floor. Oh yeah. True story. I was talking to Garm, Hound 2 was just sort of shaking, and I herd two little plops. I knew instantly what it was. Dog poop hitting linoleum from an altitude of about four feet has an unmistakable sound. Like, if you were sitting at school on a Friday morning and you heard that sound come over the loudspeaker, you turn to your friend and be like "Holy s**t! A dog just s**t all over the counter in Principal Cox's office!" Then you'd laugh until you s**t yourself, especially if you herd him or the secretary start freaking out over the same PA system. But anyhow, I heard that sound and I looked down and there is was: one big old piece of s**t and two little pieces of s**t. The state police accident reconstruction specialist would later determine that there was a dingleberry involved because we found another piece of s**t a few feet away in the direction that she ran. But we didn't find out about that until later. Luckily for Garm, the s**t, both pieces of s**t actually, landed within about a half inch of her shoe but missed, so I said "Your dog just s**t on the floor." Garm freaked out and dropped Hound 2, who took off running towards the sink again, as would be expected. Somewhere on the way across the kitchen she released her dingleberry and dropped the last piece of s**t to the ground. Guy H, being the stand-up gentleman that he is, cleaned up the s**t off the floor, but it still sort of smelled like s**t. Dogs**t actually, because the dog had just s**t on the floor. I just told you that. So Guy had to spray some s**t to make the house smell lovely again. And it did. And that was that.
     So yeah, as you can see I literally scared the s**t out of Hound 2. Either that or Garm-o squeezed it out of her like she was a tube of toothpaste or something. But I would like to think that it was me, which is alright because I have never done that before, and I feel that it is something that everyone should do. And I don't give two s**ts if you agree with me or not. Now, one might make the argument that I should be upset about this: devastated even. But I think that's full of s**t. I get it, that it is really not a good thing for some being to be so upset with you and afraid of you that they literally cannot control their sphincter and s**t comes plopping out onto the floor. But I think it is. I really, really, do. Everyone should be, at least for one moment in their life, so intimidating to another being that the other being needs a change of underpants. I am not s**tting you. And you know I am right.

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