Poop

I pooped on Abe Foreman’s floor. Not because the toilet was broken. Not because I am a jerk. I pooped on the floor at the request of Mr. Froman. It started as a joke. Abe kept telling me what a good idea it would be to poop on some laid out construction paper, then transfer the steamer to a small gift box lined with gift wrap paper. During this very low point in my life, I realized why we poop into a bowl filled with water. By submersing this new born in water, it would have hidden the vapor that quickly traveled through his entire house while making a pit stop to our noses. The stench was unbearable and could actually be seen in the air given the right lighting. It was the kind of stink that you must close your mouth around. I would like to come up with some comparison of the smell but only the word poop is comes to mind. I will attempt to describe the odor: It was the most open a window, hide your nose in your shirt, what died in there, give me a bucket funk that ever punched me in the nose. I would rather bob for finger nails in a punch bowl filled with vomit. (Yes, it was that bad). When Abe came to pick my fecal infant for its photo shoot, he could barely keep his kosher dinner down. The gagging odor didn’t stop this cretin from getting as close as possible to this loaf. For a moment, I questioned why he didn’t use the digital cameras zoom feature? Then I realized it was because he is a repugnant, foul, disturbing bastard. This one wasn’t like The Thinker. I was completely uncertain how the consistency of this little brown Abe doll was going to be. The warmth and pressure surrounding the rim were telling me it was going to be soupy mess resembling melting milk duds in a bullion broth. I knew it was going to exit fast! I was very close to aborting my mission to avoid a warm brownish green run off from hitting the cracks in the tile. As this uncooked premi started crowning, I questioned if I should carefully bunny hop to the thrown to avoid a steamy mess from running underneath the door into the hallway. I stayed the course. To my surprise, it wasn’t the soaked lawn clippings I anticipated. It wasn’t as solid as I would have liked it to be. It was as moldable as soft serve. I am pretty sure it would take the form of whatever container it was placed in. The stance I took to drop this trout was identical to the stance Sloth took to stop that boulder from trapping the Goonies. With my back braced against the wall in a squatting position, hovering over the construction paper, I realized how incredibly uncomfortable it is to poop without a throne. I know the human race has been pooping outside for the majority of our history but I have just gotten spoiled. I almost caught a bit of stage fright. My bung was obviously confused and uncomfortable due to the fact that I had to use a little ab power to push out this Baby Ruth. I was however a little disturbed once I started the wiping process. For such a little pile it sure did create havoc on and around my o-ring. I must have used half a roll of 2 ply just to clean off my bag and my warm sensitive clean out. It looked like I just sat on a chocolate cream pie naked. I wanted to take a picture. It resembled a picture of a 1 year olds first birthday cake smashed all over its face. The reason for this unnatural act of defecation is still unknown to me, but I ask you, if your best friend asked you to crap on his floor and transfer it into a gift box… Isn’t that the least you can do to reward several years of loyalty? Bottom line, I have the worlds most disturbing and twisted friends.