I will treat you all to a story, that I have told before, and that is unfortunately true. It would
have to be, I mean there is no reason to make up what you are about to
read. Some of you know the story already and to you I ask that you
either suffer through yet another retelling or simply go away and leave
me with what dignity I still have. Those of you that do not know the
story, please to enjoy as I tell you the story of "Cheeks and the self imposed Dirty Sanchez!"
A
few winter seasons ago I found myself home alone with a day off from
work and nothing much to do. I was lounging around the apartment while
tooling around the information super highway. I was two cups of coffee
into my day when I felt the first grumblings of a sweet AMS (Awesome
Morning Shit) and I decided I would kill two birds with one stone and
refill my coffee mug on the way back from the commode. I dropped off my
coffee mug in the kitchen and took my normal position for a nice
movement. It was quite uneventful and after a few moments my crap
sausages were completely deposited into their watery grave. I then began
the paperwork part and a little background info is needed here: I am
usually a three wipe and done guy, unless there are extenuating
circumstances i.e. the brown apple splatters - in which case it might
just be easier to get in the shower and deal with it than going through
wipe after wipe trying and clean that up. But as I said this was an
uneventful evacuation and after the first wipe I did the wipers version
of "spell check" and inspected the paper and found that it was unmarred
by the second wiping. Wow I almost had myself a "Walk Away" awesome indeed.
After
I flushed the fetid tootsie turds I made for the kitchen to fetch
myself a fresh cup of coffee. I added cream and sugar, stirred, sample
taste, ahhh, perfect, and started back toward the computer. A few steps
removed from the kitchen I found myself the recipient of a wriggling ass
itch. You know the kind where it makes you do a little dance before you
even get to dig in and it feels like something is burrowing its way
into your rectum. Well, I got that approximately 10 seconds before I got
one of those itches across the tip of my nose that is 49% painful and
51% itch. You know the kind that makes your eyes water in the few
seconds it takes you to get there and scratch it. Well, I had one hand
full with a hot cup of coffee so there was only one solution it would
seem. Use my free hand to scratch both offending areas. Which I
proceeded to do.
Now,
let me tell you what really happened in the bathroom: When I wiped the
first time, two entire squares of TP remained in my colon and formed a
barrier between the second wiping attempt and the horrid mess that so
needed that second (and a third) wipes attention. I dug between my
cheeks with a vengeance attempting to rectify the dreaded crack crickets
that already had me doing the St. Vida's' Dance across the living room.
So much so that on the way back towards my face I didn't notice that
through my boxers I had managed to get a finger full of fecal matter and
proceeded to try and clear up the nose itch that had me ready to
sneeze, spit, and spill my coffee all over the living room.
I immediately began to wretch and had to make my way back to the kitchen and I will leave the rest to your imagination!
Ahhhh yes . . . . one of quite a few shit stories you have in your story holster. Of course, I'm one of the ones who was already familiar with this epid but you can NEVER hear it too many times!!! Which "poo poetry" will be next, I wonder . . . .
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