Looking into the eyes of old dried up British pompous cunts. Disgusting. Harsh. Eyes evil. Hair dyed. Faces wrinkled. Bodies fat. Phony laughs and phony smiles. Pretending to be talented. Believing in themselves because all their rich boring friends believe in them. Kissing the asses of the talentless.
I left my Mom’s house to go to Bill’s. his girlfriend from Acapulco was there. At the house. Bill’s house. Bill’s parents house. Acapulco was filled with fucks and hangovers and sunburns and drunken days and drunken nights and lots of condoms and lots of shit. LOTS AND LOTS OF SHIT stuffed into our toilet. Our hotel room toilet. Flooded. As usual. Flooding toilets everywhere. My Mom’s. Acapulco. Restaurants. Gas stations. Coffee shops. Acapulco’s toilet the worst. Toilet flooded but no one there to help us. Shitting on top of shit and toilet paper and puke and more shit. The shit was almost to the top. No more room. How did Bill meet a girlfriend?
Anyway, I arrived at Bill’s parents house to see Gabby again. She was cute. Flirty. I fucked her friend in Acaplulco. I used seven condoms to do it. I don’t know why. I was drunk. Fucked and fucked. Sloppy. Very sloppy. Wet. Fat. Girdle on. I have never met a woman who has worn a girdle. I had a tough enough time getting off the bra. Now I have a girdle to deal with. TORTURE. FUCKING CRYSTAL. WANTING GABBY. Always the same. Fucking the one I don’t want.
I arrived at the house and entered. Saw Bill. Saw Gabby. No one else home. First thing I noticed was the beautiful white thick carpet. So fluffy. So soft. So white.
“Nice carpet Bill,” I said.
“Yeah, we just got it put in today. My Mom’s so happy.”
“That’s good.”
“Do you want a beer?” Bill asked.
Dumb question. Of course I wanted a beer. Bill went to grab the Labatt’s Blue (the worst) and I spoke with Gabby. Typical shit.
“How are you? How was your trip? How is school? How is Crystal?”
We both looked at each other and laughed. I still wanted to fuck Gabby but I am sure that is wrong. Bill came back with the beers. Opened them up. Cheersed each other. Chugged. Chugged some more. Beer was shit. Why do people like such shit beer? Minions again. Followers again. Following some FAT NEWFIE DUNSKIE comedian at Balzac’s coffee shop. WHO GIVES A FUCK???
Back to story. Chugged the shit beers with Bill and Gabby. Laughing. Storytelling. Having fun. LIFE AT IT’S BEST. Stomach beginning to rumble. “OH OH”, I thought. Feeling a shit coming on. Can’t hold it any longer. Coming on fast. Squeezing my cheeks together. Don’t fart. Don’t fart.
“Bill, can I use the can?”
“NOOOOOOOO!!! Go to McDonald’s,” he responded quickly.
“Why? C’mon? I need to go. I can’t hold it.” I begged.
“NO. You’re going to flood it.”
My reputation getting the better of me.
“C’mon. Please? I won’t flood it. I promise. Please?” I continued.
“Okay. BUT DON’T FLOOD IT!!!”
I won’t…I promise.”
I ran down the hallway and down the stairs to the bathroom. I opened the door. Fired my pants down to my ankles and sat on the toilet. An explosion into the toilet before I could get comfortable. One big slop of shit. Not hard. Never is. Always soft. Not enough iron? Who cares. Shit was out. Out of my stomach and into the toilet. Relief. Flush the toilet right away so the shit doesn’t stink up the small washroom. GOOD TRICK. Stand up and start wiping my ass. Never taught the proper way to wipe!!! Stand and wipe. One wipe. Two wipes. On my third wipe I felt something dangling out of my ass. I reached back and grabbed it. A STRING??? I pulled. And pulled. And pulled. What was a string doing in my ass? I don’t think I ever ate a string!!! The string kept coming. Finally it was out. Transferred from my right hand to the toilet. SHITS NEVER NORMAL. Finished wiping my ass and flushed. Nervously watching the water go down. The water and the paper and the string. Everything flushed. NO FLOODING. Relief. Bill will be happy. I pulled up my pants. Washed my hands. Turned on the fan and walked back up the stairs to hang with Bill and Gabby.
“Did you flood the toilet?” Bill asked sarcastically.
“NO,” I said with a laugh and then sat down.
We continued to talk. Continued to drink. More talk. More drink. Laughing. Talking. Drinking. What a great day!!! At that point I noticed Bill’s face making contorted movements. Nothing said. I began to smell something foul. Not good. Did I flood the toilet? Smell getting worse. Tried to ignore it. Getting nervous. Bill’s face becoming more contorted. More wrinkled. Gabby now looking at me. Feeling guilty. KEEP TALKING. KEEP TALKING.
“DID YOU FLUSH? DID YOU FLUSH? WHAT IS THAT SMELL?” Bill said angrily.
“I FLUSHED. I SWEAR,” I responded guiltily.
We continued our conversation. Tried to ignore smell. COULDN’T. GETTING WORSE. STARTING TO GAG.
“YOU MUST HAVE FLOODED THE TOILET AGAIN. THAT’S GROSS. ARE YOU SURE YOU FLUSHED???
“I FLUSHED. I FLUSHED!!!” I responded.
“Go and check. Make sure. That’s gross.” Bill continued.
Me sweating. Nervous. I jumped up. Felt GUILTY. Began to walk to the washroom. All of a sudden Bill yelled, “OOOOOOHHHHHHHH!!!!”
“WHAT?”
“LOOK AT THE CARPET. LOOK AT THE CARPET!!!”
I turned around. Looked at the carpet. The brand new white fluffy carpet. noticed a BLOB OF SHIT. IT WAS SMUDGED INTO THE CARPET. SMUDGED. REALLY SMUDGED. GROSS. SOFT. STINKY. SMELLY. DIRTY. RED FACEY. SWEATY. GUILTY.
“Holy shit. I’m sorry Bill. I’m really sorry.” This is all I could say. Alone. Lonely. Guilty. Embarrassed.
“WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? YOU ARE FUCKED UP. YOU ARE SO FUCKED UP!!!” Bill was still mad.
“I am so sorry Bill. I don’t know what happened. I will pay for the cleaning. For sure. I promise. I will pay.” I said. Felt so bad.
“Just leave. Just leave. Don’t worry. I will figure something out. WHAT THE FUCK!!!” Bill fumed.
At that point I walked to the door. Opened the door. Said good-bye and left. Shit still smudged into Bill’s carpet. Bill’s Mom’s carpet. Shit smudged into the back of my pants. HOW? WHY? I left the house and went home. Fun turning to embarrassment once again.
As I walked home, alone, I pondered (big word) what had just happened. How could I have smudged soft shit into Bill’s Mom’s carpet? After much agonizing thought, my only explanation being that I must have flung a piece of shit onto the back of my pants when I was wiping my ass while standing up. I wish my Mom taught me how to wipe my ass properly. I wish my Mom taught me other valuable lessons in life as well. She didn’t. Oh well. Lonely.
NOW I SIT.
notanotherphony. 