No this won't be about my propensity for walking in on couple in flagrante dellecto. Though that has happened more times than I care to recall. With my parents (the ultimate trauma, especially if they are not doing the normal thing) my sisters (ugh) friends and lovers (Evil Todd strikes again.)
Due to soccer season my diet consists of Spicy V-8, wheat germ, Crispix cereal, salad, wine, codeine and Metamucil. As a result my chronic diarhea has turned to constipation. I sit on the toilet for days on end. It feels like I am birthing the huge-headed Mohammed Atta. There is so much grunting in my bathroom it sounds like a sex orgy at the Playboy Mansion. Yes, I have my own bathroom. We all do here. My wife's boasts the rarity of a window. Actually it has 2 windows overlooking my driveway.
I drove my new-to-me 2004 Kia into the driveway and parked it with the driver's window down. Later on I was dawdling in the front yard and felt that unmistakable urge in my gut. Time to go squeeze out another Atta over the weekend. I take note of the open window, darkening skies and rustling leaves. I don't want to let the Kia get flooded and grow all mildewy like my 97 Geo, which also sits in the driveway awaiting my son's eventual passing of his driver's test. I don't want old women dispensing advise to me that always seems to involve club soda, vinegar or diluted bleach. I am not into Helpful Hints from Heloise. But like the juror in that commercial, I gotta go RIGHT NOW.
I get the bright idea to use my wife's sacrosanct bathroom so I could watch over the car and make a mad dash to close the window if need be. I am sitting there for 15 minutes and I just sawed off a 1/2-Atta. The other half is stuck like Winnie the Pooh. Not to mix metaphors, but it's a sensation not unlike being ass-augered by Ron Jeremy. Down comes a torrent of rain akin to a tsunami. A tidal wave threatens to float the tiny Geo away. I must save the Kia!
So I quickly push out the second 1/2-Atta and peer at my wife's toilet paper dispenser. Dammit to hell, it is just the roll with one tiny woman-sized scrap clinging to it. This won't suffice. So I do that butt cheek-squeezing, pants around the ankles waddle one does under these unfortunate circumstances. Out to the driveway I go. It is a pretty long one but in the lingering drizzle it seems longer that the Great China Wall. By the time I reach my destination and realize I don't have my keys I am in utter despair. I wave to my neighbor.
By the time I waddled back the rain had ceased entirely. I started to roll the window up with me bare, bloody, shit-covered ass in a squishy puddle on the seat. Then I think of the time I left all the windows up and doors open on the Geo for days. That strategy had worked better than all the bleach and vinegar and club soda and carpet freshener solutions ever had. So I rolled it back down along with all the others. Air that sucker out bigtime.
It's just like that old adage about locking the barn doors after the whores have bolted. It might actually be a good idea, depending on whether all the whores have bolted or not.
That is horses, not whores. You keep horses in barns, not whores. You find whores in bars not barns.
by Chevy Chase at October 2, 2006 6:07 PM
Oh. That's very different. Never mind.
by Gilda Radner at October 2, 2006 6:08 PM