"Excuses are the nails that build the house failure."

Paul Bunyan's Beard

Life Rule #0000:  The Corner Office....The Corner Poop

Life Rule #0000: The Corner Office....The Corner Poop

Tonight’s life rule applies more to a generation of young men and women who would not even have the ability to read this article. The idea to write on this ridiculously necessary subject spawned from witnessing roughly 90% of my family and friends doing their own version of spawning over the past few years. The child train is rolling with a full hearth of charcoal straight into Dirty Diaper Town.

I’m occasionally reminded of my own prowess for “sneaking” off to pack my diaper chock full of the morning’s feast of Gerber’s finest for my father bare witness to an incident only a son’s father should have to experience. Legend has it that my pops noticed me waddling around one day apparently enjoying the presence of an object I’d found nestled cozily inside my mouth. As any good parent, he sprang into action and wasted nary a second yanking the potential risk from my face. What he removed now lives in infamy as a story I’m sharing with you that you will have a hard time forgetting. My dear old dad pulled one of my own turds from my cry-hole. Yes, you read that correctly —and as he so lovingly describes it today— “You were sucking on that turd like it was a Werther’s candy.” I want you to watch that commercial from the 80’s and imagine the narrator is describing my personal experience with shit-sucking. Sweet n’ creamy? I don’t have the sharpest memory to recall, but if I had to wager a guess I wouldn’t use either sweet nor creamy to describe the taste emanating from sucking on a muddy ball of corn kernels.

So now you know that at one point in my life —and I’d argue that the age is irrelevant— I placed my own shit into my mouth. And now that we’ve rolled out that red carpet let’s talk about kids and the secret of shitting!

I’ve got to be honest, and I’m sure some of this is attributed to my sick sense of humor, but there are few things I find more sidesplitting in this life than catching a child in the act of an earth-shattering DUMP. It’s more so the prelude that I’m fascinated with. Every single kid has their “spot” don’t they? Makes you wonder. I was underdeveloped enough to stick my own log into my face but I’d be DAMNED if I was going to get caught in the act of depositing that load. Where does the wherewithal come from? If the bullet to be dodged is a sense of embarrassment isn’t that going to come later in the form of a bulging Pampers? You’re not cleaning up your own shit at that point in your life so you’d have to assume someone’s tasked with cleanup duty.

Perhaps it’s not the fear of being caught rather a child’s keen sense of already knowing they demand privacy for such a heinous act. And I can accept that explanation for we all take care of business behind closed doors. It’s not that we’re oblivious to the fact that EVERYONE within a five mile radius knows what we’re up to —hell your neighbors have come to recognize the sound your bathroom door makes when it shuts— it’s that we don’t want anyone to see the faces we make when we’re losing a little bit of weight. And it’s on that note that I want to circle back to spotting a youngster pushing pebbles. God bless the little guys. Shit (pun intended) they’re grunting so hard it looks like both of their eyeballs are going to fall out simultaneously with the poop! Those faces are so red you’d swear you were watching an episode of Veggie Tales. It’s a quivering tomato. I feel for the little buggers, too because that crap’s got nowhere to go. In fact, it’s remains in constant contact with their person until a white knight with wipes swoops in and saves the day. At least our loaves cascade down with a satisfying splash (usually). This has to be a child’s version of blue balls; does it not? In one brief, yet glorious flooding of relief all joy is dashed by the feeling of a warm bowl of applesauce being smashed betwixt your buttcheeks.

Yet with all the cloak and dagger maneuvering; all of those smoke and mirrors; the kid still gets to deuce out in the open. No doors. No ventilation fans to “muffle” the sounds. So to all the trailblazing toddlers out there looking for their “safe space” I say go exploring and find it. Hunker down in your flatulence-filled foxhole and give it all you’ve got; because one day you’ll be confined to closed doors and lit matches. Let freedom ring, or reek.

Oh, just a tiny human being grabbing onto whatever’s closest to him and holding on for dear life. HA! It’s like they’ve got someone trying to extract a bullet from a wound they sustained during the days of the Wild Wild West. Here buddy, take a shot of this breast milk and bite down on that belt; this will all be over soon. Here, start THIS VIDEO at about :25 and if you’ve never caught a child in the dead act of shitting, well after that you’ll know. And it gets even better! Kurt Russell’s reaction can only be compared to that of a poor parent’s realization of what has transpired. I’m dying right now. I suppose we can flush this post on a high note. Short and sweet tonight boys n’ girls.

Nighty night! Until next time….

Twists On a Classic:  Gulliver Grey & The Granola Mill - Chapter Two

Twists On a Classic: Gulliver Grey & The Granola Mill - Chapter Two

Car Umbrellas....Why?

Car Umbrellas....Why?

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