My Other Museum Dookie
Before we begin with today’s nonsense, I’d like to thank my buddy John from the Authoring Auctioneer. He did an AWESOME AWESOME interview with me. That guy should be on CNN or some shit. Click HERE to read it, guaranteed not to disappoint.
Building a stripper pole in my parents bathroom wasn’t the only time I dropped a load in a museum. I did so the other day at another museum with disastrous results.
Part of my job is to take care of my County’s numerous small water systems. Places like Community Centers, Arena’s and the like. Once such place is a small museum displaying items from our pioneer days.
The curators of said museum are display items in their own right, being as old or older than some of the display items themselves.
Fascinating.
I’m there the other day working on the treatment system. The old guy was no where to be seen and I was glad because frankly, I wasn’t in the mood that day to inhale the aroma of old pee and regret.
It was then that lunch decided to come crawling out of my ass. It almost seemed as if the chicken re-assembled itself in my colon and decided to come out and take a look around.
So, I ran to the antiquated shitter and dropped the Cosby kids off at the pool.
There was a problem. It seemed that while the chicken wanted to check out the septic system, the rice and salad assumed a density of less than 1. It also seemed that the chicken was just a tad too fat to fit down the hole.
These were the disastrous results.
Water came pouring up out of the toilet, taking the now brown and smelly rice and salad for a white water rafting adventure out the door and down the hallway toward the display of old farm bricks. The poo wedged itself between the 150 year old trowel and the ancient wood mixing bucket.
Now I had a problem. I didn’t want to touch my poo but I couldn’t just leave it there.
Or could I?
After much thought, I drew up a sign that said “recreation of old time brick mortar. Feel free to handle!” and stuck it in my fluffy ass child.
As I left the building, I couldn’t help but laugh as the local grade three class piled in for the tour.
Suckers.
