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 The Time CapsulePosted 12.17.2002 by Ass Phlegm (314)
I'm sure everyone's had some sort of twisted story from their wacky childhood. I know my childhood was chock full of them! Some relating to poop, some not. Most of my poop stories involve a certain person I'll call "Malcolm Dickstain". He was my best friend all through growing up. Although, since he lived right next door, I didn't have much of a choice.
Malcolm was one sick individual. Put Malcolm and me together and you had a therapist's worst nightmare. When Malcolm and myself were about 7 or 8 we used to spend our days playing together. Well, sometimes not together, but within the same vicinity of each other. Case in point: I remember playing with Tonka Trucks and Fisher Price toys while Malcolm would be... um... ah... playing(?) with Tupperware and his mom's Maxi Pads (unsoiled, thank god!). By this point nothing Malcolm did surprised me. One particular day we were in the sandbox doing whatever. We were always bored, which is probably the reason for our undying love for the demented -- and when I say demented, I'm serious! Malcolm once tried to fuck a jar of nails "just to see if it would feel good." Huh?! Oh yeah, I see the similarity: sharp, jagged, pointy metal objects vs. a soft, warm, loving female (or hand). Anyways, Malcolm holds up a bright orange Tupperware salt shaker. It was about 4" high, 2.5" wide and had a removable top. He exclaimed, "I have to take a shit!" "OK, take one." I said. "No, I mean I REALLY have to take a shit!" Well, what the hell does that mean? I said, "Look, if ya' gotta shit... go shit!" He sat and stared at a woodchip or something for about five minutes and then said it again, "I gotta poop!" "Your house is fucking 10 feet from here! Go in and poop all you want, you idiot!" I said. I couldn't figure out his problem. What was he getting at? Looking back, it seems as if I was in a VERY bizarre episode of "Ren & Stimpy" or something. And yes, we did swear like that at our age. We both had well-versed parents who cared enough to prepare us for the grown-up world early. That's when I saw it: that all-to-familiar glaze in his eyes. He had an idea brewing (among other things). See, whenever Malcolm wanted to do something that would be considered stupid by others, he'd try and get me to "dare" him. That way, afterwards he could just say, "Well, HE DARED ME!" This was one of those moments. He picked up the Tupperware container, studied it, looked to the sky as though there was a lightbulb in a cloud above his head, and said, "Dare me to shit in this Tupperware cup." "What? No! You wanna shit, go in the house you diddler!" I replied. "C'mon, just dare me PLEASE?!" This was pathetic. "Why?" I said. "I don't know... I just wanna... c'mon, PLEASE!" I couldn't take his whining anymore. I said, "Fine. I dare you to shit in the cup. Ya happy now?!" Like a wild screaming banshee, he flew across the yard into a small patch of trees in the undeveloped lot next door. I started thinking to myself that maybe it was time to make some new friends. He returned five minutes later with this huge grin on his face, holding the cup and skipping. He showed me his monumental achievement with glee. Out of sheer curiosity I glanced over. The fucking cup was brimming full! And not a speck of shit on the outside!! Fucking amazing! I was about to ask how he was able to do this and then a sense of better judgment came over me. That's when he started chasing me with the shit filled cup yelling, "Poop in a cup, poop in a cup... it's gonna get ya!" I'm guessing by now you've figured out that this is not an intellectual story. After I finished kicking his ass, I demanded he get rid of the Cup o' Plenty. He carefully put the lid on and waited for the patented Tupperware "burp." He looked at me, then at the cup, and then threw it into the patch of trees. We made up from our fight and I said "I'll see ya later." I assumed it would be much later, considering he'd be spending most of his time pulling his poopspackled underwear off. No, he didn't wipe. Well, it might have ended there, but eleven years later, while visiting my mom's house (right next door to Malcolm's house), I got a phone call. It was Malcolm. He was visiting his parents as well. I guess he saw my car and knew I was there. He was screaming hysterically to come over his parents house and that he had something to show me. I had nothing better to do, so I headed over. As I crossed the yard, I saw Malcolm jumping in place by the curb side. I reached where he was and saw a crooked smile on his face, which could only mean two things: either he had gas, or something was gonna happen that would result in me kicking his ass. He said nothing. "What?" I said impatiently. He said nothing, still holding his crooked smile. Suddenly, my eyes were drawn down to a brightly colored object lying next to the curb. IT WAS THE ORANGE TUPPERWARE SALT SHAKER!! I couldn't believe it! Apparently the land next to Malcolm's parents house had been purchased and developed. I guess somehow during the process the time capsule had been resurrected and thrust yet one more time into my miserable life. I looked up at Malcolm and instantly saw him transform back into the seven-year-old I so fondly remembered. Before I could say a word, he dove for the cup with intentions of opening it. "Oh no you don't!" I exclaimed. We fought and wrestled like two primitive animals fighting over a kill. During the process, Malcolm somehow managed to open the cup. We froze. Curiosity , that cursed demon, had gotten the best of me. We both slowly peered inside the cup. What was once brimming full of Malcolm's brown butt custard was now a quarter full, and by god -- he had created a color! Amazing! As I was pondering which of the primary OR secondary colors could have possibly been used to create such a blend, Malcolm had retrieved a stick. An ass kicking was in order. With a rebel yell, Malcolm plunged the stick into the orange cup and shook it about. I lunged at him and began to serve him his punishment. We fought and punched over his adolescent-like behavior when suddenly we were stopped dead in our tracks by a horrific odor. It engulfed us like an invisible fist (although, I'm sure I saw a green cloud) determined to choke us to death! After puking my guts out, I slugged Malcolm in the face and went to my mother's house. OK, you've hung in there so far, so I'll get to the end of the story. After about an hour, Malcolm called me again and said I had to come over AGAIN! I guess he had forgiven me. Considering I felt bad for hitting him in the face (and that I was leaving anyways), I gave in and went over. He was once again standing next to the curb where the cup had landed. Pointing down, he said "Look!" I stopped staring at the red fist-shaped mark on his face and looked down. Before us, a pure white slug-type creature slowing making it's way out of the orange cup! It was about 1 1/2 inches long with an extremely fat circumference. Whatever this thing was, it had been eating Malcolm's anal meal for eleven years! I would have puked again, but my stomach was empty. Malcolm, on the other hand, was so excited that I thought he was gonna run around handing out cigars like a proud papa. He yelled "I'm gonna step on it!" He looked at me, I looked at him, and then I punched him in the face. What's the point of this story? Nothing. It's just another turd in the toilet bowl of my life. But I did learn one thing: sometimes, a seven-year-old's intellect is right on the money. I should have found new friends. -- Ass Phlegm Like Ass Phlegm? He's featured in The Journal of Ass Production! Post new comment
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