MAIN SECTIONS
MAIN SECTIONS
Stories About Poop Intellectual Crap Consumer Reports Fun with Feces Poop at the Office Techniques Travel Logs The Captain's Log Academic Poop Home  
RESOURCES The PoopReport Gift Pack Poop Culture: The Book The PoopReport Store The Skatole Shirt PoopReport FAQ Best Of PoopReport Press Room Advertise! PoopReport on Myspace PoopReport on Facebook NEWS AND ADVICE The BM News Wire Ask PoopReport Ask a Poodiatrist Eternal Debates FEATURES Special Reports Movie Poop Archive Toilet Paper Survey Pooetry Comics Poop Contests MOVEMENTS I Poop and I Vote!  Shameless Shitting Poop For Peace The Summer Stoolstice DISCUSSIONS Shit Of My Career Childbirth Poop Book Of The Shameless First Memory of Poop More... REPORT POOP Poop Forums PoopReport Chat Submit 
NavigationPoop Comics Our BuddiesLower left rotating ad most recent poll -- formattedPoop at the Movies |
 Crap TrapPosted 08.05.2003 by The Big Wiper (2245)
When we were growing up, my bro and I had one of those wonderful Southern backyards that was the neighborhood's center of activity -- all the kids up and down the block congregated there for the fun and games. And since I was the oldest of the lot and therefore the alpha-dog of the pack, I pretty much ordered up the daily activities of a group of boys and girls ranging in age from seven to ten. From insect zoos to firefly hunts to selling lemonade on the sidewalk, I coordinated it all, with my little bro as my sidekick and helper.
One summer, however, an interloper moved next door. His name was Grady, and he was a snotty, obnoxious little kid who refused to take (my) orders. Furthermore, he started making moves on Rose, the pretty, freckle-faced little girl upon whom I had a secret crush. In short, he was peeing on my territory, and I didn't like it one bit. My bro and I did everything we could to discourage him from joining us in our play, but he was always hanging around anyway, trying to get Rose to run off to probably play doctor on his back porch. Then one afternoon, I was able to re-establish pack dominance through a fortuitous set of circumstances that I could never have plotted in advance. My bro and I were minding our own business, digging holes in the backyard, trying to find interesting bugs, or maybe coins or other buried treasure, as little boys are wont to do. Grady came over. He didn't ask to join us -- he just butted in and joined us, picking up a stick and gouging out dirt right along side us. "Find anything yet?" he said. We both answered no. But what I felt like saying was, 'Yeah, we just found a big pest, and we want him to go away!' Then, fortune smiled upon me. Grady farted loudly, and my bro and I moved away quickly while he just laughed and snorted through his nose. Now, don't get me wrong. We two brothers loved farts. We especially loved doing them underwater, watching them bubble up when we took baths together in the evening just before supper. (We also did things we weren't supposed to -- like announce our pees to each other in the bath by thrusting up our tallywhackers and chanting: "Little Lighttower has to say something.") But obnoxious Grady doing farts was no laughing matter. We hated him, so naturally we hated his farts. He farted again, and this time he said, "I think I gotta go home and doo-doo." My alpha-dog brain started working overtime. I issued a bold and blunt challenge to him. "Why don't you do it here?? We just dug the hole for you. That is, unless you're chicken to." I had played him just right. I could see the gears turning in his stripped transmission, and when he hesitated, looking around the yard for possible witnesses, I knew I had him. The little turd then pulled down his pants, squatted over the larger of the two holes we had dug, and grunted right into the hole a very long, very large fudge-colored likeness of himself. Before he had time to squirt out a follow-up pee, I high-tailed it to his house and cried out, "Grady's Mother! Grady's Mother!" (Hey, when you're ten, you're not big on last names!) She came to the door. I promptly informed her that Grady had doo-dooed in our backyard. She looked out across the way, saw him struggling with his pants, and shouted, "Grady Joe Black, you get in here this instant!" (Aha! So she was Mrs. Black and not just Grady's Mother!) My bro and I then quickly buried his shit, snickering all the while, and I made sure Rose knew all about his dirty deed. Grady was grounded for quite a long time, and Rose quite simply had nothing to do with him ever again. Mission accomplished. Once again, I had my pack of playmates and my little girlfriend thoroughly under control. One year later, Grady's father was transferred and they moved away; but Grady never again tried to leave his scent anywhere in my backyard. I'm sure the 'scent' of his turd and the lesson it taught him was more than enough. Oh, and my bro and I outlined Grady's drop zone with a circle of rocks so we wouldn't make the mistake of digging in that area again -- although I'm sure it made some fine fertilizer for the grass. Post new comment
|
Ad 1
Ad 2
Text Ads
Recent comments
Who's onlineThere are currently 0 users and 311 guests online.
Thong ad Highest Users
Browse content by author View some statistics Learn more about userpoints |
