Back in my high school days, when I was a carefree, drug-addicted party child, I would often find my way home by some stroke of luck and manage to pass out in my bed. Every once in a while I would have to put a garbage can next to the bed so I could roll over and deposit vomit into the container. (Ah, I almost get teary-eyed just thinking about how adorable the scene must have been.) Somehow, I could usually avoid being discovered by my mom, which was not an easy task. One time, however, I left a smell-tale sign of a different kind -- one that only someone in an inebriated state could leave.
I had been indulging in my usual diet of pills, weed, and large quantities of alcohol. This was often followed by a trip to either Taco Bell or a local diner called CK's. Going to either of these sub-standard dietary abominations was asking for trouble, but reason is not a strong suit with a dumb, stoned teenager. After ingesting a bunch of horsemeat, I went home to pass out.
Being a Friday night, I was hoping to sleep undisturbed until extremely late Saturday morning. My stomach felt pretty stable, so I didn't keep the wastebasket handy. Little did I know that what I really needed was to put a crapper next to the bed!
Saturday morning came, and wouldn't you know, my Mom decided to clean the house early. This meant having to get my ass out of bed to let her vacuum and dust, etc. I stumbled out of the room and plopped down on the sofa in a daze. As I sat there hating life, my Mom came out of my room and told me it smelled like a monkey cage, and that the dog must have squirtalized the carpet. Too bad for her! I wasn't cleaning that shit up! It was her dog anyway and she loves to clean, so she can take care of it. Or so I thought.
Minutes later, she found the mound. Guess where it was? Right next to the bed. How dare that fucking dog! Shit next to my bed. I ought to make her eat it! But then the news came...
"Uh, son. This is one big turd! I think you shit in your room last night!"
"NO way! You're crazy! I would never do that... would I?"
I decided to investigate. Sure enough, this was no dog turd. It was man-laid! I had dropped a perfectly cylindrical twelve-inch deuce right next to my bed. Though it smelled like a donkey corral, it was quite majestic, like a baby tree that fallen in the woods, laying there, waiting to become a home for fungi and rodents. I was proud.
Proud, until I realized that since I had spawned it, I would have to clean it up. Shit!
After using half a roll of paper towels to hoist this stifle tower out of the room and into the bowl, a stench of gratitude stank in. Considering the night before and what I had ingested, this could have been much worse. It might have been a wet vac job! Oh, the visual makes my stomach turn.
Today, I'm glad to say those wild days are long gone, and 99% of my movements are put in their proper place. However, I will always look back at the past with a stench of nosestalgia and remember why I quit drinking. It isn't cool to drop stool in your sleep when you're sixteen. There will plenty of time for that when I'm eighty.
-- The Fartist