Warmest greetings from London, where I live only a block from the Thames River in a tiny overpriced fourth floor walkup flat. I am a junior accountant, just graduated from University in the past two years, and totally broke. I can't afford to even eat out; most nights I eat Ramen Noodles for dinner. I'm saving every penny to buy a two-room, five-hundred-square-foot dump.
My poop tale in a moment. First, I have to say that you Americans are a bunch of boiled weenie punters. How can you complain about gastrointestinal problems over there when all you apparently eat is cheeseburgers and French fries? At least, that is all anyone ate when I was on holiday in the USA. Cheeseburgers at every meal! Cheeseburgers at a place called Waffle House for breakfast, cheeseburgers at Burger King at lunch, and another cheeseburger for dinner at a truck stop off the interstate. At least that's what my Aunt Millie ate when I came for a stay last summer in your country.
Last time I checked, those cheeseburgers and French fries slide out of your tube faster than a bowl of Vaseline at a George Michael concert. But try eating out in London! The only thing you can get is hot and greasy ethnic leavings looking like a pile of ox vomit on a plate of rice. They put curry on everything. You spoon your Thai pork soup and bite into a floating goat hoof. You eat some blood pudding and have to go to the loo in the taxi.
You guys have it easy. Londoners poop three times a day. Cheeseburger pooping is much softer and squishy when it comes out. Eating ethnic food in London is like passing a claw hammer.
When I came to USA to visit my aunt, we met at the Louisville airport. My first impression of your country was immediately that it smelled like a cheeseburger. Walking through the airport to baggage I saw people eating cheeseburgers and French fries. Auntie took us home and I was introduced to her kid: a fat, happy, out of shape Chihuahua named Pork Pie. Auntie treated the dog like a person, and took it everywhere. Every time we went to the Giant Eagle market, the dog had to come and sit in the car. It likes to stick its nose out the window and smell the cheeseburgers in the air. It shivered like it was cold even though the temperature was in the eighties easy. It had a little sweater that it liked to wear as well.
Auntie Millie took me to a campground in Kentucky, and of course Pork Pie had to come. So this poop story is more or less about the dog.
(I probably ought to tell you that the loos at the campground were surprising clean and modern. Feel free to spend a weekend there.)
On a Saturday night Auntie said we had to go into town for some s'mores stuff. The dog had taken quite a fancy to our lot-mates from a town called Pumpkinville, Iowa -- something like that. I forget the name, but it had the word "pumpkin" in it and it was either Iowa or Ohio. As Millie pulled up the truck, I started to get in. Auntie whistled for Pork Pie, but the dog absolutely refused to get in the car. The dog had taken a liking to the Iowa people and their dog, a diseased looking beagle named Bugsy. Bugsy had patches of missing fur.
They say dogs look like their owners, and that is the case here. Bugsy's owners were good people, but neither Mr. nor Mrs. Deedle (no real names here) were much into the simple things in life, like bathing, washing clothes, brushing teeth, and so on. They sat there all day listening to country music and swatting flies with a long plastic swatter that they passed back and forth.
Auntie decided to allow Pork Pie to stay with our fellow campmates (the camper they were staying in was an old smelly school bus painted blue) and get down and dirty with Bugsy.
We got back to the campsite an hour later, and right away Aunt Millie could tell that something was wrong with Pork Pie. The dog was shaking like a can of whoop ass. As we got out of the car, he sprinted toward us, but something was wrong with Pork Pie's ass. Brownish goo was dripping out.
"What in the world did you do to the dog?"
The Deedles shot eyes at each other. You could tell that they'd done something very bad for sure.
"Well, we took a short nap, and when we got out of bed, the dogs had gotten into the cooler."
It took Aunt Millie quite a while to needle it out of the Deedles, but here is what the dog apparently ate:
- Four hard boiled pickled eggs (with shells)
- A steak
- Two ham sandwiches
- Four three musketeers bars
- A large stick of butter
- Half a pizza
Pork Pie were in major distress the whole night. The four of us sat by the campfire and helped the dog try to shit.
The awful smell attracted most of the KOA, and several other dogs.
Two days after we got home, Porkie was still pooping and shaking. Bugsy, however, never once showed any sign of regretting all that eating. He slept during the whole time Porkpie was freaking out. He did pinch loaf the following morn, and the log was a foot long.