“Don’t get me wrong man, I love to poop.”
I mean, there’s nothing quite like it, right? Pooping is the shit. Ha. But, I don’t make it my business to wade knee-deep in the stuff.”
  “And don’t get me started on that fetish shit, that stuff is nasty. But apart from walking in it, through it, or having it dumped on your chest, nothing beats a good poop.”
  “Do we have to do this right now?”
  “’Course we don’t have to, but you’re basically bringing it up by offering – no, forcing -me to walk through the metropolis of mess down there. The favela of faeces. The shangra-la of shit.”
  “Jesus, kid, enough.”
  “Oh sure, it’s alright to give chase through the stuff but when it comes to polite conversation it’s taboo? I bet back in prehistoric times, when stigmas were at an all time low, cavemen grunted about how good their shit-sesh was.”

  Exhausted, the vet rubbed his eyes. It was official. He hated his new partner. Hated. He would love to chase Alphonse and his boys alone but the chief had warned him about his lone-dogging enough times to know this was it in terms of his career. The rook or nothing. Nada.

  He held his pistol steady, aiming at the small padlock he’d been trying to pick, unsuccessfully, for the last five minutes. Now, he reckoned, it was time for action, as blunt and loud as could be. The stealthy approach had outstayed its welcome. Before he pulled the trigger he wondered whether or not the shit below and the shit-talker at his side and the pieces of shit waiting at the other end of the tunnel were worth all this shit.

  “They probably had poop-parties.” The rook continued absently.

  The vet briefly entertained thoughts of an accidental ricochet friendly-fire incident that might be swept under the rug with enough paperwork. Trick shots were his specialty.   

Special thanks to my bro from the same ho, who let me bounce the beginning of today’s tale off him after a particularly pleasing session with the latrine. His reaction is the Vet’s reaction.


~ by Joseph Blame on March 18, 2011.

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