It's been a tough couple of weeks for me, folks. My daughter has had walking pneumonia. I was sick for a bit. And I'm in the process of moving. A wee bit of stress, over here.
Last night, I was rushing home at about 6. I had not eaten lunch and was starving. I had a 7 miler on tap. (As an aside, I fucking hate running in the dark. I have a 1 mile loop around my house on a well lit set of blocks that I do at night. I feel like a frickin' gerbil on a Habitrail.) I knew that banging out a 7 with no food in the system was impossible. What to do...
As I sat in traffic, the flashing neon of a local Kosher deli called to me. I'm a big fan of grilled frankfurters, but I rarely eat them. (They're artery clogging rolls of assholes, armpits, and nitrites.) The call was too strong, though. I slammed my rig in park and went in for two dogs with kraut and mustard. Moments later, I was motoring home, changing into my running duds as I drove.
I ran in the house and dropped my bags, kissed the wife and kiddies and headed out the door into the darkness.
3 miles out the rolling and tumbling started in my belly. 4 miles out I was cramping and clinching. By mile 5 I was duck walking and praying for a dark alley or any ill lit spot. At 5.25 it was shit or be beshat. (Now most of you know that I've got "issues." You'd think I'd know better than to down 2 coneys before poundin' out the miles.)
In the near distance was the glow of a Getty sign. Hope sprang eternal. Squeezing for all I was worth and sweating like an H addict out of skag, I waddled into the station. CLOSED! GARRRRRRRR! There was no choice though. I was in CODE BROWN. I struggled around the side and tried the Men's. LOCKED! DOHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! Fuck it. I put my shoulder to the door. It popped open. And the foul receptec-AL called to me.
Al fouled the small stall in grand fashion. Think Dirty Bomb.
It's amazing, isn't it, how alive one feels after that? Singers and film makers have celebrated how nearly dying can make one so alive. How come no one sings about almost shitting him/herself? Might go something like this:
"Browntown"
by Al Bangorhard
I'm wide awake and so alive
Spewed my scat like chow
Take me deep out past the lights
Nothing dims these stars
Nothing
Let me feel the passing of solid waste
Just tip me 'til I capsize
I've been waiting for my whole life
To be broken, open, filth erased
Let me feel the passing of solid waste
Just tip me 'til I capsize
I've been waiting for my whole life
To be open wide
I'm wide awake and so alive
Ringing like a bell
Tell me this is paradise
And not someplace I fell
Let me feel the passing of solid waste
Just tip me 'til I capsize
I've been waiting for my whole life
To be broken, open, filth erased
Let me feel the passing of solid waste
'Cause I'm dying on the inside
Just take me to Browntown
'Til I'm open wide
So wide
So go
I'm wide awake and so alive, alive, alive
Let me feel the passing of solid waste
Just tip me 'til I capsize
I've been waiting for my whole life
To be broken, open, filth erased
Let me feel the passing of solid waste
'Cause I'm dying on the inside
Just take me to Browntown
'Til I'm open wide
10 comments:
Moveitfred is dying, ova here.
Al's a fucking poet, yo. The bard of brown. The professor of poop. The sonnetist of scat. The dilletante of dump. The Metrist of manure.The lyricist of the loo.
Know'm sayin'?
Peter Pooper,
What are you, new?
TWO dogs and kraut??? What, did they not have any refried beans or canned cheese to put on top of the dogs? Flaming hot, hot sauce all out also?
I would have LOVED to see option b in the shit or be shat equation!
F-ing Al! It's not nice to laugh at other people's expense, but I can't help it.
Al,
I now know more about your bowel movements than my own. This can't be a good thing.
Moveitfred,
Do me a favor would ya, bro?
As you may remember, I am starting to train for a half marathon. I'll be out on the right coast to see The Fred's in a few weeks and I may ask for your advice on good running routes near your neighborhood, distances, etc.
If you have any love for me (or love for all the free SWAG I get you), please direct me away from any running locations or bathrooms that Al may be visiting or has visited in the past.
In theory, Extremeski would be using a female restroom and Al would be using a male restroom, and therefore any of Al's unfortunate "movements" would not effect Extremeski, BUT, one can not be to sure. Al seems to go in every gas station, residence, warehouse, farmhouse, henhouse, outhouse and doghouse that is open and all of these areas must be avoided.
Thanks,
X
E-ski: where's the love? By the way, I'm not adverse to crapping in a bush like the deer when necessary. Watch yo' step.
Ski-
No worries. Al won't cross the county line. He's got this whole north/south, confederate flag-like moral stance he likes to uphold. Our environs are safe.
Moveitfred is pretty sure Al isn't even aware that there are separate growlers for the genders. He thinks those universal signs are local children's art.
I am very suprised Al even slows down to crap. Why don't you just run and crap? You have lost all our your self worth already with this blog.
Moveitfred has been taking in that turd for, oh, about two weeks now.
That is one fahking juicy turd.
Pass the Grey Poupon and put that delish log on a bun, according to Moveitfred.
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