True Tales of Perfectly Normal Kelly

Disclaimer:  The following stories should be read as if they were written by someone completely sane, always politically correct and sensitive of others' feelings.  They, most importantly, were written by somebody with a sense of humor.  Scared?  Don't be!  I'm here to hold your hand as you take this special journey with me on my latest incidents of pure, wholesome normalcy.  I promise not to give you that special smile, while we walk, that says 'I won't bash your head in with this bronze statue of Zues fucking a dolphin while the dolphin is porking a young handjob-maiden', I have behind my back, when you turn head away, next.  You don't know how often you come across that common stylish item in those fancy antique stores, worldwide.  

 I farted.

But less importantly, I was taking my daily walk at the local park other day.  It was a beautiful day, full of sun and a plethora of blooming trees and there was no one there to possibly bother me.  Sure, I'm certainly a social butterfly that desperately needs adulation and continuous attention until I'm nauseous of the sticky slobbers of a googly-eyed stalker smooching on my ass because the stalker glorifies me... but sometimes, I just need some alone time.  Like about 80% of the time.

Actually... I don't know what these guys are and what they're thinking.  My  ambition to find out where they come from and so on has been replaced by sudden feelings of ambivalence.  Like, I don't know whether to bash this one dude's head in with a gargantuan frozen elephant turd or become inspired and secure, knowing that the human race will come together one day, not give a shit about material possessions and place honesty and understanding at the top of their priorities.   Again, I farted.

Note:  Googly-eyed fish will target and viciously attack your taint unless you have properly cleansed it to the point where it no longer carries the bouquet of aromas made up of shit, piss or pork.  Because, you know they say humans smell like pigs or whatever... especially while they're burning.  Look it up if you want to debate me about this most interesting of subjects while I busy myself with not being the least bit sarcastic.


Join Facebook!  See the attention craving, crack-like addicts who won't stop commenting about that same boring shit, day after day!  Watch people watch other people because they hear they are celebrities and that means something ridiculously important!  Ya ever see a dumbass follow a trend to be more popular?  Ya ever see a monkey picking a nit off another monkey in a zoo or while you're out on safari?  Ya ever witness the increasing lack of creativity and open mindedness of anyone or mass of "anyones?"  :)   People remind me of that stuff and more.  Think about it.  And yes, I already know why they, the monkeys, pick the nits.  But think about redundancy, for one thing.  Jesus Christ in a snack pudding offering soul-saving bargains!  Just think!

As I was taking my daily walk in the beautiful park, I cut a fart (go figure, huh?) and I squirt o' wee bit of shit in my underwear, of course.  I don't care.  As long as it's not running down my legs and causing a pond of chocolate delight around my feet, I continue onward to the bathroom.

I go in, clean the little bit of poop juice in my underwear, wipe the stuff from my asshole, place a small wad of toilet paper between the spots in the soiled fabric and my buttocks and when I get myself together again, shorts pulled up and so on, I wash my hands, thoroughly, go out the door and am automatically confronted with a large, six and a half foot tall guy, walking toward me, only a few feet away.  He's wearing about a 5X sized purple shirt, walking towards me like a zombie, arms stretched out, forward direction.

No kidding about any of this.

He makes sounds with his mouth.  I'm dazed by this sight, this giant monstrosity of flesh and insanity and my semi-severe anxiety disorder kicks in overdrive.  Momentarily, I cannot move.

It sounds like he's saying, "Arburgagog Goalpostical Blarrrrrrrgh!"  But I'm not sure.  I was frightened and in shock.  I just know he wasn't speaking English.  I also felt shit start to rumble in my colon again, threatening to erupt from ye ol' blow hole.  In other more sensitive wording. I figured I was about to have a repeat performance of the other fiasco I just endured.  This sudden attack, that would have probably scared the shit out of most anyone besides me, made my head spin, wondering what carnival freak show I suddenly happened upon.

 I saw a shirt this other day.  He might has well as worn this shirt:

      

I have since learned, by actually being curious enough to find out what Doma Arigato means, that one of it's meanings come from the language of the Japanese.  Domo Argato translates, in English as: Thank you very much. In his case, I suppose it could also mean "Thank you very much for giving me the opportunity of giving you a heart attack and instant bowel movement."

I quickly came to my senses, before he was a foot away and darted out the park bathroom door entrance.  While walking, quickly, on my pained feet and scrambling away as if I was being chased by Bigfoot's deranged uncle, I realized four things.  One, I was successful in commanding my buttocks to keep in any fecal matter.  Two, I think the boy/man was autistic and had a "solid wall of retard" for a body.  Shhh... My sensitivity and naturally instilled political correctness is leaking out again.  And three, about as most importantly, his caretaker or mother or whoever he was with, obviously, was a middle aged, unconcerned person who saw what occurred and sat on a bench seeming not to give a shit about anything.  That could be considered a mistake if the mentally-challenged behemoth was going towards somebody with violent tendencies who didn't scamper away, trying desperately to hold his gravy shits back.  Four, I hadn't taken my Valium that day, yet.

I'm thinking about making a custom made shirt for myself.  It will read:  I'm a sufferer from depression and anxiety disorders.  Please refrain from allowing your own craziness and your human keeping responsibilities "entities" (like mentally retarded youngsters and unbalanced young men and women) and whiny brats to come within a solid yard from me or I will freeze up and/or go on a killing spree.  Thanks!

That might be a little too long and I know most people generally have a low attention span.  I might just go with:  Fuck off!  You people bother me! 


I'm okay with stress when it's not of the sudden shocking kind.  For instance, the other night, my wife and I were riding home in a gusty-as-hell, lightening filled, bucket filling kind of thunderstorm the other night.  I was driving.  I knew I wouldn't panic because I could see, before getting back out onto the interstate highway for the 30 mile trek back home, it was going to be a doozy.  Instead, I calmly drove the truck home, hands firmly and courageously stable on the steering wheel and slowing moved around the ponds of water on the sides of the roads.

As long as I know what's coming, I'm alright.

Yesterday, we had another thunderstorm.  It knocked the electricity out for four hours.  I took a nap in the middle of the thunderstorm.  They had tornado "watches" for several neighboring counties on the TV before I took my nap.  Note:  Four weeks ago, we had a dozen tornadoes ravage our state and a couple nearby states.  I wrote a blog post about it.  When I got up, it was starting to get dark.  I lit a couple candles to see the toilet, furniture that I could stub my toe on and so on.  Then I put on some sweat pants and looked out on the balcony.  Even though it was getting dark, it was beginning to hail quarter sized hailstones, along with 60 mph wind gusts and rain.  And about an hour later the electricity came back on.

Quarter sized hail is nothing for me.  I lived during the "148 tornado and baseball-sized hail stone incident" in 1974.  There was a tornado in our back yard at one point.  I didn't have anxiety disorder back then so I quickly ran to the window, against my screaming parent's will, to check out the very real tornado.  A couple hours later, my younger sister and I started to go outside and collect hailstones like Easter eggs, from the grass, putting them in our Playmate coolers to later store them in the freezer.  Of course, finding no practical usage for them, we threw them back out on the ground after a week.

In hindsight, I should have kept them, went up the big tree in the yard and threw them at cars that passed by our house.  Oh well.

Even though it's fascinating to watch hail, quarter-sized or larger, come down for some people and even me, when I'm in the mood, I am more concerned about my vehicles.  I was hoping it wouldn't damage my truck this time.  Not only is that truck a "deer magnet", but I was thinking that the hailstones might dent the body or crack the glass.

Other than this stuff going on, including a non working AC unit in 87 degree weather and other smaller problems, things seem to be getting better for me.

That's all I got for now.  Have a great weekend!  I'm sure I'll stop by your blog, soon, to offer you a cordial comment full that's sure to be chock full of whimsy and wit.  Beats being chock full of shit, any day of the week, right?  Later!   

The 7 Facts Award

Wouldn't you know it? The great and wonderful me has gotten another award thrust upon myself and I want to thank the just as great and wonderful, if not better, LilPixi, from It's A Lollipop World.

LilPixi has got a kick ass, wild and humorous blog that features delightful topics ranging from popping penis balloons to pleasant experiences like having your heart abruptly stop pumping while slippery shit dumplings suddenly pop out of your ass like a Jack-In-The Box as you're attacked by crazed, jacket-eating giraffes. I'm might have added a bit of color to that last description but, basically, it's true. Check out her zany, original blog to see what I mean by all this insanity.

As usual, there are the rules. As usual, I will break one or more of them. Here are the rules:

*Copy and paste this award to your blog

* Thank and link to the person that tagged you with it.
* List 7 facts about yourself
* Give the award to 5 other bloggers and tell them they have it.

I shall list 7 facts of myself, once again, like I did at the beginning of this month, because I know how much everyone is just dying to know more about sweet lil' ol' me. I'll try my damnedest to tell something about myself I haven't before on this site but I can't guarantee you'll be oddly fascinated or even erotically stimulated by the answers.

#1- I can hear, just at this moment, at one o' clock in the morning, some asshole loudly rummaging around in the large garbage bin, down below one of my apartment windows, slightly off to the right side of the building. No shit! This numb nuts is hunting for I-don't-know-what at this time of night but it is unnerving. I'm wondering what kind of info he might be finding out. Damn, I hope he doesn't find the messed up Barbie Dolls I threw in the trash that have my name stamped on their plastic asses. That might be embarrassing.

#2- TV shows I watch on a semi-regular basis would include: House, Family Guy, Nova, Bizarre Foods With Andrew Zimmern, 1000 Ways To Die, Tosh.O, National Geographic specials, Baggage, NCIS, The Daily Show, Minute To Win It, History Channel shows and more I can't think of at the moment because the douche bucket down below won't stop making a racket.

Perhaps he's collecting cans. I hear a lot of tink-tink-tinking going on. Perhaps I'll save him the trouble of making a few lousy bucks by collecting cans at one in the morning to drag to the recycle center later for money and throw a few dollars out the window at him so he'll go away. Fuck it! I'll just pull the window up and activate "my amazing sprinkler system" (also called My Bladder and Tubular Sex Organ) and give the guy a golden shower. Nah. Strike that! That freak might enjoy it.

Moving on...

#3- Is an omelet really an omelet without the cooked flesh of some dead animal and some cheese? I think not. I don't eat omelets without meat and if you try to force one, sans meat, upon me, I will be forced to declare war. It would be as bad as drinking decaffeinated coffee to me. What's the point?

#4- I was taught how to fish, set up a tent and camp, chop wood, enjoy a good strong cup of coffee, reap the benefits of what worlds books can open for you, draw, paint, cook and observe before you blindly jump into something all before the age of ten. Imagining and creating stories came naturally to me. So did the ability to be direct and honest. An ability some people in society annoyingly lack for the purposes of not wanting to "make waves" or be open.

#5- I like animals more than I like people. A real shock, isn't it? Hahaha..... Okay. I'll stop.

#6- I was once an elf for the Keebler Cookie Company. But instead of doing our work in a tree, we did it in a factory filled with huge hot ovens. I was driven further into the depths of madness with this fast paced, stressful job. It was my duty to watch, from 10 at night to 8 in the morning, literally millions of goddamn cookies go down the conveyor belt very, very quickly and check for minor imperfections of each friggin' cookie. If you found one or more unsightly cookies, you had to have the reflexes of Flash to grab it off the line before it got to the packagers' section. Chaos often ensued when there were more than a few at a time that were "bad".

In only seconds, I had to judge the quality of each cookie as they whizzed by. Does this one have enough chocolate chips? Is that one perfectly round? Does that one seem photogenically balanced and capable of pleasing a typical obese American? Gosh, I sure hoped so. My eyes watered and glazed over after a few hours of this relentless burden and my back was about to break. Eventually, the stress got to me with this job (slave labor) and I allowed a billion and one cookies to pile up on the factory floor one night. When blood comes out of your ears and drips on the perfectly shaped cookies, you know it's quitting time. Boy, you should have heard what those potty-mouthed elves had to say about that mess. Goodness gracious, I was appalled!

#7- I've met eight of the major players of The Big Red Machine. The Major League Baseball World Champions of 1975 and 1976 were gracious enough to give me and our small town's citizenry, free of charge, a signed autograph of themselves back then. It isn't too often that a big name professional athlete does anything like that- free of charge- these days. It's all about the money. That was an amazing day for a 12 year old boy or for anyone else, for that matter. Click the link above for the significance of these guys. They are legends.

As for any recipients to pass this award forward to, I'm going to give it to one blogger I've never mentioned before and whose blog has given me chuckles aplenty past and present. He may do whatever he wants with it. Let it be known, I have officially bestowed this award/survey upon him like a crown of golden dingleberries.

The proud recipient is Rico Swaff of the spectacular blog, The Chronicles of Rico. Hey dude, follow the rules above as much as you want. Take care, folks.

Auditions For The Circus

Created by Oscar The Disturbed, Chloe The Nympho and MasterHeathen

The circus tent was noisy inside with hopeful artists talking to each other and practicing their acts. Sitting at a large wooden desk on the furthest right hand side were two men, murmuring to each other, serious in their appearance. The owner of the circus was a large man with dark brown eyes with just a hint of red surrounding the pupils. The look of his face conveyed a wisdom about him. His name was Byron Asmodeus and he had owned Asmodeus' Astounding Circus for 20 odd years. His ringmaster, Gregorio, worked hard as a manager for the circus.

For the last hour, they had seen and judged two sets of performers and neither group made the cut.

Gregorio stared straight ahead and to Asmodeus, he announced the next group of artists to audition. "Next, we have The Blutarsky Brothers."

Asmodeus cleared his throat and asked, "What do they do?

Ringmaster Gregorio replied, "They are a family of midget clowns."

"I see," said Asmodeus, as he leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands together.

A little old woman, her face white and red with make up, was leading her little tribe of offspring up to the stage in front of their potential employer's desk. She had a grizzled look about her and the make up on her face could not hide the fact that she was well into her sixties. The mother of 7 children, who were between the ages of thirty to forty, tilted her head as she spoke.

"I am the mother of these seven clown midgets. We came to America from Russia, home of Vodka. All my children suffer from hydrocephalus and Down syndrome. They also have trouble with their feet from wearing the big clown shoes and as a result, they walk funny."

Asmodeus and Gregorio looked at all seven and noticed they were kind of wobbling back and forth, shifting uneasily from one foot to another.

The mother, Isa, continued, "They have the fungus grow under their toenails. Only Lamisil helps to keep their toenails on."

Asmodeus and Gregorio exchanged glances of bewilderment before the mother of the clown midgets added, "The father of these boys has passed on. If he were here today, he would show you his magnificent ability to shoot miniature bullets out of his fully erect penis."

The two men, glanced at each other and then looked at the mother, giving Isa the impression that they were impressed by this.

Isa said, "First, I will show you what my talent is and then each of my boys will show you what they can do for you."

Asmodeus said, "Whenever you're ready... begin."

The little old midget turned around, dropped her tiny pants, bent over, touched her toes and shot a steady stream of butt gravy across the stage. Quickly turning around, the mother of 7, briskly rubbed her chubby little thighs together and with the power of her vaginal muscles, sparks began to fly from her coochie until a eerie ball of fire erupted from her ancient pussy.

Amazed and impressed, Gregorio and Asmodeus applauded Isa's talent.

After her fire died out, Isa said, "This was how I killed the father of my boys. One night, after he beat me and called me names, I lay on top of the horrible man while his penis was soft. I acted like I was hot with sex for him. My husband was fooled by this. Then I make powerful sparks with my vagina and ignite a fire upon his penis as I wrap my short strong arms around him, not letting the bastard free himself. By the time I was done with him, he was like a burnt hog, crispy black and flesh falling from him."

Without pausing, Isa introduced one of her sons, "This is Nikolai. He lived with his uncle in Budapest for a year to learn all he could from him. My son, Nikolai, is the only clown who can juggle a chainsaw, bowling ball and box of condoms in the all of Russia, maybe in the entire world.

Nikolai took a spot in the middle of the stage, juggled the chainsaw, bowling ball and box of condoms without dropping any of the items. Asmodeus, nodded his head, impressed.

Isa introduced her next son, "This is Vladamir. He drives the clown car. He got his license in clown car driving by driving Smart cars for Mercedes Benz and being crash test dummy for them."

Vladamir demonstrated how well he drove the clown car and got out of it hurriedly, to waddle back up on the stage. The ringmaster clapped his hands and said, "You have great skill." Vladamir smiled, was obviously bashful, his face crinkling beneath the white make up. Vladamir suddenly celebrated being complimented by pulling his pants down and scratching his taint.

Isa, full of pride, introduced her next son, "And this is Ivan. He has taught his dog, Spot, how to ride on the back of his pony, Speck, for the Dog & Pony show."

Ivan had the pony and dog do the trick at his command. Asmodeus nodded approvingly and then said, "Very good. Next."

The mother of her offspring of clown midgets said, "This is Dragoff."

The two judges gave the little man a curious look.

Isa continued, "Dragoff was born with a permanent smile. A birth defect, as you Americans call it. He was diagnosed at the age of two. My son, Dragoff, because of this defect, does not require much clown make up. Before this audition, for you gentleman, he spent many years in midget tossing competitions."

Asmodeus put a hand up, pausing the old woman for a moment. The circus owner said, "And what talent can he demonstrate for us, today?"

Without missing a beat, Dragoff did a series of backward flips on the stage until landing in a barrel of thumbtacks and needles. He remained, motionless in the barrel, enduring what would be a painful experience for most people and kept his smile. Then Ivan came out, ran toward Dragoff and, suddenly, with a wooden chair, crashed it down on Dragoff's head. Splinters and wood fragments flew out in every direction. Dragoff smiled. Ivan shouted, "Ta Da!"

Asmodeus and Gregorio laughed, clapped and then, in unison, said, "Bravo."

After the stage was cleared, Isa said, "The next son performing for you handsome men is my eldest. His name is Jeepo. Jeepo has had an aneurysm that has affected what you may call his mo-mo-mo... motor skills."

Jeepo weeble wobbled his way onto the stage. To keep his balance, the stumpy clown flung his arms wildly, looking like a human pinwheel. This act gave the illusion of an abstract dance that had amused many crowds in the past. Soon, the midget clown's arms were all a blur. It was hypnotical. When he could no longer move his arms from the tiresome flailing, Jeepo spun around and dove off the stage, landing head first into the heavy desk, making a squishy sound with the softest part of his bulbous head.

Asmodeus and Ringmaster Gregorio abruptly stood up and gave Jeepo a standing ovation.

Isa, happy with the two men's reaction, introduced her next offspring.

"This is Luscious. Before she had, what you call "sex change operation", though it was not much an operation because my son, Ivan, is so handy with the knife. Her name was Chekov and she was a he. Before coming to perform for you today, Luscious worked at a tampon factory. Her job was quality control."

Without being prompted, Luscious, in her tiny tights, began doing a series of back flips, spins and twirls until finally ending her stunt by jumping straight up into the air and coming down onto the stage, doing the splits. Hurriedly, she got up, pulled down her tights and exposed her bald beaver. There was a tattoo of a snake on her cunt lip. The tongue of the snake hovered just above her clit. Like her mother, she, too, rubbed her thighs together until working her new vagina muscles up enough to produce sparks from her cunt. Soon flames flickered and all of Isa's sons came over and roasted marshmallows over her fiery pussy.

She, too, was given a standing ovation by the two delighted men behind the desk.

Isa waved Luscious off the stage and introduced her last son. A cross-eyed midget teetered from side and side, gradually making his way onto the stage. Asmodeus and Gregorio sat back down.

"My son, Trotsky."

Trotsky had troubles with his lungs because he was a heavy smoker. Pulling out deflated balloons from the pockets of his clown pants, Trotsky coughed and gagged before filling each long, slender balloon to it's fullest capacity. Without haste, Trotsky quickly formed the balloons into the shape of a male organ and a female organ. Luscious came back on stage and took the phallic balloon and slid it into her little midget slit. Shifting her thighs rigorously together, she created sparks and popped the penis shaped balloon with ease.

Ivan suddenly made another entrance onto the stage and bashed both of their heads in with a toaster. As his siblings fell to the floor, bleeding profusely, Ivan shouted, "Ta-Da!"

Asmodeus stood up and said, "All of you are hired. I welcome you, as my working performing artists to Asmodeus' Astounding Circus."

In unison, Isa and all the rest of her midget clown family cheered and whooped. Trotsky coughed up blood and smiled. It was a great day for The Blutarsky Brothers.

Toadie in "The Christmas Trip" (Part 2)

Click here for Part 1 of this enchanting story. Now, where was I? Oh yes, here we go...

It wasn't long before both road weary travelers slipped beneath the sheets and fell fast asleep in each of their own beds at the Sheraton hotel. Toadie was lying on his stomach, snoring. During the first few moments of Toadie's slumber, Toadie's anus began it's symphony of sweet, melodious flatulence. This was the result of consuming massive amounts of chili earlier in the afternoon. Who could have guessed that a displeasing incident would occur after just a few hours of rest? Unfortunately, the mentally challenged man's rectum reached a gaseous frenetic crescendo, producing a geyser of diarrhea that spurted through the top bed covers over his lower torso and splattered down atop Toadie's hairy backside.

Instead of waking him, Toadie was influenced in his dreams by the spattering shit juice. Still sound asleep, Toadie cried out, "Toadie loves standing beneath the spray of the waterfall!"

Then Toadie giggled, childlike and endearingly.

Valerie and Toadie awoke the following morning, feeling refreshed but not feeling quite so clean. Valerie sat up in her bed, yawned and felt sticky. After opening her eyes, she noticed small brown blotches on her arms and in her hair. She screamed, instantly, when she realized the blotches was feces. Toadie woke up to Valerie's shriek and quickly sat on the edge of his bed. When he saw Valerie covered with spots of anal gravy, he began to laugh, heartily. Laughing, in turn, gave Toadie a rising woodie.

Valerie's scream increased in volume when she saw Toadie. The somewhat dim-witted 33 year old was completely covered in butt broth. He appeared to be a hideous, hairy, chocolate colored monster. And to make matters worse, he was beating off. When Valerie could no longer scream, she violently retched until the contents of her stomach had emptied onto the floor. Toadie, of course, spooged into the lake of vomit.

After they got cleaned up, they quickly got dressed and got back into the car before the hotel's staff could get wind, so to speak, of what had transpired during their stay. As Val and her jovial co traveler jumped in the car and made a hasty getaway, Toadie rejoiced, "Toadie thinks this is a Shit and Run."

Despite what Val had endured, she felt compelled to cackle at Toadie's pun. Maybe it was stress, she wondered.

Traveling westward, Val and Toadie stopped in the small town of Calvin, Oklahoma. Valerie turned down the radio that had been playing incessant Christmas music for the last couple states. Toadie's eyes had glazed over during half of the westerly travel and he was singing, with much exuberance, to every festive tune played. This was tearing at Valerie's patience.

She had an idea.

Valerie pulled into the driveway of an old abandoned, dilapidated farmhouse and said to Toadie, "Hey Toadie, you know what's more fun than singing to Christmas music?"

Toadie replied, "Toadie is thinking of snow and herpes."

Valerie said, "No, Toadie, this is more fun." With that said, she withdrew a bag of marijuana from her purse.

"Wow," said Toadie. Then he said, "Toadie likes oregano."

Valerie smiled and then countered, "This is the blessed herb, my friend."

Soon, after they shared a few joints, Toadie seemed to calm down and relax, which was what Valerie was shooting for. She was even able to turn to a rock station on the radio without any debate or quarrel with Toadie. Before, he had thrown a fit if she had tried doing that.

Toadie took a toke and handed the rolled ganja back to Valerie. He felt different then and began to see things quite differently. Valerie sucked on the joint, then handed it back, coughing a little. A smile soon spread across her face.

Stoned and content, Toadie turned to Valerie and said, "This shit's good."

Valerie, surprised that Toadie didn't refer to himself in the third person when he just spoke, asked, "Are you okay?"

Toadie replied, "Are any of us really okay? The term 'okay' is subjective, I believe."

Valerie thought she had smoked too much. Toadie was beginning to sound intelligent and even a bit profound to her ears and mind.

Then Toadie put his arm around her and said, "And now I have an idea... if you're game for it, Val."

Valerie said, "Uh-oh... I created a monster." Then she looked down and saw that the man's rigid, impressively sized prick was peeping out at the top of his sweatpants. Toadie smiled at Valerie. Her face showed a look of lust and admiration of his peeping prick's length and girth.

Valerie lightly brushed her fingers along the fat head of Toadie's cock and coyly asked, "Does this idea of yours have something to do with this Yule log you're sporting?" The college student licked her lips.

Toadie chuckled and then answered his companion with a question, "Are you ready for a little Christmastime type adventure?"

Valerie nodded, not knowing what to expect, but she felt game for it- especially if it had something to do with wrapping her lips around Toadie's massive candy cane.

Earlier, on their way through the small town of Calvin, Toadie had noticed several things. One, there a guy in a snowman suit holding up a large sign in the small business area of Calvin. And two, the sign had announced that there would be a town Christmas festival, featuring a church choir of Christmas carolers that would be singing in front of the Town Hall later on that night.

Under Toadie's guidance, Toadie had Val drive them back to the business area of town and wait until the guy in the snowman suit took his lunch break. They didn't have to wait long. When the guy took off for an hour for lunch, he left his snowman suit in the hardware store he had been standing in front of most of the morning.

Toadie slipped inside the store, unnoticed and hurriedly grabbed the suit. His plan was well underway.

Later that evening, at the Town Hall, the mayor of Calvin went up on the stage and invited the St. Mary's Christmas Choir to come up and sing their extensive mix of religious and holiday numbers for the town audience.

As the choir sang "Silent Night", Toadie and Valerie were smoking a blunt in an alley nearby. They felt they needed a little inspiration for the next part of his plan. A couple minutes passed and they were thoroughly fried out of their minds and giggling.

Toadie got out of the car in the dark alley and put on the snowman suit. Valerie helped him put it on. Once that was accomplished, they ran off toward the town's tall, garishly decorated Christmas tree, which happened to stand close to the Town Hall stage. Once there, Valerie reached into Toadie's snowman suit where a hole had been strategically cut out, allowing for Toadie's jolly joystick to escape and stand up, proud and fully engorged. Valerie was increasingly getting wetter as she grappled Toadie's meaty member, stroking it and finally pulling it out of it's "escape hatch".

Valerie eyed Toadie's skin flute with unconstrained desire, turned around and hurriedly pulled down her pants, exposing her bare wet n' ready pussy and puckered asshole. Toadie squirt a little lube from a tube onto Valerie's tender piss flaps after she went down on the ground on her hands and knees. And before you could say "Santa Claus is comin' to town", Toadie repeatedly inserted his beefy bologna into Valerie's delicate dripping slit, causing Valerie to gasp, shriek and moan just as the choir sang the verse, "O come, all Ye Faithful."

The townsfolk and church choir, upon hearing Val's cries of extreme surprise and intense ecstasy, quickly ran over to see where the commotion was coming from. They gazed in awe as they witnessed a snowman savagely fucking Valerie in the cunt.

"My goodness!" cried out the priest. Secretly, however, the holy man's prick was quite hard from the sight.

The mayor, speechless at first, was finally able to ask, "What do you think you're doing with this woman?"

The snowman turned his head and said to the mayor, "I'm fucking her, you dumb ass."

Unrelenting, the snowman continued to plow the depths of Valerie's coochie while the crowd gathered and watched. Valerie's eyes rolled to the back of her head as she moaned so loud, you could swear the sound was coming from an ambulance siren. The citizens of Calvin had never before seen such a spectacle take place in their normally uneventful municipality. Some citizens fainted. Others were outraged. More than a few were aroused, rubbing their crotches, instilled with primal cravings.

Finally, the snowman spurted jets of baby batter into Valerie's gaping twat. After moments of relieving his swollen "snowballsack", Toadie got up, leaving Valerie on her hands and knees, satisfied and dripping with jizz globs and pussy juice. Soon, several police cars were pulling up alongside the curb of Town Hall, after receiving word of a strange public disturbance.

Before the local police were able to get out of their patrol cars, Valerie pulled up her pants and quickly ran after her snowman lover to the nearby back alley where they had parked the car.

Luckily, they were able to escape the pursuing cops and were able to make it to another town without being caught. Once they were sure they were no longer being followed, Val and Toadie checked into a hotel and continued celebrating the holidays in their own special way.

Toadie and Valerie had many other wonderful adventures during their Christmas trip around the country and when they finally made their way back to Rufus' and Maggie's mansion in Chicago, they expressed that they wanted to continue seeing each other. Rufus and Maggie were thrilled that Toadie had finally found someone in his life that he could truly love and share great times with.

And now, gentle readers, our delightful Christmas story has come to an end. I hope you will all have a holly jolly, very Merry Christmas. Peace be with all you!

For previous Toadie stories, click on any of these links:

Toadie in "Happy Anniversary"

Toadie in "Road Rage Spectacular"

Toadie in "First Love"

Toadie in "The Christmas Trip" (Part 1)

Despite Rufus and Maggie's objection to Toadie leaving their mansion in Chicago, Toadie ventured out on a trip across the country during the Christmas season to take in the sights of all the decorated houses and winter festivals across America.

Rufus and Maggie, worried for their semi-retarded friend's safety, were at least able to convince Toadie that he should be escorted during his month long adventure. Maggie persuaded her younger cousin, Valerie, to escort and drive the 33 year old mentally impaired man wherever he wanted to go. At first, Valerie balked at the suggestion due to college priorities. Of course, it didn't take much persuasion from Rufus and Maggie since they had only recently become millionaires due to a huge inheritance and were able to offer Val a substantial amount of money for the task.

Fifty thousand dollars for playing a taxi driver for an imbecile wouldn't be a bad deal, she thought. Besides, the college freshman felt she badly needed a break from school. Val was feeling burned out.

A week into the trip, Valerie began to understand Toadie and realize, with in-depth discussions with him, that he wasn't as mindless as some assumed him to be. She could tell that he was just one of those type of people that you had to really talk to, on a one-to-one basis, for a certain amount of time, in order to get what he was honestly all about.

One night, on the way to Birmingham, Alabama, Valeria turned to Toadie and asked, "Well, are you ready to check in at a hotel?"

Toadie, staring straight ahead at the festively decorated lampposts along the street, replied, "Toadie farted." This was followed by a string of saliva dripping from his bottom lip.

Valerie countered, "Yes, Toadie, I know. I could smell it ten minutes ago and I still can."

Toadie wiped the spittle from his mouth and then said, "The smell makes Toadie hungry for the big bowl of chili Toadie ate this afternoon."

Valerie laughed and then said, "Well, it makes me want to puke my chili up on this dashboard."

Both travelers laughed together then, in effect, causing Toadie's penis to become erect, which happened quite often when he laughed. This odd reaction to laughter would sometimes make for awkward scenes at a Chicago grocery store that Maggie would sometimes take Toadie to, in the past.

Whenever Toadie would see someone or hear something he thought humorous, he would chuckle heartily and eventually sport a 14 inch raging boner which would often times peek out from the top of his sweatpants. Maggie would see his meaty manhood sticking out and tell him to think of something sad to deflate the size of his erection.

Normally, when these events occurred, at least one store patron would invariably see his lengthy piss weasel, stop dead in their tracks and point at Toadie's prick. Some people laughed. Some shrugged. One patron actually screamed and had a massive stroke. Her name was Mabel Strausfurg and she had just celebrated her 70th birthday the day before. When the elderly woman collapsed to the floor, Toadie was shocked and began to sob, uncontrollably.

Customers looked down at the woman breathing her last few breaths on the floor, but instead of running to get help or call for an ambulance, they stood around the old woman and twittered and private messaged their friends and relatives.

Several customers took pictures with their camera phones and other electronic gadgets.

One twenty-ish something year old girl texted this message:

Old biddy just up on dropped on the floor. lol. Most excitement I've had all day.

The bored reactions of the customers vaguely reminded Maggie of the true incident in which Bill Nye, "The Science Guy", collapsed onto the floor before reaching the podium at a college University in California. Everyone in the audience, made up of mostly college students, texted and tweeted what had just happened instead of attempting, in any degree, to help Nye.

Maggie immediately took out her cell phone and called the 911 emergency number before rushing off to alert store management. Quickly, before leaving, she turned to Toadie and said, "Put that thing away before you kill anyone else."

This made Toadie even sadder, feeling immeasurable guilt and as was often the case when he was feeling blue, Toadie would comfort himself by masturbating. This time proved to be yet another such occasion. While being so overwhelmed by emotion that he let out a long sorrowful wail, Toadie abruptly pulled down his sweatpants and urgently wanked his willy .

Toadie exclaimed, suddenly, "Toadie sad!"

With his fat, clenched fist, Toadie began pumping up on down on his love muscle until jets of plentiful semen gushed out, hitting the seemingly bored customers' faces while they tweeted. Not fazed by this in the least, a few crowd members decided to sit down on top of the dying woman and continued to text and twitter. Some of them, in fact, tweeted that they thought there could be a leak in the store ceiling.

This is the actual tweet that one of them typed out:

I think there's something leaking from the ceiling here. Something just hit the top of my head or went in my face. Whatever.

Valerie and Toadie pulled into a snow filled hotel parking lot. The area was enduring subfreezing temperatures for the last several weeks, not allowing for the snow to melt anywhere in the city. Because of this, many of the citizenry in Birmingham were angry and frustrated and took it out on each other and city property in bizarre and vicious ways. One such citizen committed the outrageous act of burning down the city's 35 foot tall Christmas tree for it's measly amount of copper. At least, that was his excuse for burning down the tree.

It seemed, during these times, people were declaring war on Christmas trees. For instance, in Germany, the police arrested a man for making a huge six foot marijuana plant his very own Christmas tree. Justification for his arrest, some had trouble figuring out. The old man wasn't hurting anyone, after all. He was just trying to have a merry Christmas the best way he knew how.

Yet another member of the Birmingham, Alabama community jumped from a bridge to his death. Curiously enough, he was a shopping mall Santa in the area. On his way to the rough waters below, he could be heard to shout, "HO HO HO!" Still alive, though taking in large quantities of river water, the man in the Santa suit thrashed about in the river current and pleaded for help, damning himself for his stupidity.

No help was given to the depressed drowning man, of course. The onlookers, instead, messaged to others on their electronic devices that they had just heard something make a splash in the water. Then they continued doing nothing.

After Valerie and Toadie checked into the hotel room, Valerie smiled at Toadie and began to undress. It wasn't long before both road weary travelers slipped beneath the sheets and....

THE NEXT POST (PART 2 of Toadie in "The Christmas Trip") WILL CONTINUE THIS STORY. MEANWHILE, YOU MAY ENJOY THESE PRECEDING ADVENTURES OF TOADIE BY CLICKING THE FOLLOWING LINKS:

Toadie in "Happy Anniversary"

Toadie in "Road Rage Spectacular"

Toadie in "First Love"

TILL NEXT TIME, "HO HO HO AND MERRY CHRISTMAS, EVERYONE!"

A Typical, But Not Completely, Typical Day

I woke up, today, around 11:00, after about fours of sleep. Seems like I can't sleep any longer than that, lately, without waking up from some strange dream. They're mostly "guilt dreams". I'm only theorizing about that. But I guess I've been burying my conscious and it only escapes during my sleep. This beast has been having it's fun with me for the past month and IT is getting mighty annoying.

Pop goes the nasty shit! It's running out of my mind's door! Unfortunately, it's still in my sleepy head, where it stays trapped. Fuckin' guilt! I liked it better when I didn't dream. A decent sex dream would be welcome, for certain.

When I'm awake, I don't think about anything "I believe" I've done wrong. Normally. But, like the therapist pointed out during one session several years ago... He said I persecute myself and think I deserve punishment for things I've said or have done towards people. He also said that I seem to have the tendency to formulate it in my head like whatever I said or did- to be blown out of proportion. He based it on things I had said, when I was around this or that person, from other sessions.

Makes sense. So now the shitty goop of misplaced or unwarranted guilt is popping up in my dreams. Ah, how nice. But I'm going to confront it head on and admit that I'm not that bad a person and carry on... Even if it takes a hammer to my head to knock the evil goop out my ears. I can't afford therapy at the moment, so I'm going to do battle with my stupid brain, by myself. Like Homer Simpson, I'm going to give it a good talking to and tell it who's boss. If that doesn't work, it's HAMMER TIME, baby.

As I was saying, I woke up, made coffee, petted the cat and put two Bacon and Cheese Hot Pockets in the microwave. Soon enough, I ate them and played my messages on the answering machine. One was from the wifey, telling me she made it to work alright. Good. Next, was the receptionist from my doctor's office. She was letting me know that my insulin pens for my diabetes came in from the patient assistance program. Definitely good news. They had messed up the order of insulin last time and if I hadn't caught that it was the wrong stuff-- when I picked it up from the doctor's office, I could have taken it home, injected it into myself and.... Who knows?

After that, I showered, made supper for later tonight and got my clothes on. That's right! I was cooking in the nude! Excited? No? Alrighty then. Anyway, while I was managing to cook up some Tuna Helper, the cat started going nuts when he smelled the tuna cans I was opening. He kept leaping on my legs as the cans slowly turned round and round the electric can opener. At one point, I thought he was going to strike at my lopsided nutsack and rip into it. Then my precious jelly beans would fall out! Then I would feel blue. My solution is to give him a can of Fancy Feast cat food in a can. It's something we give him as a treat, once in awhile. It says on the can that it is Whitefish and Tuna flavored. Ah ha... That will fool him, I think, patting myself on the back.

I set the bowl of juicy, succulent cat food down on the floor (are you as horny as I am?) and he eats it like a little piggy. His normal bowl of cat food is sitting there, halfway full, next to the water bowl. He's a spoiled little bastard. But then I feel sorry for him because he is our only "child" now. Mufasa, our eldest cat, died, recently. We only have Victor now. He's loving and playful and lonely. We plan on getting him a playmate after Christmas. It's too hectic these days and it takes patience to train a kitten, which is what we'll be looking for when the time comes. No pound kitties, though. We had extremely bad luck with that. That was years ago. Max the Cat was his name and shitting behind and beneath megaton furniture, for no good reason, was his game. Sometimes we didn't find his piss and shit surprises until it was too late. Almost needless to say, Max was returned before I could kill him. We gave him four weeks too many. If I wanted to clean up shit for longer than four weeks, I would have had a friggin' kid. No thanks. There's already enough breeders in this world as it is. Many of them aren't equipped with enough brains or conscious to do battle with themselves.

But, on the same token, responsible parents are just as easy to spot.

I say we give the rotten adults an abortion. Or... Any more than two kids, then you have to give up your genitals. Sorry. Rules are rules and we know how humans love their rules. Lap dog, over breeding imbeciles that don't put on their turn signal when they're changing lanes, by damned it! What was I talking about? Damn those voices in my head.

Immediately, when I finished cooking, I got dressed, brushed my teeth, put on my jacket and hat and out the door I went. I went to doctor's office to pick up the insulin pens, went to the grocery store to pick up lunch meat and bread, went to get monetarily raped at the gas station where the gas is currently at $2.85 a gallon and then I went back home. I checked to see if they got my insulin order right this time. They did! Jackpot! I get to live a couple more months. Hooray. And stuff. After putting everything away, I got back in the truck and drove to the park, with haste.

I had to get my daily park walking done in a hurry. It would be dark soon and wifey was going to be home in a half hour. I try to be there for her so I can be a good husband and not get a beating with the baseball bat. I'm so abused. OK. I might be exaggerating just a little. But she does confide in me that she would like to cut my dick off while I'm asleep. But strangely, that's not why I have trouble sleeping at night. By the way, I laugh when she says such things because I threaten to twist her nipple off now and then. It's like an ongoing comedy routine we have going on. 21 years. Quite healthy.

So off to the park I go. The first person I see is the guy by the athletics supply building. This building sits close to the tennis court that is hardly used and still looks new and the basketball court, nearby, that is the same way. The guy, I'm guessing, is the guy who takes care of supplying the athletes with enough balls and stuff to do their thing. The door was open, obviously, with a key. He looked at me, giving off a little vibe of nervousness. Maybe I imagined it.

All I've ever seen, as far as any games being played at the park, is two Pee Wee football games attended by millions of crazed parents and the other times when a couple kids were playing a few basketball games. Anybody else you see in that park are walkers, runners, people trying to fish at a lake without fish and the park employees. Maybe once a week, you'll see a cop car run through the park. If you wanted to, you could probably get away with fucking, sucking, fisting, lickin' the va-jay-jay and other horseplay down at the large gazebo by the lake without too much trouble. Party time.

Anyway, the supply guy at the building says, ""It's getting colder out here."

I say, "Yeah, it is."

Hell, I don't know what else to say. Supply Guy didn't give me much to work with. By the way, it was getting colder. It was about 45 degrees Fahrenheit at the time. For the rest of you, in other countries, I have no idea what that is in Celsius. I won't check, either, because I'm American and don't give a shit. I think that's the American Way. The metric system can go fuck itself, too. The last person who tried to teach me the metric system was a nun from the parochial school I attended. I rammed a pencil in her eye. Not to worry, though. It was a No. 2 Pencil. And she cried out, "Praise da Lawd!"

After walking the usual path, I find a second person. He is walking toward me from the other direction. He looks like he could be crazy. He's wearing a grey coat with a black sock cap on his head. So I nod to him and do what most folks do in that situation. I say, "Hi.", without really looking at him. He does nothing but nod his head, not wanting to be bothered by my evil, intrusive greetings and keep his hands in his pockets. I wonder if he's hiding Barbie Doll heads in his pockets. Then I wonder if they still have the bathrooms locked or unlocked up ahead in the yellow building. I have problems with my butt. It likes to shit. Although I'm not at the stage of routine adult diaper wear, I have had an accident at the park because they will lock them when it gets closer to winter. During that accident, it was so cold... The turds froze to my leg underneath my pants. Talk about feeling blue... and brown.

When I got home, I was able to shake a leg to pop the turdcicles from the very bottoms of my pants legs.

Minutes go by during my walk now. I have to stop every five to ten minutes because of my foot conditions. I have inoperable 2 and a half inch heel spurs (my feet have been X-rayed so many times, I lost count) and equinus deformity on both feet. The heel spurs have connected to the rest of the bones in my footsies. It's like walking on railroad spikes with misshapen, unbalanced feet. I've tried everything so spare me the advice that I've heard a billion times. Thanks, anyway, stranger. I've done my time with the fancy insoles, shoes and whatever. I've had almost thirty years of experience with it. But I force myself to walk short distances, anyway, because I still need to exercise. It's called perseverance, people. I was going to the gym almost every day for a year and a half and lost thirty pounds but that routine got fucked up during the continuous moving fiasco with my dad's old place that lasted 6 weeks. Now, I'm just trying to keep up with my walking routine.

Regardless, I see a couple walking their pet dog. It has a pink outfit on. I restrain myself from killing the couple. I smile, then say, "Hi. How are you tonight?" They say something back but it doesn't matter. I'm not listening. I'm still thinking of the poor dog in the pink cowboy outfit. As I walk further, I wonder if it's too late to limp back and bash the couple in their heads, thus freeing the dog. Then I think, Well the next thing to happen, if successful, would be the dog rewarding me, with it's rescue of it, by biting a finger off from my hand and taking my nose off my face. Oh well. I keep walking. No good deed goes unpunished. This has always been especially true, in my experience.

In conclusion, I struggle through the rest of my walk, make it home in time before the wife, serve her and I supper and watch a couple shows that we pre-recorded the night before. We talk for awhile. My wife goes to bed early. She's tired. It's getting busier where she works. And now, I'm typing on this keyboard and telling you I'm about to sign off. Who knows? I may come to your blog and leave a comment. Ah, can you feel the excitement?

Behold! You are at the end of this journey I took you on, brave soldier. You must celebrate by flagellating yourself. Or by fixing yourself a hot cup of coffee. Your choice. I won't peek.

Dressed As The Statue of Liberty

It's amusing to see someone dressed as the Statue of Liberty, on the side of the road, waving at the passing cars. The ones responsible for this silliness is a company called Liberty Tax Service. I'm not sure if you have seen any of these people, dressed in the turquoise gowns with a crown of matching color before, but it's a little freaky to witness. I know. It's a job. Somebody has to do it.

I've seen these guys and girls in three different states so far and in every instance I see somebody in the SOL costume, I can't help but to laugh. I've seen a few of them rollerskating, doing their moves and seeming to have a good time with the job. Others, I've witnessed, will be dancing around or doing cartwheels on the side of the road. One of these times, I'm afraid I'll see one of them tumble out in the street and get crushed by a semi-truck. That would be shocking. How would you like to die with that get-up on? That would be embarrassing, to go out like that.

Lately, I've been seeing either this one chick or dude on the corner curb, in costume, waving frantically, smiling like a loon and jumping up and down while it has been either raining or snowing outside. That would suck -to have to be out in the snow, freezing your ass off in a Statue of Liberty outfit. The costumes don't look very warm. I guess they're attempting to keep warm with all the movement they're doing.

No matter what the weather is like, they're always so happy looking, nearly bursting with joy. That's great. Keep a positive attitude, no matter what you have to do to earn a living.

My first instinct,when we slowly pass one of these folks, is to give them "the finger". But, since I've had my fair share of doing some embarrassing things for my employers in the past, I kinda feel sorry for them. When I worked at a grocery store, I had to dress up in a Twinkie The Kid costume. It was hot, bulky and a real bitch handing out free Twinkies to a bunch of snot nosed brats all day long.

Still, the image of me rolling down the passenger side window, sticking my bare ass out towards these Statues of Liberty people and squirting projectile watery shit at one of them does make me smile. Give 'em some of that wacky sprinkler activity. I guess that's a natural impulse, though. At least it is for me. Would doing that be considered impolite?

But I would never do something like that.

I'm too much of a gentleman. :-) Actually, the real reasons I wouldn't do something so cruel to any of them is because I'm just too old and mature for those types of shenanigans, anymore.

Plus, I wouldn't want some asshole treating me with disrespect while I'm working, doing a job most of us wouldn't want to do. I will go as far as making a funny face at them at times while waving back at them. Sometimes, both my wife and I will put on our "stroke faces" where one side of our mouths are turned downwards, as our faces are pressed against the car window. We do that, at times, for laughs. They seem to really enjoy that, waving back at us with even more enthusiasm than before.

That makes me feel good.

Crazy Bear and Volcano Butt

At least I'm over the sinus infection and bronchitis. My arms and elbows are still giving me trouble, however. I've been to 2 different doctors who say I've got tennis elbow. I've been taking this, supposedly strong, anti-inflammatory medication for it, since Wednesday but so far, it has been of minimal help with the pain. It doesn't help that I'm in a distribution center where I do a lot of repetitious work.

But, as I've mentioned, I'm not sick anymore. So that's something.

I frequently get sick. It usually takes a strong anti-biotic to knock the shit out of my system. One of the worst times I've ever been sick was when I went camping with a bunch of friends. This occurred about 15 years ago but I remember it with much fondness. I call this unfortunate, true story....

CRAZY BEAR AND VOLCANO BUTT

One night, as I'm walking around with my friends, sister and brother-in-law at a huge flea market out in the middle of nowhere, it is mutually decided that we walk back to our campground, a quarter of a mile away, to do a bit of drinking. It is kind of chilly. About forty degrees. At the time, I was a little sick but not feeling that bad. A sore throat. Some snot in my nose. No big deal. So I believed. I found out my decision to drink would be a poor one, though.

So we get to our large green tent in the primitive area. The "primitive area" means there are no bathrooms or water fountains within a quarter of a mile of the entire site. There's about ten of us. And we're all drinking, having a righteous good time in the middle of no-man's-land. I think I had a couple swigs of peppermint schnapps, along with my one beer. Yum. Several hours later, we turn in and pass out on the canvas tent floor. It's incredibly cramp in the tent, with no space between bodies. When someone belched or farted, you were going to smell it. No way to escape it.

Sure enough, in the middle of the night, I feel the bile rising up in my throat. As I'm struggling to crawl over bodies in complete darkness, pee dribbles down my leg. I panic. Now I'm rushing to get the hell out of the tent, not caring who's head I crush with a kneecap. I barely am able to unzip the tent door and jump out when every human waste liquid known to man gushes forth from every orifice, simultaneously. Fountains of vomit leap out of my mouth like a broken Hoover Dam. Torrents of anus gravy explode out of my butt with such force, I swear the back of my jeans have blown out. My male member unloads two and half quarts of piss as I gargle multi-colored puke out onto the cold hard ground. I'm on my hands and knees, silently begging for death. I try desperately to hold back my enraged fluids but to no avail. I am in hell as I shake, puke, piss and shit like some monstrous human crap sprinkler. Intermittently, as I attempt to stop heaving, a strange, bear-like roar is unleashed from my throat. At least, that's how my sister has described it.

Finally, my sister comes out. I'm surprised no one had heard me before. Later, someone told me that they had heard me but were afraid to come out. They thought they heard a monster. It was me.

My sister, thankfully, brought out some rags and a pair of shorts for me to use. I had to strip off all of my clothes as they were completely soiled. I wiped the various chunks of stuff off of me and then changed clothes, stumbling over a rock, while doing so. Extremely dehydrated and exhausted, I drug my limp, foul body back inside the tent and collapsed. It seemed the good times were over.

In the morning, everyone regains consciousness and begins to rise. When they look at me, they see a pale form lying still on the floor. My arms are crossed over my chest (in burial fashion) and my eyes are swollen shut. They actually thought I was a goner. Luckily, my sister traveled to the parking area and brought my car to me when I resurrected from the grave. I left the campground with a chafed anus, bloody raw throat and pounding grey matter. Hardly able to see through my watering eyes, I made it back home. A miracle.

A day later, either my wife or mother were doing me the favor of washing my jeans. The same jeans that had been so ruthlessly abused during my puking escapade. Feeling something hard in the lower pants leg, she became curious and reached up inside to pull out a dry, foot long solid turd.

What a delightful surprise.

THE END