December 2, 2012
This post is in no way appropriate. But since when am I appropriate? On a mature day, I have the mind of a 13-year-old boy who got held back a few grades and has irresponsible parents.
If you can’t handle talk about poops, or the lack thereof, then I suggest you stop reading now. But if you CAN’T handle talk about poops, then honestly, I have no idea WTF you’re doing here. Because it’s kinda something I talk about. A lot. There’s a reason that “Everyone Poops” book became such a huge seller, and that reason is, duh, everyone poops. It’s right there in the title, you guys. Holy balls.
As my avid readers know, I have a thing about poop. That thing is that if I don’t have a morning one, it can and will, throw off my entire day. I learned from my dad to call this special morning time “My Morning Constitutional,” which seems totally appropriate considering that one of the definitions of “constitutional” is “beneficial to ones general physical well-being,” and a good poop is nothing if not beneficial to my well-being. It keeps my clothes fitting well, it keeps me healthy, and it keeps me from sporking idiots in the nutsacks. So actually, my morning constitutional is beneficial to not only me, but to everyone around me, too.
So last weekend we went with some friends to the Texas Renaissance Festival. I love the RenFest for two reasons:
1) It’s a total freak show
2) They have food on sticks
So the day we went to the RenFest, I did not have my morning constitutional. It was just literally, a no go. I could barely move. My pants wouldn’t button right, and I felt all discombobulated and frumpy and slow. I even broke one of my cardinal poop rules and tried in vain to make a deposit at a McDonald’s along the way, but some woman beat me to it. Nothing ruins your shot at a good poop like someone else stinking up the joint so you can’t stay in there long enough to give it a go.
Basically, by the time we got to RenFest I wasn’t feeling the traditional Patti Perk.
And ya know how when you’ve just had a bad break-up or something, every song that comes on the radio is about a break-up and you feel like The Universe is taunting you and your pain? That’s how I felt at the RenFest. Every sign I saw made me curse my inability to perform on the potty.
The photo on the left is of me (duh) in front of a Hot Tamale stand, and the red circle is around a sign that is advertising Fudge Puppies. The photo on the right is of me (duh, again) in front of a pewter stand (pooter is a fart, you guys).
This is a photo of me in front of Ye Village Flutemaker. Oh, how I envied that flutemaker.
This is a photo of me in front of King of the Log. Need I really say more?
THEN the tide turned. The clouds parted and the Heavens shined down on me:
I think these two speak for themselves.
(A big shout-out to my friend Jenny R. for taking these photos and laughing with me at all of the signs, and not cringing when I constantly talk about poop.)
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