A Heavy Load

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Do you guys ever stop to think:

“Man, what would I do if I straight up pooped my pants right now?”

Seriously, what would you do?

Like, you’re just sitting at work and for whatever reason, you just poop your pants. Maybe it was a fart you shouldn’t have trusted. Maybe some sort of gastric bug finally achieved its final form. Maybe your brain just disconnected from your body for a little bit to take a smoke break only to come back and find you soiled and sobbing. How do you react to that? Regardless as to why, how do you react if you suddenly find yourself dropping the dumplings in the fryer?

This is a serious question. I have no idea honestly. If I was at home it would be one thing, but at work? At the grocery? Would I try to hide it and awkwardly saunter my way into the nearest bathroom. Even then, what do I do at that point? Do I ask someone for a lighter as if I’m going out for a cigarette and then ritualistic burn my disgraceful undergarments in hopes of appeasing whatever demonic forces got me into this mess? Do I frantically bury my shame into the nearest trash can like some sort of first day spy trying to get to the dead drop in time? Do I just leave my stained garments on the toilet as if someone in the stall was VERY surprised to be taken during the Rapture?

Or do you proudly exclaim what happened so as to remove all suspicion. Just own it like a politician owning wiener pics they sent to an intern.

My fellow Dave and Busters patrons, I have failed you. In a moment of weakness, I seem to have lost control of my body, namely parts that rhyme with “distincter,” and for that, I am ashamed. I will not try to make excuses for my actions, I will simply ask that you forgive me for the pain I’ve brought to you all, namely those of you who wish to enjoy the Jurassic Park shooting game and now have to wait for Roy and his bottle of bleach to declare the enclosure safe once again. Oh, Roy. It is you I have failed most of all. I take my leave now and resign from my position as master of the over-sized Space Invaders game. I wish you all best of luck in the days to come.

It honestly just boggles my mind how unprepared I feel to suddenly find myself sending a fax to Cleveland, as it were. I feel more prepared for a sudden fire, than an unexpected poosplosion. I have more plans laid out for an active shooting situation than a sudden Decatur tater (which honestly probably says more about the state of the country than anything else).

Cthulhu could rise from the depths while I’m in the middle of a Red Garra pedicure and I would still probably have my head on a sturdier swivel than I would if I was having a chocolate occasion in the middle of a Bed, Bath and Beyond.

I know it’s gross, but I’m not going to apologize for that (I’m so sorry, dear Lord please, I’m so sorry, please don’t unfollow my blog, please). It’s just something odd I was thinking about recently because I’m incredibly normal and there is nothing wrong with me shut up. I just don’t feel like I could ever have a solid plan if my body just forgot everything it knew and was like “hey, I know this is a funeral, but let’s see a man about a wallaby real quick, cool?” I am a grown ass man and I feel like there is no greater panic in the world than that. A fully grown Bengal tiger could fly out of my bag of chex mix and start mauling me while perfectly singing the Merry Clayton part of beloved Rolling Stones classic “Gimme Shelter,” and I would still have less panic tearing through my body than I would if I was cutting plums while waiting in line at the DMV.

When you’re a kid, it just doesn’t matter. Hell, as a baby, being fully allowed to mire in your own filth is part of the fun! Then as you get a little older, if you crunch grumpies where you stand, there’s an adult nearby to handle all the aftermath. As an adult, I just don’t know if I can trust the nearest adult to help because that nearest adult is me and I am going to be way too busy panicking that I just fruited my looms.

What would you do? Not that I honestly want anyone to answer that because ew, I don’t want to talk to you about your shit. Seriously. That’s disgusting.

And YES, to those asking.

This IS how I decided to come back from my one month hiatus.

I hope you survived the experience.


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