Scatology 101

[KJ, if you're reading this, you probably shouldn't.]

Gentle Readers:

I, inspired by the peepee/poopoo posts of Minus and Jennifer, have taken time to trod through the hallowed hallways of my own memories in search of related stories with which to regale you . Naturally, I cannot hope to aspire to the comic heights of the awe-inspiring and legendary tale of the Rental Car Stench woven so masterfully by our own Minus, but I do have a brace of minor tales that I will, if I might beg your leave, relate. While I am more of a zit aficionado, I find much to recommend in the following incidents, both of which, by coincidence, center around cousins, with a side helping of aunt and, with a nod to my last post, a home movie.

Let's start with peepee. Several years ago, my cousin's teen son, declared a budding genius by Stanford/Binet, went to North Carolina to participate in the Duke Talent Search. His mother (my cousin) and grandmother (my aunt Ruby) accompanied him. Unfortunately Aunt Ruby had developed urinary incontinence as she aged; to wit, when she had to go, she had to go IMMEDIATELY. No waiting about, holding it, hoping not to giggle too hard. As my understanding goes, her brain received the "I gotta pee" message about the time the pee was making its debut into her urethra. So there they are, in one of Duke's venerable old stone academic buildings, with Ruby, wild-eyed, scoping for a ladies room. No time. She scurried down a nearby hallway, into an empty classroom, ripped down her drawers, and whizzed into the first trash can she saw. Her daughter, a few steps behind, saying, "Mother? Mother! You'd better NOT!" Alas. Too late.

Things don't improve with Aunt Ruby, however. A couple of years after her Duke deposit, she and the same daughter, brave soul, were headed up I-65 about halfway between Birmingham and Huntsville without an exit in sight, and again the urge to go hits hard. "Stop the car! Pull over! Now!" she directs. My cousin was at an impasse; should she risk--no, not risk, as Aunt Ruby's whizz was like death and taxes once announced--should she allow her car seats to be anointed, or pull over and allow her 70-year-old mother to get out of the car?

She pulled over.

Aunt Ruby slung open the door, ripped down her pants and big-girl panties, and squatted by Interstate 65 to piss. Legend has it that she made minimal attempts to conceal her dilemma, and even got a shout-out via the horn of an 18-wheeler. Wooo-hooo.

Thereafter Ruby was trussed in Depends if she went somewhere, or she wasn't invited.

Now to poopoo.

I was visiting my cousins at their home in Rogersville, AL, one afternoon when we decided to watch home movies. This particular day marks the discovery of the "reverse" switch on the projector; naturally, we were delighted to watch ourselves walking, running, cavorting, all backwards. At the time, the set of cousins whose movies we were watching lived on a farm, with the requisite horses, cows, chickens, etc. For some reason, my uncle had taken the camera to the pasture to film some of his prize cattle when one of the big bulls--okay, you know where this is going!-- took THE HUGEST BULLSHIT DUMP IN THE HISTORY OF THE UNIVERSE. I mean, patty after patty was delivered into a huge heaping steaming pile for the camera's eye. Well, of course you know what we did. We hit the reverse switch AND the slo-mo. When that big pile of bullshit started jiggling and then moving upwards, gathering into a thinner stream of shit and disappearing into that bull's bung hole, I'm here to tell you that, truly, it was the funniest thing we had ever seen. We ran it back and forth countless times. We howled. We screamed. We fell on the floor and kicked. We were told to quieten down. We screeched louder. Our mirth was investigated and we were reprimanded for watching this joyous incident, labeled "nasty" by an aunt (perhaps Ruby "Goes Around Comes Around"), but we were totally out of control.

To this day, the sight of that shit running back into that bull's ass makes me laugh so hard.