Last week—Thursday morning I believe—I took the mother of all dumps. Not sure this was the largest bowel movement of my life, but it only took one look to tell me this was going to need a plunger unless I wanted to risk dangerous overflow. The term "mother of dumps" makes a lot of sense as it would then be a large dump that would be capable of giving birth to smaller dumps. Much like a 135lb woman might give birth to an 8lb baby, calling an average dump one pound and following this model, the "mother of all dumps" would correlate to something like 16lbs. I think my numbers are quite off here (or I hope so). Anyway, since I love word play, it got me thinking about "the father of all dumps." I think this can be nicely summed up as your bowel-cleansing-inducing food of choice. For many people this is Taco Bell, but a standard cheeseburger does the trick for me if I haven't had red meat in a while.
Moving on but not really past the fecal then, Saturday I found myself at The Levee: home of the two-dollar bill wrapped turd. I've given it that lovely subheading because, while I was tossing some darts, my companions were discovering just that. I don't know who has the presence, or dementia rather, of mind to place a piece of poop inside a two-dollar bill and lay it on a bar surface, but the answer is at least partially "someone who was in The Levee Saturday night." The culprit could certainly benefit from this product from the Brown Corporation. And aside from some slut in heels stomping on my flip-flop clad foot (my fault for wearing flip flops to a club, but I think this was going to hurt even with a shoe on and I'm mostly just pissed because the bitch went on her merry way like it didn't happen) it was a good night. Hell, I never expected to see a dollar slice of pizza again in New York City, but there it was, and not even that bad.
As usual, my the train back to Jersey was lots of fun. Rarely do I go an entire round trip without witnessing several incidences of out and out jerkery. On this occasion it was an elderly and presumptuous slag that decided it was the duty of others around her to help her off the train. Shortly before her stop (which happened to be the same as mine) she pronounced to two girls seated ahead of me that one of them could help her off the train. Yes, not asked, stated...they should be so lucky...When it came time for our stop, I stood there clad in my moderately-to-highly douchey get-up of tight jeans, white v-neck, sunglasses and iPod. Still, this did little to deter said slag from declaring "he can help me off the train." He was me in this instance, and I had little choice as her greasy claws (they weren't greasy, but it makes for a better effect) were upon me as she made this declaration. She thanked me after I helped her off and I just walked away shaking my head and laughing. The thing is, I would gladly have helped this lady had she simply asked, but I never like presumptuous self-important fuckers.
I've got a potty mouth, but what I don't have is the patience to proofread this post. Catch you on the flipside.