My Robot Is Pregnant theme song!

It may make better business sense to hire Spanish speakers. A bunch of guys doing a bunch of mindless digging for 8 hours are gonna try to entertain themselves and that means talking about boobs and farts. Which would be fine if the homeowner and the elderly neighbors who are sitting around heard it all happen in Spanish. The homeowner and the neighbors don’t speak Spanish. They’d assume we were talking about shovels and holes. They do speak English and a word like “pussy” is able to penetrate walls and get through a tv commercial turned up loud enough for a guy with a dead hearing aid battery to hear.

This backyard we are hauling dirt out of is not far from my friend Ian’s rental place, and he keeps tools in the basement. I have a key. I went to look for some drop cloths to lay on the steps so we didn’t damage anything when I was suddenly gripped by the urge poop. Mind you I’ve been sick this week and I’ve been drinking loads of orange juice. That with the pizza for lunch gave me diarrhea. But I was in the laundry room of Ian’s apartment building and no bathroom around. So I grabbed a shopping bag with someone’s clothes in it and dumped them on the sorting table and hunched over the open bag on the floor and let it rip. I HAD TO GO.

“What do I wipe with…nevermind…gotta go again.”

I grabbed the bag but my diarrhea, like most people’s, was wet. So wet it was already leaking through the bag. I’d left the door to the basement laundry room open, it stunk like shit, my pants were down, I needed the plastic bag on the shelf over there. I went in that. Then I put the leaky bag in the plastic bag. Then I cut strips out of someone’s pillow case and wiped my butt. It was a laundry room remember, so I soaked the strips and got myself very tidy and clean. It was all very hilarious to me once it was over, and I rushed back to the fellah’s to share my story. Only, I wish I had said it in Spanish. Not everyone needed to hear that.

On the ride home Jeff asked, “What’d you do with the bag?”

It was like a ghost story, because I pointed behind my head into the back of the truck and said, “It’s right there!”

It was, it was right there. I had tucked it level with my head on some random garbage because I didn’t want it to tear open. It was right behind the glass behind my head!

Jeff screamed. Covered his mouth with his hand like he was barfing then with a plaintive voice asked, “Why do you still have it?”

“I couldn’t leave it at Ian’s!”

“Yes you could have! You should have stuck it in his oven and left it on 300!”

“I think I can smell it in here!”

Jeff gagged a little bit. Poop stories rule.