As I continue to struggle through a temporary writer’s block (Kind of like running in soft sand) figured I’d just throw this blast-from-the-past against the wall and see if it sticks.
Apologies to those who have already seen and read this one (both of you 😉 )
Happy Thursday to you, wherever and whatever time-zone you may find yourself in.
–Your Humble Servant: Merde Le Roi
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Three A.M. and I was in the middle of a dream about ‘Shit River’ in Ologapo City, Philippines. (Freud would’ve loved me)
Then I woke up.
Woke up to a very un-dreamy-like smell of real shit. Real potent shit. Horrible smelling shit. Knock a buzzard off a shit wagon smelling shit. Bring out yer dead, Shit.
“Who’s that?”
“Must be a king”
“Why?”
“He hasn’t got shit all over ‘im”
I was living in an old two-story house in Commerce. Just outside my bedroom was the walk-in closet where I kept all the clothes I owned. I have never owned much in the way of clothes, by the way.
I heard something dripping like rain behind the door, but it wasn’t raining outside. I opened the door and sure as shit, shit was raining down from the ceiling. All over my clothes. Spattering on the floor. My Chow Mix doggie, Tizzy, was obviously responsible.
I went around the corner, and there he was in that dog-taking-a-shit posture at the top of the stairway: Obviously with a really bad case of the doggie drizzling shits. Made me miss my ant farm.
