So I just got an email commenting on something I mentioned on the latest edition of DKFM. The Melvins have a new CD out - (A) Senile Animal on Ipecac, & in my backannouncing frenzy I waxed poetic about how great they were live - the last time I saw them was at Maxwell's this past October, and they really were massive, perfect and heavy all at once. A kind listener emailed me to tell me that when he saw the Melvins live he "literally" crapped his pants. This email brought back memories of when I once "literally" crapped in my pants, so here goes...
We are rewinding a bunch of years here. I am walking home from my friend Janet's house after school on a weekday. It's late fall; not super cold, but I remember wearing a scarf and gloves. The two of us partied like maniacs most of high school (please do NOT forward this blog post to my mom) and were amazed to actually graduate. So this day in the late 70's (there, I said it!) is no different. I'm walking home, skipping home, buzzing home, observing the world around me. Today, I am unusually high and find everything funny. I find myself stopping & staring at the bark of trees, piles of leaves, cool cars & numbers painted on the curb. Yep. I know you remember those days; the days previous to burn out, previous to the bad pot, previous to the really expensive pot. High as a kite, not a care in the world. So I knew I was really stoned, but playing with it; I wasn't hurting anyone & I still remembered how to get home, which was probably a nice 45-minute walk, so everything was peachy.
Oh no! Something is amiss! Terror and dread set in. I am so stoned I have completely lost control of my bowels and have pooped in my pants. At first I am denying the possibility, but the inevitable sets in. I start to walk funny. I am disgusted with myself. There is nothing else for me to do but keep heading home and hope, PRAY that none of it rolls down the leg of my pants or gets squished to something else to make an even bigger mess. Shit, shit, shit! I am an idiot! How could I get SO stoned that I didn't even notice that I crapped in my own pants, argh! The rest of the way home is not so fun. I do not gag, but being in my own presence makes me want to puke. How irresponsible! I start thinking about what a bitch it's going to be to do the laundry. First, my mom is going to end up seeing me and ask me a million questions - that's what I REALLY want to hear. First, I usually avoid her when I'm stoned altogether, and NOW she is going to just go on and on while I am paranoid as hell. Then I'm going to have to scrape the turd out of my underwear and immediately wash my pants. Crikey! I cannot believe what a dope I can be. That's it; I'm never smoking pot again. THIS IS IT! Who the hell do I think I am? What if I had to go to work? I can't just walk into work with a big load in my pants! Jeez. I am changing my lifestyle today. This is too much to bear, the last straw, I am drawing the line right here, right now!
So I arrive home and get past my mother. I go up to my bedroom to grab clean jeans to change into & take off my coat. This is when I realize that the scarf I had been wearing had reconfigured itself into a lumpy mass between my ass cheeks. I had not shat in my pants at all! I was so horrified that I had soiled myself that I was afraid to investigate while walking, so I walked uncomfortably for a good couple of miles. What a dope, how stupid could I be??? But now I have a good story & no dirty pants. I am happy & giggle uncontrollably, and do not stop smoking pot for years. No moral, no lesson, no poop! Looking for the perfect poop gift for someone for the holidays? Search no more! Check out the Pooping Moose here!