It Was Trash Day,of Course I Got Attacked By Cat Shit
I’m not really certain how it happened last night. I was hanging out with my lovely wife, watching Farris Bueller’s Day Off and absent-mindedly surfing the internet. It was at this point that I decided that I could go for a beer. So I got up, went to the kitchen and grabbed one. I finished it and grabbed another. By the time it was all over, I had done this fifteen times. I’m not sure why I did it. I don’t regularly drink this much beer. I’m certainly not 19 anymore – there were going to be consequences. Something inside just kept telling me to go get another beer…until I lost consciousness.
So I got up this morning and felt like crap. My mouth tasted like I had eaten a sponge that had recently been used to thoroughly scrub the vaginas of homeless people. I don’t have to go to work today, but I do have to take the trash out…and then drive 1,3334 miles to Florida (but that’s another story). So I clumsily stumble from room to room, emptying trash cans and cursing myself for being so stupid. The unpleasant job is almost done when I encounter the litter box in the spare bathroom. Fuck. The litter box.
When we got the cat, my children promised me that they would clean the litter box out every day. I knew they were lying, but I thought that they might have really meant that they would clean it out once a week or something like that. Well, the little punks never clean it out and they hardly ever play with the cat. I’m not even a cat person and here I am, scooping its shit out of a plastic box with a tiny shovel like some sort of scat fetishist’s bitch, vomiting into my mouth and dropping the crap into a cheap trash bag. I breathed a sigh of relief when I finally finished the chore. I slowly stood up, turned and accidentally banged the trash bag into the side of the bath tub. I don’t remember feeding lawn darts to the cat, or anything else sharp for that matter – but when the sack of poo hit the tub, it split all the way down the seam. Of course, cat shit went everywhere.
I stood there with the empty sack in my hand, old vagina taste in my mouth and my head pounding like Max Roach during an epileptic seizure. There was shit in every direction. I did not sob or sniffle, but a single tear rolled out of each eye. Now I’m getting ready to sit in a car for 24 hours. I’m not sure what’s mockable about all this, but I thought I’d share anyway. #FML