I would not do that
Cold.
The big freeze is upon us, and our suffering has been great. Nevertheless, those of us hardened by the rigors of our Northern deployment have what it takes to just bite the bullet and get out there and get it done, even if “it” is nothing more than a quick-and-dirty excretional expedition.
Most of us, that is.
Fabio, alas, being the bloated oaf that he is, cannot seem to muster the resolve to even make the 30-foot round trip to the icy latrine. Which is ironic, as Fabio resembles nothing so much as an overfed arctic seal pup.
Instead, my idiot brother has started — inadvisably, in my opinion — taking care of his business indoors, despite a 10-year-old bilateral treaty banning such practices. He thinks he's being clever about it, leaving his little marble-sized creations in a remote, low-traffic hallway corner like some gargantuan phantom rabbit.
The Woman, the Man, and even Fabio's Doorman have all had the pleasure of dealing with these keister eggs — and if Fabio thinks these three aren't going to get together and compare notes sooner or later, he's gambling on very long odds. What's more, if he thinks they won't piece together who's behind these infractions in about three seconds, then his naivety is exceeded only by his sloth.
Because one, I recognize and honor the 1996 Excretionary Treaty; two, I would never befoul my own fortress; and three, if I decided it was time to poop indoors, you wouldn't find it tucked away in a dark corner. You'd find it in your lap, with a bow on top and a signed card.
The big freeze is upon us, and our suffering has been great. Nevertheless, those of us hardened by the rigors of our Northern deployment have what it takes to just bite the bullet and get out there and get it done, even if “it” is nothing more than a quick-and-dirty excretional expedition.
Most of us, that is.
Fabio, alas, being the bloated oaf that he is, cannot seem to muster the resolve to even make the 30-foot round trip to the icy latrine. Which is ironic, as Fabio resembles nothing so much as an overfed arctic seal pup.
Instead, my idiot brother has started — inadvisably, in my opinion — taking care of his business indoors, despite a 10-year-old bilateral treaty banning such practices. He thinks he's being clever about it, leaving his little marble-sized creations in a remote, low-traffic hallway corner like some gargantuan phantom rabbit.
The Woman, the Man, and even Fabio's Doorman have all had the pleasure of dealing with these keister eggs — and if Fabio thinks these three aren't going to get together and compare notes sooner or later, he's gambling on very long odds. What's more, if he thinks they won't piece together who's behind these infractions in about three seconds, then his naivety is exceeded only by his sloth.
Because one, I recognize and honor the 1996 Excretionary Treaty; two, I would never befoul my own fortress; and three, if I decided it was time to poop indoors, you wouldn't find it tucked away in a dark corner. You'd find it in your lap, with a bow on top and a signed card.
so sayeth Shmool on Wednesday, November 29, 2006
2 Comments:
Dear Shmool, how do you feel about Christmas?
Bah Humbug.
Post a Comment
<< Home