Category Archives: Poop Shoes
I’m sorry but this week’s posting is of a FECAL MATTER! But I am curious to know if you’re one of those that’s able to take care of ol’ body function “Number 2” at yer work place? I CANNOT!!! I can’t stand POTENTIALLY being identified as the person that left the restroom smellin’ worse then a Snookie gynecology appointment.
Due to my raging restroom paranoia, I came up with a plan for emergency bowel issues while at work: a secret set of “poop shoes” — a “special” pair of shoes that you smuggle into the bathroom and use for those times when ya just can wiggle yer leg or squeeze yer butt cheeks any tighter.
Think of it, the last time when you went to a bathroom, ladies or guys, and you smelled an AWFUL stench. You looked around at the stalls trying to figure out if someone was unloading or if the FBI had just found Jimmy Hoffa in stall #3! And you saw their shoes AND RECOGINZED WHO in the workplace needed to eat some “SOAPWORD” potpourri.
With the “poop shoes” nobody will know it’s YOU in the stall! Simply smuggle the pair of “poop shoes” into the bathroom when nature calls. Quickly slip on the “poop shoes” before you sit down then let ‘er rip! When someone comes into the restroom and hears ya writhing in pain or your bellowing “gas echo” and looks under the stall to see “who dat?” they will see your “poop shoes.” (HINT: this doesn’t work if you wear one-of-a-kind argyle socks.)
When the mission is complete, you simply exit the stall while the restroom is empty – put on your REAL shoes and smuggle your “poop shoes” back to your office or cubicle. GENIOUS!!!
But then again, people should just mind their own business, I guess. There’s a joke where I supposedly told a guy to mind his business.
Little Johnny was sitting on a park bench munching on one candy bar after another. After the sixth one a man on the bench across from him said, “Son, you know eating all that candy isn’t good for you. It will give you acne, rot your teeth, make you fat.”
Little Johnny replied, “My grandfather lived to be 107 years old.”
The man asked, “Did your grandfather eat 6 candy bars at a time?”
Little Johnny answered, “No, got that old by minding his own SOAPWORD business!”
My grandfather DID NOT live to be 107!!! He did live to be old though and I don’t remember even ONE DAY when he minded his own business. He told EVERYONE exactly what he thought – no matter WHO they were or WHERE they were. Being retired, he used to go to WalMart, put one of their full-length mirrors in a cart, and casually push it around the store for the day. When he saw someone like this guy, he would IMPOLITELY suggest that the guy purchase the mirror and then proceed to itemize why in Joan Rivers style.
On another note, about the candy bars, one day in about the 7th grade (ya know, the stage in life when poopin’ and makin’ it STINK was a funny thing) Dicky Dickson and Durty Kurty were in side-by-side stalls of the school LAVATORY. Dirty Kurty had just eaten 10 Mallow Cups for breakfast and was sounding like a dozen of 18-wheelers comin’ down a 45-degree hill with their jake brakes! It was soooooo bad that I remember our Sister Beechaknuckle running out of her class room, which was next to the boys room telling everyone to get under a doorway cuz her seismograph activated!
Dicky Dickson had a dangler that he couldn’t pinch and Durty Kurty waited him out but REFUSED to do a “courtesy flush.” It ended up that both of them missed their next class, going to the school nurse thinking that they both had gotten Polio. Ya see, they had sat on the toilet and dangled their legs for soooooooo long their legs fell asleep. Ya shoulda seen them dragging themselves to the nurse’s office!!!!
Ok…until next week. (Click here to see the rule on “wipe before you type” in the BR)