You might have noticed a new design here.
That’s right, Jenna over at Bloggy Bog Designz did it up big. I can tell you two things about them.
1.) They do GREAT work, and they will hold your hand the whole way through.
2.) They take a LONG Christmas break.
The second thing is totally forgivable though, on account of the first thing.
Anyway, I think it’s time for the main attraction. I know why you’re all here. You’re here for the TMI.
If you’re new here, I just want to apologize up front for this. LiLu over at LivitLuvit does this little gig where you tell a really embarrassing story about yourself, and then link it up over on her site, where you will find a plethora of “wholly unclassy” stuff. If what I have to say doesn’t make you twitch quite enough, I suggest you click the picture of the two old people down there who are having a lot more fun than you did last night.
The other day, I had some home-ec student made chili.
I honestly didn’t think it would end like it did.
However, it did, and this is what happened.
I got the rumbles on the way home from work, and I chalked it up to stress on account of my brakes going out, and me trying to make it to the tag office before they closed so I could renew a 32 year old tag.
I made it home without any further incident, and I thought everything was okay. Little did I know, that chili had liqufied everything in my intestinal tract.
I think really it speaks wonders for the tightness of my ass.
Anyway, I sat down in my recliner, and didn’t have anymore issues.
A couple hours later, I had to go tinkle.
As a guy, one of the great things about peeing is that it gives you an opportunity to fart. Some of my greatest squawks of the butt trumpet have come while I was shaking hands with the president. It’s the best time to do it. You don’t have to worry about the wife giving you beef, you don’t have to restrain yourself, you can just let loose and let it fly.
As it turns out, those rules only apply when you haven’t had home-ec chili.
You see where this is headed?
Let me set the stage for you.
I’m in my bathroom. I have one hand firmly on the wall, one hand on Big T. The urge to pass a little gas hits me.
I turn it loose…
…I effin crapped myself.
That’s right, ladies and gents, Travy G, the captain of cool, the sultan of sarcasm, the ambassador of alliteration, shit himself.
I’d like to tell you that it was just a little bit, and truth be told, it probably was. However, it didn’t FEEL like a little bit. It felt like, well, it felt like someone had just dumped a bowl of chili down the back of my pants.
I almost cried.
Humiliation does not even BEGIN to describe the feeling I felt. I wasn’t drunk. I wasn’t incapacitated in anyway. I was of sound mind and able body, and I shit myself, WHILE STANDING AT THE TOILET.
The Missus knew immediately something was up for two reasons.
A.) I took a mid-afternoon shower.
B.) I started a load of laundry.
Have any of you had to tell your spouse that you just shit yourself?
She laughed at me. She tried not to, I’ll give her that, but she did. Asked if I was alright, all while holding back the biggest smile I’ve seen out of her all year.
It will make you shit yourself.
Also, how do you tell the young ladies at school that made if for you that it made you shit yourself? Hallmark doesn’t make a card for that, and I can tell you how that conversation would go down.
“Hey Mr. Sloat, how did you like that chili we made you?”
“Well ladies, it made me shit myself somethin awful.”
“I mean, it was delicious!”
“Oh Mr. Sloat, you’re so funny!”
“I’m sorry bout the attitude I need to give when I’m with you, but no one else will take this shit from me.” – Matchbox 20
Two days in a row.
And this one went with the post, so suck it.
I’m totally kidding. I love you all.