Everyone Say Hi to King Turd.


Me and Adrianna Nicole — at a corporate coffee house for our morning jolt:

“I need change for the meter,” Adrianna said. She handed me a 10, and I walk in to place our order and get some change for parking.

Suddenly, it hit. A wave of nausea so fierce I knew there would be no escape. I’d be forced to drop The Deuce in a public restroom.

I love the home field advantage when pooping, and when I’m a visitor, it’s got to be a Code Red Situation before I set my big white ass on a dirty toilet seat.

I got the order placed — as well as Adrianna’s change — and walked out to hand it to her. Adrianna’s my Poop Pal, and I wanted to tell her then what was going down in my GI tract, but I waited.

Somehow, I knew the story was going to get better.

And it did.

Corporate Coffeehouse is small, and the bathroom is right next to the place you pick up your order. I walked right in, and — thank Jesus — the seat was clean. Well…as clean as it gets. Of course your eyes can’t detect the filthy microbes swimming all over that dirty plastic seat, but when Code Red sets in, the options are always the same:

1) Poop the pants


2) Poop like a Big Boy.

This time, I chose Number 2.

It was immediate, and it was mighty. A giant turd. The water splashed my butt. King Turd. A Gold Medal Winner. One to make you proud.

I looked in amazement. Then flushed. King Turd swung sideways and didn’t move. Not an inch.


I panicked. And then I flushed again. This time there was no flush, cause there was no water in The Thingy above the toilet that has the water in it. So I waited.

Coffee Dude screamed my name again, just about the time The Thingy was full. I flushed again, and again, King Turd decided he wasn’t ready to walk towards The Light. King Turd fought for his life, and somehow I knew this was a fight he was going to win.

And the motherfucking toilet took its goddamned time refilling itself.

Coffee Dude screamed my name again.

And again, King Turd won.

So I did what any intelligent person would do…I dropped the top of the seat and hauled ass.

Coffee Dude was there, waiting. Not right there, but right there, behind the counter, looking at me as I walked out of the bathroom. I couldn’t look at Coffee Dude. In fact, I could feel my eyes look up and to the left, and any decent psychologist will tell you that sort of look means trouble.

He watched me pick up my coffee and walk to the bar, where I added my milk and sugar, and he kept his eyes on me the whole time he left his post and walked into the bathroom to see what exactly it was I did in there.

I wish I could write like David Sedaris. Cause as I walked out of Corporate Coffeehouse and to my table to tell Adrianna all about it, “Big Boy” — from Me Talk Pretty One Day — was all I could think about.

That and the contempt and hatred and utter disgust Coffee Dude had for me the very second he met — and had to deal with — King Turd.

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