The Poo Containers, They Plot...

I hear them there, there in their big brown bag, whispering and giggling. They know they intimidate me, and they can smell fear.

Yes, I have been even more procrastinary than usual, and have put off collecting my Secret Sauce, and yes, I could die from such behavior, but quite frankly I do not care. In fact I believe I'd rather.

Oh, to be sure, I'll have a good look at my poo, before sending it on it's way to the Poo Men. Okay, I might poke at it a bit, to uncover some interesting looking treasure, but actually handle it on purpose? Egads.

Aha! My Mom is a nurse! And she's both seen my bum and handled my poo before. Of course, it has been awhile.

I am vexed. We have finally found something the wife won't do for me. Well, that, and let me push in her little hemorrhoid I gave her by virtue of too much, shall we say, enthusiasm on my part. It's not that she holds it against me, it is more that she refuses to, no matter how I beg. When Gargantua attempts to slip near there, she tenses up, and her hand begins to slide towards the 5 cell Mag-Lite she keeps by her bed.

He and I slink off, bereft, yet she will make no butts about it.

Pity me.

Once again, I did not win the lottery, so I am unable to hire someone to handle my poo for me. Instead a bunch of meat-slinging yahoos and Viet Cong get it.

There goes my investment portifolio...