Why is it that when two or more men get together, the conversation is bound to turn towards the size, consistency, and frequency of our, um, turds?
I was sitting in my office this morning when one of my buddies comes in. We start talking about the golf tournament, college football, fantasy football, and other guy things. I happen to casually mention that I ate something bad in the cafeteria last night…and then it was on.
“You too? Oh man, my insides have been liquid for the past 4 days. I sit down and it’s like someone turned on the belly faucet full blast. And smell? Oh my God, I made myself gag.”
“You think that’s bad? Imagine trying to pass a fire hydrant wrapped in sticker bushes. The pain is tremendous! Childbirth is nothing compared to this. (yeah, we know it’s worse, but we gotta pretend we don’t).
“Believe me, I’ve been there. I was blocked up for three days after we got back from Louisiana. I thought I was going to have to get a pry bar and a cutting torch to get rid of it.”
“I with ya’, my man, I’m with ya’.”
At this point, another guy walks in, who just happens to be my Supervisor.
“Hey, you know they’re having free breakfast upstairs today, right?”
“Yeah, but I’m a bit leary. I’ve had the squirts for the last few days and am trying to take it easy.”
“You too? Dude, I gave birth to one of those Anacondas you see in the Amazon. I swear that thing must have been 12 feet long and pregnant. It was huge!”
And there you have it, folks. For sanity’s sake, I’ll stop here. From this point, it was a battle to see who could “out poo” the other. Then, of course, we went upstairs and ate a free breakfast.
Are all men gross? Yes, we are. And those that say they aren’t? Liars. (they’re also the 2% of guys who say they don’t masturbate. They’re just f*in liars.).
UPDATE: As I’m posting this, my old supervisor walks in and says, “You know, there’s nothing more satisfying than taking a dump on company time.” Sweet.