>>9553348Now really–picture this scene: I am butt-ass naked, crap plastered all over my ass, legs, back and head, standing about 20 yards away from a Mexican maid, with a trail of black liquid shit leading from her directly to me. What would you do? I wasn’t sure. I don’t think there is any defined etiquette for this situation.
I shrug my shoulders, say, “Uhh, sorry. I mean, uh–lo siento. Good night. Buenos noche–or whatever,” and calmly walk to the elevator.
From the glass window in the elevator, I can see her sobbing. The rest of the lobby tells me why: Not only had my legs kicked shit up on the back of my ears and head, they had sprayed little specs of poop all over EVERYTHING. The couches, the walls, everywhere.
Come to think of it, she wasn’t sobbing. I believe “hysterical crying” would be a better descriptive term. Oh well, someone has to clean up my messes, and it sure as shit isn’t going to be me.
When I get back to the room, SlingBlade is already in bed. He rolls over, takes one look at me and, never one for sympathy, begins laughing uncontrollably. He literally has to stop laughing because he strains his abdominal muscle. It takes him five whole minutes before he can get the words out,
SlingBlade “Where–where the fuck are your pants?”
Tucker “FUCK YOU ASSHOLE. This is all your fault, Mr. Rhino Dump. If you hadn’t had that miscarriage in our toilet I wouldn’t be COVERED IN SHIT!”
He couldn”t stop laughing long enough to respond. I took what remained of my dignity and got in the shower. As I was cleaning the poop off my back, I could hear him yell out:
“This is clear proof that there is a God, and he is just!”
