Poop

After three straight days of feeling like poop, and with all the strength I could muster, I went to perform in tonight's improv shows. On the way down, I rocked out to melancholy jams. Good, sad shit, like: Elephant (Damien Rice), Speed of the Sound of Loneliness (an Amos Lee cover), and Vagabond (Foy Vance). Clearly I was in the perfect mood to do some yuk-yuk make 'em ups.

So, I'm at the stop light, about to cross the street and head into the theater. I was standing there, looking out at the world with soulful, deep, and painful eyes. I was having a moment. Just then, as I was taking my self too seriously, a bird pooped on me.

It wasn't the gross, white poop you'd expect. It was beyond gross. It was the nearly-fatal-because-I-almost-ran-into-on-coming-traffic-because-it-was-so-horrific, bloody bird poop. Yep, bloody. Either this bird ate a ton of cherries and berries, or shortly after defecating on me it fell from the sky and died.

I ran across the street with the bloody poop/bird abortion on my arm - holding it out in front of me like it might jump from my arm to my mouth at any moment. I finally made it to the theater and ran inside to quickly wash my arm (gagging the whole time).


Oh life! You teach me so many lessons!