REVENGE of the Urinal Deuce

You might remember our story about some ne'er-do-well who dropped a deuce into a urinal at the stadium back in 2010. It was a touching, heartfelt essay about a boy finding a poop in a urinal and then taking a picture of it. Go read it and come back. Otherwise it would be a lot like going to see Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo without first seeing the original Breakin'. You'll just feel lost and confused. Go on. We'll wait for you...Okay?

Well, back in April, to commemorate something or another, the gang decide to honor the deuce discoverer, our Ponce de Leon of urinal deuces, Marty G, with a framed memory of the moment:

le merde la pissoir

The problem? How to get it printed without being labeled a turd-vert? A vexing issue I thought I solved by sending it to Walgreen's (and not my neighborhood Walgreen's, but one I never use to throw them off the scent, so to speak) in the late PM while I'd pick it up in the early AM. Different shifts. Different people. No poop related conversation. No uncomfortable moments. No problem. Or so I thought as I headed off to the to pick up the pic.

Off to the photo department...Just an anonymous shopper picking up my photo order.

The store was not crowded and I asked for my order. The lady behind the counter, let's call her Mrs. Crabtree...

CAN I HELP YOU! WHAT DO YOU WANT!

...pulled it from the bin, looked at it, looked at me, and she smiled. No. No, no, no! Just ring me up, take my 19 cents, but DON'T say anything about the picture. Please. Please..."That's not real is it?" Mrs. Crabtree asked. I explained the story to her, hella-short version, mentioning that it was dog night, but I did not believe it was a dog related crime, that I did not attempt to smell it and that it looked real to me. That was enough for her. We were friends now. And friends share stories. Friends share poop stories. Horrible, dark poop stories. And here was hers...

No. Please no. No poo stories.

Mrs. C "...you know, one time we had an old guy go into the bathroom here (Walgreen's) and clogged up the toilet with a poop the size of a jar of mayonnaise."

Passing something like this could kill a guy you know.

Me "Um. Yeah. I..." Jar of mayonnaise? Interesting choice of something to compare it to.

Mrs. C "I'm surprised he didn't die because it was that big and hard as a rock."

Me "Um. Yeah. A thing like that could kill a guy." In my mind I was thinking, "hard? Hard?! How did you know it was hard?

Mrs. C "Yeah. My managers came in there and could not believe that old man did that. The toilet was all clogged and there was no way that thing was going down. They were laughing and I told them it wasn't funny. That it could have killed that guy. And they looked at me and you know how shit rolls down hill?"

Me "Um. Yeah?" I don't like anything about this. I don't like where this has come from and I sure don't like where this is going.

Mrs. C "Well they said, 'you gotta get that cleared' so I reached in a grabbed it out of there. And it was hard as a rock. As a rock."

Go ahead and just grab it.

 Me "Wow. That sure would hurt. Um. I glad he didn't die. Thank you. Have a nice day. Goodbye." And bam! I could not get out of there fast enough. Does Walgreen's sell mind bleach?

Sometimes one cannot run from a Walgreen's fast enough.

I don't know if it was all the scat talk working its magic or what, but as I drove off to the ball yard with my, now well earned, gift I could not stop smelling shit. Outside the Walgreen's. Inside my car. I was going crazy. Damn it! I do believe that stupid deuce was trying to exact some sort of revenge on me! Kay-riste! I didn't drop it, I only took a pic of it.  

Well, the gift was presented, and proudly displayed next to Marty's computer. Story over? Nope. Chris J. heard my tale about the mayonnaise jar turd and just had to add his own sordid yarn about a clog he ran across at a bar near the old War Memorial Stadium in Buffalo. This time the offending bomb was the size of my 300mm f4 lens:

It's always a closeup when you pass a telephoto lens.

Chris could not comment on whether the log was 'hard as a rock'. He never touched it (wisely). He just observed a very large brown trout blocking up the crapper in a bar.

I think I can 'hold' it. Yeah. I can 'hold' it.

By now the day is flying by and I am really creeped out. I still am smell shit wherever I go. I don't want any more poo stories. I just want to go home. And it is at home that I discover that I have had dog shit on my shoe the whole day.

Like my shoe, except my shoe was a boot and that stringy thing was not stuck in the poo.

CRAP! I stepped in it while cleaning up dog crap in the morning. I'd been walking around all day dealing with shit pics and hearing shit stories while my boot was smeared in shit shit. SHIT. Goodnight Springton. There will be no encore...