Friday, December 26, 2003

The perfect Poop

Presents for Christmas! We got chicken snaps and stuffed toy monkeys who scream for Christmas. The monkeys scream this ear piercing call when you bite them and Finley kills them fast. She bites down hard and cracks the spine. We're evil terriers and we kill for fun.

Mommy is an animal rights activist and she doesn't like it, but we can't help it. Finley won't sleep until her monkey is dead.

Those were the only presents exchanged this year because of the Parmalat scandal. Mom and Dad bought a bunch of shares in Parmalat, an Italian long life milk company and the next day, the company went bankrupt. So it's Dairy Christmas around here. They hate to lose money, especially because they wanted to make Euros so that they could be in two economies.

Now, they are just losers in two economies.

Last night, there was a mysterious shit on the bed. It was beautifully proportioned, shaped like a perfect tootsie roll, firm and dark. Gorgeous.

Mom smelled it when they came back from their Christmas parties but couldn't tell if it was real or just some bad fart. Dad was groping around the bed for his glasses again and grabbed the perfect shit instead. "Arg! It's a piece of shit!" Dad yelled. Mom laughed and noted how perfect it was. "Who would shit on the bed?" Mom asked. "Well it wasn't me," said Dad.

"You can't even see anything on this black paisley duvet cover, it's all black and the lights suck in here," said Dad.

"I suppose I should put the white sheets on so we can spot the shits in the bed more easily," Mom answered back.

They have no idea whose poop it was.

After Dad got a Kleenex and flushed the perfect poop down the toilet, he came back to bed and stepped on another piece of shit. It was all part of the same perfect shit and Dad had to go back into the bathroom to clean it from between his toes.

"Jesus! I'm gonna fall asleep and roll over and get a mouthful of shit in the middle of the night here," Dad yelled. "We better check the rest of the bed."

"Oh my god! There's another piece!" yelled Mommy."Look at it!"

At the end of the bed, on the 310 threadcount black duvet cover, camouflaged in the print, lay the tail end of the perfect shit. It was tapered like a little cornichon, those expensive French pickles Mom serves at dinner parties. Daddy got some toilet paper and picked it off the bed.

The shit didn't stop them from having sex. Daddy was cleaning Mommy all over and I tried to help groom her. Mom was making all kinds of loud noises and then I thought they were playing a little rough. She might have gotten hurt so I tried to get in between them while he was pounding on her. It was over really fast and they looked pretty happy.

Finley always sleeps like a log when they have sex, no matter how much the bed moves.