Tales of adolescence
When I was thirteen I went with my good friend to the Indianapolis 500 time trials with his dad. It was a fun trip taken in a yellowy cream colored thunderbird, and we played rudimentary dungeons and dragons on the way there. Playing that was a big pastime for me at 13, but I don't think most of the games we played were the sort that make people life-long roleplayers. Two boys, only one of which is controlling characters, separated by a front seat cannot truly get the depth and weight that is associated with a quality roleplaying session. Though, in andy's defense, he killed ettins with a unmatched efficiency.
We had gone to the race the year earlier, and it was a shit ton of fun. For those of you who have never graced the brickyard, I would recommend it. I am by no means a fan of car racing, and an annual formula one race is exactly as much of that as I need in any given year. It is loud, and fun, and full of people. It is fun for the same reasons that baseball games are fun. You get to go to an interesting place with people who's company you enjoy, and talk, and pay attention to what's going on in front of you when the conversation dwindles. For reasons I cannot remember, or was never told in the first place, we could only make it to the time trials that year. The time trials were nowhere near as interesting to shitty tweens as the race itself, so we made ourselves scarce by way of the parking lot.
We were throwing a frisbee around near the edge of the parking lot, and it went over the fence into a backyard. After a short meeting of the minds we decided that a tunneling operation would be quicker and less risky than to climb the fence. So I dug some dirt out and held up the fence while andy crawled under it and into the yard. He went to get the frisbee, and while in the yard decided to poop there. So he did, sort of near the back door to this house. I remember it quite vividly, it was thin and squishy, freakishly similar to soft serve. We went back to the car to wash our hands with windshield wiper fluid, and then took a nap in the thunderbird. Ah, youth.
We had gone to the race the year earlier, and it was a shit ton of fun. For those of you who have never graced the brickyard, I would recommend it. I am by no means a fan of car racing, and an annual formula one race is exactly as much of that as I need in any given year. It is loud, and fun, and full of people. It is fun for the same reasons that baseball games are fun. You get to go to an interesting place with people who's company you enjoy, and talk, and pay attention to what's going on in front of you when the conversation dwindles. For reasons I cannot remember, or was never told in the first place, we could only make it to the time trials that year. The time trials were nowhere near as interesting to shitty tweens as the race itself, so we made ourselves scarce by way of the parking lot.
We were throwing a frisbee around near the edge of the parking lot, and it went over the fence into a backyard. After a short meeting of the minds we decided that a tunneling operation would be quicker and less risky than to climb the fence. So I dug some dirt out and held up the fence while andy crawled under it and into the yard. He went to get the frisbee, and while in the yard decided to poop there. So he did, sort of near the back door to this house. I remember it quite vividly, it was thin and squishy, freakishly similar to soft serve. We went back to the car to wash our hands with windshield wiper fluid, and then took a nap in the thunderbird. Ah, youth.
posted by Bluebeard at 10:48 PM
2 Comments:
When I drop a dookie on a run, soft serve shats always freak me out a little. They just don't look natural. Really, I much prefer the explosive ones: the relief is that much more exquisite, the moment so much quicker, and well, the shapes so much more abstract. A better asthetic all the way around, really.
I couldn't agree more. You never really know when a soft poo is done, and you miss out on that real sense of closure. I prefer a good solid turd, one that comes with it a sense of accomplishment.
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