It's a bird, it's a plane...

Everyone loves a surprise. You get all your security deposit back on your old apartment, your hoopdi is suddenly worth $3500 when you bought it for $1500 thanks to cash for clunkers. But sometimes, it is the little surprises that not everyone likes.

I am a regular pooper. None of that 'Oh shit I have to shit' in the afternoon crap. It comes down the pipe after I walk my dogs and smoke my first cigarette in the morning. Like clockwork people, it's great.

But this morning, that wasn't the case.

I was halfway around the block when I felt an uncomfortable cramping in my stomach. The kind where you think 'Oh shit I have to shit NOW' and begin panic and clench mode. I tried to walk it off and let out a little toot to ease the pain and suffering. Only the toot came with a little frootie. Yes, it's a bird, it's a plane...no Julie, it is a little morsel of feces.

No big deal. It has happened before once. The story of the induction to the Shart Club is below.

I had been dating this super hot dude name Mike for about 2 months. I slept over at his house after a long night of drinking and partying. As most of you know, the morning after farts the catalysts from the hungover nausea you will be feeling the rest of the day. Knowing this, I was desperately trying to hold in a few sheet-busters, when it finally became too painful I quietly got out of bed, quietly shut the door, and made a beeline for the bathroom. On the way to the pot, I was tooting up a storm.

When I finally got to Mecca, I found a little morsel in my underpants. WHAT! Instead of shock and embarassment, I was really excited. I felt like I now belonged to some uber-nasty secret club. I did my biz, and ran in to tell Mike the good news.

He looked sleepily at me, frowned and told me to sleep in the guest bedroom.

Eh. At least I belong now.