My A Game

So, yesterday, you were treated to me decidedly being on My D- Game. I might as well have just typed out my shopping list-- most of which you wouldn't have understood, because my wife and I sometimes engage in this retarded lingo that only we can understand, because we are insular and do our best to eschew normal modes of communication.

Hence: the poop text.

Actually, I don't know-- maybe in this moment in the 21st century, the poop text is the norm. But, sometimes, when we're, um, pooping... we, uh, send each other... text..... messages.

My trusty old standby to send to her when I am engaged in the act is:

"It smells in here."

Fortunately, now that I have an almost-full keyboard, I can get more, how do you say, "jiggy with it" by expounding almost endlessly on the quality, consistency, and shape of my, er, leavings. Of course, poop texts do not always have to be about the poop or the poop experience itself. In fact, they often are about entirely irrelevant subjects. Like, reminding her to-- well, no, I guess they're pretty much always about poop.

That's why they're called "poop texts," moron.

Right. Got it.

Sometimes I get concerned for your emotional health. I feel I have to say that. I mean: look at yourself. You're sitting there in your moderately-enticing underwear (at least, I hope you are) clicking through all the sites in your routine, and you come to mine at some moment in your morning, afternoon, or evening's rituals. And what do you think to yourself when you read a post that starts out by guilting itself over yesterday's piss-poor (see what I did there?) only to turn into some less-than-sophomoric jag about poop. And texting.

I mean, yeah, it says some unpleasant things about me-- but, what about you? Don't you have better things to do whilst clothed only in moderately-enticing underwear?

And what about the hygeine issues surrounding poop texts? I mean-- I wash my hands a lot, but, can we just allow our minds to wander in that direction for just one moment? Isn't that fucking disturbing? I guess you'll never be asking to borrow my phone.

But, trust me, if you did-- you'd see lots of strange things in the text history. Pooperiffic things. Exchanges between a husband and a wife, a man whose degenerate behavior has definitely spread, like some sort of bacterial bowel ailment like C-Diff (if you're not in the healthcare field, look that one up, but DO NOT Google Image it) until the behavior has totally seeped into her brain and has made her act this way, too.

Poor child. She even reads my blog, too.

But not whilst pooping.