|Singer||Howie J. Reynolds|
There was this night in the milk bar in Jacksonville when I try to go to the boys room but they had this long shiny urinal trough. It was really quite nice but it was built way too high for a short dude like me. I tried. I remembered way back to the 1937 dirty olympics and the men's uphill distance piss. You learn to use technique, get plenty of back arch, pelvic thrust, knee bend. I still couldn't quite make it, but I got too much class to do it on the floor, so I made this quick dash to the wash basin. It was ok, I let the hot water run afterward. Nobody saw me, ha ha. But-- but it did take me back to the glorious days of the last Dirty Olympics back in 1937 where I participated in two events, and did the judging in a couple of more. The high point really was judging the women's speed shit. Now, back then baseball players didn't use batting helmits, football players didn't wear face guards, and speed shit officials didn't wear safety goggles. It was hard judging speed shitting, you didn't have ? timers, you just had to use your own judgement, but it was easy enough to tell who'd been eating hot peppers the night before. You'd be down on your knees looking up and suddenly get this burning squirt of shit in the eye and it was a very tough event to score properly. Next day just before the closing ceremony came the event that I'd been training for the entire preceding year: the men's and women's combined one mile diarreah run. Part of the rules were that you had to eat burritos stuffed with raw green ... the night before, and then monitored and prevented from using the toilet or you'd get disqualified, and then once the race started you had to cross the finish line without ?, without shitting once. Tactics were important. As you settled into a long loping stride, you could run faster, but you ran a greater risk, on the other hand if you used a short choppy stride, you'd keep a tighter asshole, but you'd be way too slow. And now I was in a race and people were dropping out left and right and suddenly there was only 200 yards to go and I had the lead and was pulling away from ?. Suddenly I felt a twinge in the gut, followed by a little 'poock-ah' sound, and ? this was probably nothing more than a slightly damp fart. I'd sucked in air, kept going and finally bursted the tape. People ran up to me, smiling and back-slapping but the smiles quickly froze and turned to looks of horror and disgust. I looked down at my legs and shoes were covered with shit, not ordinary shit but hot steamy liquid smelly shit, and I never got my gold medal. Next year was 1938 and the clouds of another world war were ever destroyed the international ideals of the dirty olympics and they were never held again, but for a brief 15 seconds I had my moment of glory only for my own career to be shattered by one vital, vitally mistimed shit.
- 1997 - Howie