Thursday, January 24, 2013

What An Ass

Hey, have you ever thought you were going to release gas but instead you squirted dirt? At your workplace? While you were interviewing a guy who used to work with David Caruso?

You have?? Well, let me tell my story first. Geez.

But let's get the important business out of the way.

David Caruso.



Out of the slush pile of resumes we plucked the app of a guy who used to write for CSI Miami. Really! And now he wanted to shelve books at the library. Yeah, something just didn't smell right *takes off sunglasses*

Turns out the perp's name was... me. Just moments before my big interview with DAVID CARUSO's assistant writer I felt a compelling need to visit the bathroom. As I was urinating and thinking of DAVID CARUSO, I felt a funny pressure in my ass and assumed it was just a fistula of gas, so I sent a priority signal that it was okay to open the gates, so to speak, and out came a spoonful of viscous brown syrup, all in my undies. "Fuck," I whispered. For a panicked moment I thought of calling my mom, who is an expert in these kind of  matters. I also thought of Reggie, because he's the custodian; but I concluded that scooping fudge out of your coworker's underwear was probably outside his job description. Probably.

So, with an angry sigh, I started dabbing and wiping with toilet paper and then paper towels, at last scrubbing more furiously than DAVID CARUSO gunning down some scum made of diarrhea. Then I had to be at the interview. I walked into the room with my sog and a few wet stains showing through my dress pants, but I hoped the candidate wouldn't notice. I gave him my biggest shit-eating grin.

"You must be Dav, er, Scott."

"Yes. Hey, are you covered in your own shit?"

The interview started a little rocky, admittedly, but it got better. We laughed and shared stories about DAVID CARUSO. I had seen DAVID CARUSO on TV, so I was able to talk about that, the times in my life when I saw DAVID CARUSO on the television. Sure, I was conscious of sitting in my own squelch, but that did not interfere with the DAVID CARUSO talk and such. Well, until...

"Excuse me," I said. "Usually this comes out of my mouth..."

I spent the next two hours on the toilet. We hired the guy. Or we didn't, I can't remember. Oh, God... here... comes Old Faithful... again... Errrggggggghhhh.

Sorry, David!

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