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i was at a chap named marcus' beach house
one fine sunny afternoon with my mate adam (who just so happens to be involved in an incestuous relationship with his mother),
and we were quite a bored little clan of fellows. luckily i had brought along my fake poo for some trickery. adam (god bless
that sick, sick fool) and i watched as marcus went outside to his mother, who was happily reading her novel out in the sun.
marcus,
being the crazy lad he is, dropped his pantaloons in front of his ma and dropped the brown rubber poo in front of her, making
it look as realistic as possible that he had, in fact, taken a dump. the mother of marcus of course had no idea that her cheeky
son's solid excretion was actually made in china. she had fallen for his devious little prank. oh marcus, you prankster, what
will you get upto next?
back to the story, good ol' marcus' mum had a hard time coping with the sight she had just seen.
"ray, ray," she called to her husband, li'l marcus' pop. as this all took place adam (it sickens me to say his name out loud,
after all i have seen him do with his m-m-m-mummey) and i watched in pure hilarity at the comedy we saw before our eyes. marcus'
dad traced the calls of his distressed wife and came to the front door, only to see his baby son dancing round the brown matter
on the concrete pathway singing "i did a shit, i did a shit." a look of shear disappointment crossed ray's face and he looked
sadly away from his son and to the floor.
"marca, what have ya done mate?" he asked in a melancholy tone. a tear welled
in the father's eyes and tricked down his cheek.
by now adam (oh god, i think i'm going to vomit) and i had stopped laughing,
realising the extent of the situation and taking into the account of marcus' confused parents.
marca showed his parents
that the poo was in fact fake, hoping they would see the humour in the trick, but the disappointment did not leave the disgusted
parents and they left their son standing out in the fading daylight to think about how much their feelings had been hurt...bad
boy, marca mate, bad boy...but i suppose this was all my fault, in that none of this would have happened had i not brought
'round that majestic brown item. too bad, i say, it was worth the fun it received. |
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