I was doing this turd once, in those really grungey toilets they have in the Valley. One of those toilets with the violet-blue lights so that you can’t find a vein when you are trying to shoot up in them.
If I have a nightclub, I am going to put brown lights in so that you can’t tell when you’ve finished wiping.
Anyway, I stood up, and as I reached down to pull up my pants, a ten-dollar note leapt out of my breast pocket, spiralled and fluttered and pirhouetted right down into the bowl. I hadn’t flushed yet, and it landed right on top of one of my turds.
This was a few years back you see, back when my turds still floated.
But the tenner landed right on top of one of my turds. Just sitting there on one of my turds.
So, reaching new lows, I reached in, grabbed it, wiped the shit off, and put it back in my pocket.
But, not wanting it to infect the rest of my money, I put it in my left back pocket, alone, in solitary. I never usually put stuff in my left back pocket you see.
And, after amusing my mates who I was out drinking with with the story, I promptly forgot about it.
* * * * *
Late that night at the GPO… all the General Post Offices in Australia are restaurants and nightclubs and cafes now after the internet has made them obsolete….. late that night at the GPO… I quite like this club because you can dance on the bar, and sometimes Aussie cricket players show up there… late that night at the GPO, I turned my back on my beer for one measly second, and the waitress fuckin’ cleared it thinking it was unattended, and tipped it down the sink.
“Hey, that was my beer!” I get really offended sometimes, I feel cheated, y’know? ”Can you pour us another one eh?”
“Sorry, she says, company policy.”
What a fuckin’ bitch, “OK, just pour me another beer.”
“That’ll be five bucks.”
Five bucks. Fuckin’ bitch. So, I reached into my left back pocket where I never normally carry anything, and handed it over.
Haha, take THAT.
Honest Dave 1, Snobby Barmaid Bitch 0.
So how bad did I feel when, not two minutes later, she leaned conspiratorially over the bar, and explained how sorry she was, but that she had to toe the line and break my balls because her boss was behind her, and “I’m really really sorry and here’s your money back for the beer.”
Ah, well…. whoops. Um, sorry ’bout that love. Hope you..ahh.. don’t get.. umm.. ringworm or anything… ahem.
* * * * *
When I was really young, I was playing with Michael my brother, who must have been just a fuckin toddler at this point. I was lying on my back hiding a dollar coin in each hand, and he had to guess which hand it was in.
Hey, we didn’t have a Playstation alright!!
To fuck with his mind, I slyly secreted it into my mouth.
To fuck with my mind the coin promptly slipped straight down my throat.
I went to the doctor the next day, and he said that if I didn’t shit it out in a week to come back and he’d cut it out of me.
So that next week of my life was made notable by having to poke around in my own shit looking for a coin. Kind of like on Christmas Day searching for pennies in the Christmas cake.
Kind of like the Easter Egg hunt.
Kind of but not really.
Fuckin’ embarassing it was when we went out for dinner at the Guerins and after the meal I had to ask them for a bucket and a wooden spoon.
And you probably won’t be wanting them back.
But we struck paydirt eventually. I say ‘we’ because it was actually Mum doing most of the panning for gold because I was utterly repulsed. By the time I shat out that once-golden dollar coin, it had gone coal black from the juices in me gut. So I immediately went up to the shop and spent it on lols from the vending machine.
And I have never put a coin in my mouth ever again.
Not because I am particularly paranoid about swallowing it. But because you really do not ever have any idea where those damn things have been.