My single greatest fear has caught up with me… I stepped in the poo. Yes it’s bolded because of the magnitude of the situation at hand. So for the first time in my recorded life, I stepped in what appears to be the poo. I can only hope it is the poo of a small dog that preferably belonged to an attractive female, but with my luck, it is probably the poo of a gigantic disgusting pseudo-bear dog belonging to a juiced up douchebag.

Funny how the thought of a cute girl’s small dog poo is so much easier to digest than the poo of a man-douche doggie. WOO SAHHH.

From my initial forensic examination, the poo was tracked in on the rainy Monday morning of 10/6/2008. I did not discover it until tonight, as I was looking down admiring my taste in fine rugs, I saw the footprint of poo desecrating the fine craftsmanship of an authentic circa 2002 tapestry. The amalgamation of all that is beautiful with the demonic doo of death threatening to break all that is good in my life… it was almost too much to bear. At first, I didn’t know what to do. Thoughts raced through my mind… “I hope that’s mud”… “mud’s not that light”…”what if it’s…”… “no…”… “smell it.”

So I inched my nose closer and closer to the stain, imagining the sweet smell of strawberries and love juices… until “BAM.” the sour odor of rotting death hit me in the face like a Volkswagen hitting a Chihuahua. I actually flinched and as I did, the tip of my nose came in direct contact with the poo. I paused out of shock, never being exposed to another mammal’s poo on my skin, I did not know what the proper course of action would be in this situation. I wanted to cry, I wanted to vomit, I wanted to fornicate… all at the same time. I also wanted to throw something, but I reminded myself that throwing my own possessions would be a silly idea. i immediately dashed over to the sink and started scrubbing my face with industrial strength antibacterial soap, hand wash, and even dishwasher detergent. None gave me even a remote assurance (mentally at least) that all the poo is gone from my nose, even though I almost drowned in a cocktail of handsoap and dishwasher soap. Only after blood started coming out of my nose and my skin turning into a shade of penile-pink, was I satisfied that the poo was gone.

So not knowing if I even had anything powerful enough to combat the carnage that is being played out before me on the rug, I had fleeting thought of just leaving my apartment to find a dark, quiet place to cry.

But then I realized that I’m Chris Oh Baby, and I’ve done much, much harder things in my previous adventures. Like a Roman Warrior, I went over to the kitchen and found some 409. I sprayed and sprayed and sprayed until half of the bottle was soaking it’s way into the wounded rug. I grabbed some paper towels and started scrubbing as hard as I could… until I realized… paper towels break apart when you try to scrub with them! I noticed that the towels were disintegrating from under my hands and spreading papertowel-poo fibers all throughout the area I was scrubbing! I’m the worst Roman Warrior Ever. I’m a damn Trojan. Losing the battle to the boy-loving Greek Warrior, DogPoocious.

I can’t win.

So I grab dry towels and started swatting at the area, trying to hit off the family of wet fibers that took refuge in my poo-rug. At this moment, I had an epiphany… This is what it must feel like to live in Houston. Houstonians being the millions of poo-towel fibers clinging on for dear life in a poo-fested area, a.k.a Houston, as the gigantic swatting of my dry towels are trying to knock them off like Hurricane Ike.

As I knocked out as many as I could, I had to leave. I couldn’t stand there watching the destruction unfold with the obsessive thoughts started seeping into my head… “Where else could the contamination be,”… “did I get most of it…” So I throw on my workout clothes, hoping to burn the image of my palace being taken over by the evil poopa-loompas out of my head. Halfway to the gym, i realize that IM WEARING MY POO SHOES”. I slowly lift up my heel to see if there is indeed any poo…

I hate Poo