Dear Blog, today...
Wait, no that sucks ass too.
Yo Dawg, I heard you like blog posts, so I....
Wait, that wouldn't even make fucking sense.
[Technical Difficulties: Please Stand By]
Read: The poster has no fucking clue what he is doing
Okay upon further consideration, lets toss the whole post opening thing. On to my story of the day. My story today is about what I will refer to as "The Poop Fairy." Now I know this sounds like the title of a story that a 3yearold who just learned about the tooth fairy AND how to poop on his own would write, but this is a legitimate story about mysterious deposits of poop and cash that I found under my pillow. By the way, for those of you who are slower, you will notice that my post title has a (questionably amusing) double meaning. See "number two" is the colloquial way of referring to poop, which is an integral part of the story, which is why the title is funny.
For the first time in God knows how long, I entered my room before 4:00am to go to straight to sleep. No drunken sex, no last minute projects. Just me, my bed and sleep. It was going to be glorious. A full four hours of sleep. All for me! There was no alcohol in my system, so I wasn't even going to have crazy ass alcohol dreams. I was set for like one and a half cycles of REM sleep that would let me have boundless energy without the aid of stimulants like energy drinks and cigarettes. For those of you who don't know me, Sleep and I have a like-hate relationship. Being a new man of less than two years, I have come to the conclusion that I can most certainly sleep when I'm dead, as life is awesome and I don't particularly want to waste time doing things such as sleeping.
That being said, I like to indulge myself once in a while, and in years past I was known to sleep for ridiculous amounts of time. (My summer of senior year of high school, I passed out at 6:00am, woke up at 12:00 am, stayed up to watch Conan O' Brien and then went to sleep for another fourteen hours.) So I don't hate sleep because it's unpleasant. I find it quite pleasant. I just find it annoying that it's necessary for things like "functioning properly" and "not keeling over."
Anyway, back to my shitty story. As I prepared to indulge in hedonistic pleasure, I noticed an off smell. An unpleasant smell. Being that I am a male, and my shoes were off, dirty clothes were tossed in a pile and I had neglected to bathe in a full 24 hours, I shrugged it off. Nothing that Fabreze, doing you laundry, washing yourself and some odor eaters can't fix... tomorrow.
So I get naked, as I am want to do when I sleep. And I hop in bed. The smell is more noticable now. More distinct. More like... feces.
"Shit" were my exact words. Followed by "What the fuck?" Apparently I traveled back in time to answer my question before I asked it. I get out of bed, and the smell dissipates. I go back to bed, it gets stronger. Baffled, I look behind my bed. There is a turd there in the corner of my room where my bed meets two walls. There's no way one of my dogs, who is a poop factory, could have gotten it in there. But hey, whatever. Stranger things have happened to me.
A paper towel and a flush of the toilet later I'm even more ready to go to sleep early. I lay back down and...
Yeah, the smell is still there. I push the bed back. Maybe my dog, the uni-pooper decided to leave another surprise down there. There was a major thunderstorm last night and he does get scared. And this wouldn't be the first time he came into my room, pooped and left, so whatever.
Well there's no poop behind the bed, but the smell is still coming. In frustration I lift up my pillow and...
Poop. A big, sort of dry, stinky turd. My dog pooped... under my pillow. I don't know how he moved my bed to get behind it with turd number one, nor do I know how he dropped a deuce under my pillow, but props to him.
But wait! There's more. For only 12 easy payments of a pint of blood and a pound of flesh you can hear the rest of my regaling tale! As you can well guess, I was not about to sleep in my bed, which has been bombed by the uni-pooper. Twice. Instead, I slept in my guest room, vowing to clean my bedsheets tomorrow.
After returning home from an "interesting" day at work, I removed the pillow covers and sheets to wash them and -- A wild $10.00 bill appears! Right under my pillow.
All I can say is "What the Fuck?" (As if that's abnormal for me anymore.) The only rational conclusion to be made is that The Poop Fairy is grossly under appreciated and is paying top dollar for dog turds.
Stay tuned for my next post, entitled "Paid to Poop!"