Whopper of the Day: The Chocolate Poo Pants

It’s been a weird day. Everywhere I went, as I passed by people, I’d get that strange feeling. You know, the one where you just know people are staring at you. The hair rises up on the back of your neck, and you can feel the heat from their laser beam eyes, and you turn around, just barely catching them looking away, a disgusted look still pasted on their faces. 

“Well, I never!” thought I. “What’d I do to deserve that?” Do I have lipstick on my teeth? Am I wearing my clothes inside out? Do I have BO… halitosis… rampant dandruff? So I made a note to pull my friend Showgirl Lisa aside and ask her why people were staring at me. 

That was the plan, anyway. Showgirl Lisa is a germaphobe, I should note, and she was avoiding me like the plague. I’d see her at the end of the hallway and wave, trying to get her attention, and off she’d sprint in a different direction. I ended up chasing her down corridor after corridor, first speed walking, then sprinting, then flat out marathon running! 

“Wait up, Lisa! Fer gawd’s sake, yer killin’ me!” I panted, and grabbed hold of her hair, effectively stopping her dead in her tracks. 

“Get away from me!” she shouted. 

“I say, that’s rude!” I said, all indignant like. “Is that any way to treat a friend?”

“Get off me, you weirdo!” she screeched. “Ew! Leave me alone!”

“What’s the deal with everyone today?” I demanded, letting go of her hair. We were starting to get strange looks from passersby. “Why is everyone being all weird?”

Lisa started backing away, wearing the same expression I’d been catching fleeting glimpses of all day. “Nothing! Whatever, weirdo!” 

“Seriously, I will pull your hair again! What gives?”

“Fine! Did you bother to look in a mirror this morning?”

“As much as usual. Why?”

“You have poop on your butt, dork.”

“Where!” as exclaimed, whirling around in a circle as I tried to see my derriere. But Lisa had already escaped. 

So I went to the ladies room to attempt to find the offending spot. I couldn’t really be sporting the poo-look and not know it, could I? And yet, there it was… a small brown spot about the size of a dime on the back and side of the leg of my jeans. But wait… not to go into personal habits here, but how on earth would it have gotten there?

And then I remembered, I’d been eating York Peppermint Pieces the night before – you know, the ones that look like M&Ms but taste like York Peppermint Patties? I dropped one on the couch, and darned if I could find the little bugger. I must have sat on it when I was eating breakfast this morning. 

Further cautious investigation supported this hypothesis, and I marched off to Lisa’s desk, poo-pants in hand. “It’s chocolate, weirdo!” I stated, shoving my jeans under her nose. “Why would I be wearing pants with poo on them, I ask you!?!”

Lisa looked even more disgusted. “I think a better question is why are you standing in the middle of the office without your pants on? Get away from me, weirdo!”

Sigh. It’s been a very weird day…

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