|Out of Consideration to Those Who Might Find a|
More Relevant Illustration Offensive, I Provide This
Drawing of a Charming Little Koala
I am speaking of my poo.
I will not go into any more detail on this matter than absolutely required, sensitive, as I am, that others may read this over the breakfast table, but something alarming has happened to the smell of my poo. I will not claim its fragrance was ever "as the darling buds of May," but I have noticed over the past few years, the odor has grown exponentially worse - and most dreadful of all; it smells exactly like my father's used to.
"What the hell were you doing going around sniffing your father's poo?" the fair-minded reader may ask, feeling that any child who engages in such pursuits fully deserves anything he's got coming to him. The point, however, is that when I was a child, it took no special investigation to know if my father were using the bathroom, you did not even have to step into the bathroom; during some particularly stellar occasions, you did not even need to be in the house.
Perhaps now you can understand why I consider this matter so urgent, and why I have decided to take it up in this blog.
The part that most agitates me, is I'm convinced it's not my fault. My diet has not changed. I begin to believe - and this is bizarre, but no other explanation fits the available facts - that some malefactor, under cover of darkness, is tampering with my food - mine and only mine, since Nancy is unaffected - introducing some noxious but flavorless substance as part of an elaborate and pointless practical joke, a joke which has been perpetrated over at least two generations, going back to my father.
Again, if others have been affected in a similar way, perhaps we can join forces and bring this mad man - or rather, this cabal, such a heinous act could scarcely be the act of a lone individual - to justice, and finally put an end to the entire sordid and troubling episode.