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BASED ON A TRUE STORY! About OZ!

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Wednesday, June 8th, 2011
4:44 pm - Shabby Me
The length of my fingernails is entirely determined by the tradeoff between
a) looking unkempt due to having long nails and
b) the increased difficulty in nose-picking resulting from short nails; this leads to me having my finger up my nose for much longer periods of time, which is also socially unacceptable.

After a stern talking-to from the facilities manager today, it has emerged that various members of the department have taken me for a barefooted homeless man who sneaks into the Thom building to use the shower. Disturbingly close to the truth.

(bust me up!)

Monday, April 11th, 2011
8:10 pm - Another toilet story
An actual dude waiting outside my cubicle:
"poo, man! poo like the wind!"
fortunately he was gone by the time I left the cubicle, so I did not have to face up to my shameful lack of pooing speed.

(1 busting | bust me up!)

Thursday, July 15th, 2010
10:59 pm - Another true story
I ran through a wood. There were alleys of flowers, soft tears dripped from the gothic detail of the canopy. Merciful colour against the oppressive greens. My feet found tread amongst the fractal forest floor, skipping over the decayed and the newly emerged. I had gotten a little bit too excited and was soon panting. I began to wonder what I would do if I needed to go to the toilet. Toilet separation anxiety. Inevitably, I was soon overcome by my body's demands to defecate.  Stopping, I looked around ashamedly. There was no-one there, of course. I shouldn;t have been there myself. I had jumped a fence into the protected university woods. Careful now the stupidity of running was wearing off, I stepped with care amongst points of relative dryness amongst the ancient mud. Satisfied that I was sufficiently hidden, I dropped my shorts and squatted. The pressure within was so great that I thought I my anus would instantly erupt. But I was occupied by an anxiety; release evaded me. I again swivelled my head around, checking I was alone. Then the breeze raised a chorus of leaves, alien and distant. My bowels instantly discharged in response; it felt wonderful. I stood and stared at my poo. Lying beneath a rising haze of vapour, it looked peaceful and correct as part of the forest floor. It was coiled and almost perfectly smooth,  a rich emotional brown. I had never seen the fruits of my bowels in this way. I felt proud. I had made a connection and contribution to these woods. I had added a new axis to the multi-dimensional poo-scape that defined the woods.

Fortunately I had some tissues in my pockets that I used to wipe myself. I dropped the tissues on top of my business. They ruined the aesthetics of my creation. Worried that they might be blown away and betray my indiscretion, I covered the whole thing in broken branches and sheets of moss. I didn't have anything to clean my hands with afterwards, but I made a mental note to wash my hands at the public toilet on the way back. Satisfied, I edged back to the trail, and suddenly conscious that my lunch break was drawing long, I started in the direction of the fence that had admitted me. I recklessly neglected checking my footfalls in favour of trying to absorb as much as possible of the woods through my eyes. In what space exists between the branches, darting insects are picked out in the almost solid, opaque glow of the filtered sunlight. Before I can make it out of the woods, I see a man with a dog. I give him a good looking grin. He would never know my dark secret.

(6 bustings | bust me up!)

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