Blood On The Tracks

Why did I rush it? I knew the big one was long over due. My irresponsible diet of leftover macaroni and cheese has certainly hardened into some fowl beast. "I'll go to the bathroom during the next commercial", I said, "This is my favorite episode of Frasier.". With every piece of dull, high class banter my colon grew angrily impatient. As Niles delivered the final stale punchline and the moronic laugh-track set in I knew it was time. A pathetic, weakened waddle is all I can muster as I approach my porcelain destiny like a guilt ridden criminal awaiting a death sentence. What came next would be too horrid for even you're fearless narrator, Randy, to speak of. After the array of various sports equipment sized lumber had left to become some poor plumbers problem, the clean up was next. Assessing the damage is often a mundane task, erasing whichever amount of earth tone hue is left on the headquarters with the quilted ply's one is equipped with, but when suddenly a surprising vibrancy of cherry is showing itself off an infinite amount of nightmares will stampede through any imagination hastily. The repeated dabbing has subsided the flow of blood loss but it's done nothing for the sharp, haunting pains of regret. Never before in my entire lavatorial career have I felt such shame. No amount of drab, Seattle based sitcom will remedy my faults. As I return to civilization and offer my best fake laugh, I know deep inside that I'm lying to myself. "It happens to everyone..."