Yardian Angel

I recently found out that I have African in my blood. According to my dad, my grandmother descends from African slaves shipped to South America back in the day. Which actually explains why my grandmother looked like a skinny Aunt Jemima and why my dad was so at ease killing an innocent bystander (reference: My Dad Throws a Killer Party). It also explains why I felt so at ease last Thursday working outside with a shovel, pulling up and out the grass in our backyard.

What I so eloquently called "working the fields" was complete with me shirtless and sweating like it was the summer of 1829 in Alabama. Like back in the day, I was provided with minimal tools which included a shovel that eventually broke early in the dig and no gloves which caused me to enjoy the blistering pain of blisters. So I decided to ask my brother, the whitest African since Leo in Blood Diamond, if I could borrow some of his modern gardening tools. He happily obliged and I went over to his house to collect.

I picked up my niece and nephew from school that day. When we got to the house, I asked Blue where the gardening tools were. She pointed in the direction of the tool shed which reminded me of my shack minus the amenities (reference: Shack Attack). Unfortunately this tool shack was surrounded by a moat of dog shyt. I ended up leaving Jazz's with a shovel, a hoe, some gardening gloves to save my hands, and a shoe dipped in dog shyt.

For some reason the shyt and gardening gloves made me feel nostalgic. Then I remembered why....

After a successful Backhouse show in the early millennium, where I had taken a date on our second date, we (the rest of the band) were all supposed to meet back at Jazz's to help unload our gear. Of course no one ever wanted to help do this ever since Conrad told us: "Why should I help? They taught us in band camp, during hell week, that 'you choose your instrument'. I play trombone not drums. I'm not responsible for loading and unloading. I have to fix my hair and take cinnaBON to eat anyway.". So of course I was the only one there to unload while Conrad, cinnaBON, Pungu and Jade Stone hit up Denny's to build their own sampler. My date was fine with waiting with me while I waited for anyone to show up to unload before taking her home.

As we sat in my car waiting and listening to music, I started feeling the urge to drop a duece. Now I'm usually good at holding in my shyt so I did my best to push it back in and hide the rumbling without making a scene. The few minutes of waiting for Jazz to show up turned into forty-five minutes of waiting, which felt like a century, when you have a Donatello's head coming out for air every five minutes.

It was getting later and later yet no one was showing up to rescue me and Donatello was getting ready to battle with the Shetter. I tried to keep as cool as possible since I didn't want my date to know that I was struggling to keep from spilling the beans (literally). Luckily for me, she eventually fell asleep listening to Third Eye Blind. I thought to myself, "This is my chance! I can get out quietly and jump through one of Jazz's windows and get to the toilet ASAP!".

I snuck out of the car, as quiet as a Foot Solider. As I tip toed quickly away from my car, I could hear Stephan asking how it was going to be. I didn't have an answer for him yet but knew that I was only pretty sure that I couldn't take anymore.

I searched and searched Jazz's humble abode for any signs of entry. He had his place on lock down though. Every window was shut; every door locked. Every step I took brought Donatello closer and closer to escaping my sewer system.

My dad used to sing a scary end of the world song when we were kids. The melody and lyrics of that song rang in my ear with a twist:

Un joven.....
Va gritando......
CACAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAA!

I couldn't take it anymore. This was it. I thought to myself, "I'm going to shyt my pants and have no explanation to give my date.". My brain worked overtime to come up with a good excuse for soiling myself and a place to leave my tarnished pants, when in the distance of Jazz's backyard I saw what I now call "my yardian angel".

Jazz had been doing some remodeling in his house which included a new, state of the art restroom. That included a new toilet which meant the old toilet had to be taken out and discarded. Jazz had left the old toilet behind his garage next to the trash cans and rubbish. The toilet had retired from service inside the house. On this fateful night however, it would come out of retirement and answer the call of dootie.

The toilet's porcelain glimmered in the moonlight as I ran as quickly and carefully to it, unbuttoning my pants in the process. I sat down on it, not worrying about what was in it; dead or alive, and the second my bare arse hit the rim, Donatello flew out with ninja like smoothness. The battle with Shetter was over. The rumbling ended. I had freed the beast.

I felt like a million bucks when it was over. The only thing was, how was I going to wipe myself? Like the Bush Administration, I hadn't thoroughly thought out the exit strategy. Now that the war was over, and the troops out, how would the left over mess be cleaned up? I couldn't just pull my pants up, underwear and all, and pretend nothing had happened. This war was messy. I looked around for some leaves or something to wipe up. That's when I saw some gardening gloves that would be my toilet paper. I reached out for the gloves that were perfectly placed at a distance far enough for me to have to reach for them. I figured I had two good wipes so I flipped the gloves inside out and gave myself a mini prostate exam.

When the exam was over, I stood up, pulled my pants up, and discarded the shyted gloves into the toilet, covering my mess with some loose dirt from the ground. Just like you do when you go camping so that bears don't find it. Like O.J., I was careful not to leave any thing that could trace the murder of that poor toilet back to yours truly. Those gloves with sh*t would not fit.

I walked back to my car to find my date still snoozing to Third Eye Blind. I slowly snuck back into my seat feeling light as a feather and relieved that she hadn't woke up and that no one had seen me.

Shortly there after Jazz finally showed up and we unloaded the gear. We finished quickly and I thanked Jazz for being a good host and left to take my date home.

No one heard of the phenomenon until years later. Well until now.

Sorry Jazz.