I was trimming my Azaleas one morning, at my house on Mayfield Road, just outside Cleveland. In Northeast Ohio, there exists a place called Quaker Steak & Lube. They have the most ungodly spicy hotwings ever created by man. Anyway, as I'm happily trimming my flowers, I see a runner wearing a Quaker Steak and Lube T-shirt, with a desperate look on his face.
Mayfield Road is a well traveled area, lots of cars most of the day driving along-residences with front lawns, trees etc.... your typical suburban setting. This runner had the familiar "gotta shit real bad stirring in my abdomen" look in his eyes, and I was concerned. I swear the next tenth of a mile was out of a science fiction movie. Whatever that guy ate at Quaker Steak and Lube moved through him like a f***ing bullet train through the Chunnel and I knew he wasn't going to make it. At this point, the alien in his ass was sprinting for the finish line, and it was so bad, I couldn't even stand to watch him, lest I sympathy shit myself right there in my flower garden. The runner shuffle stepped onto my lawn in a feeble attempt to make it to the bushes directly in front of my house, but it was too late. Feeling the overspiced rocket of mud in his ass about to burst forth, he quickly and frantically pulled down his running shorts to clear the path. He was about a half second too slow, and the shit blew out of his ass, into his shorts which were then around his ankles, all over his hands, running watch, and forearms, and some onto the front lawn of my house.
So here I am, 9am, people driving by, slowing down, honking with a shocked and disgusted look on their face.....and I'm standing in the middle of my flower garden. I was both sympathetic to and sickened by this poor guy with nothing on except his shit riddled running shorts.
Thank god he had the Quaker Steak t-shirt on that morning because it was his only saving grace. He left the shorts in the middle of my lawn, and took off the t-shirt and used it to wipe the liquid shit off his hands and arms. He ran off into the ether, using the shit stained t-shirt like a loincloth from hell, Once he left, I was forced to clean up the mess on my front lawn. I shoveled the liquid gold into my Azalea bed, turned it into the soil, and had the prettiest blossoms ever that year. I picked up the shorts using the end of a dandelion picker, and flung them into the yard of my neighbor Paul, who deserved it more than you can ever know.
I never saw that runner come down my street again, but I bet he stopped eating those godawful wings at Quaker Steak and Lube again.