An ever-growing horror...

I share the events of today in the hope that someone will read back over some of the aspects of my life and tell me it's all totally normal.  I might then feel better and the suspicions that there is a cosmic conspiracy against me might start to fade.  In short, The Fates have again yanked my chain and y'know, I just wish I could have seen my face throughout that half hour.  

...for that's all it took.  HALF A FUCKING HOUR to make me question my purpose on this planet again.  Let me start - oh, and for the non-believers please let me reiterate that everything I write is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth (with my jaded comedian's view of the matter).

Let me set the scene.  As regular readers know I share a house with my best friend 'The Tidiness Nazi'.  I am in fact the 'anti-tidiness Nazi' so I guess that would make me her nemesis in some way. Not only this, I am frequently a monumental fuck up to the point I'm not allowed to use the kitchen if she's not around.  There have only been a couple of fires and scaldings.....and an electrocution but I still maintain I'm an adult and should be treated so.  I also share the house with an elderly cat who has mental health issues and will not go out during daylight hours, a hairy dog with a form of extreme medical stupidity and a mostly bald dog who not only eats all of the cat's food but also loves me to the point of ridiculousness.  Today, the Tidiness Nazi went out for the day and left me in charge of the critters.  

Things HAD been going well; I'd cleared the junk off the window sill of my bedroom and had started to put the cat food up there which the cat was enjoying.  She now sits in the partly open window enjoying the stuff other cats do when they are outside.  The hairy dog was downstairs occasionally woofing at passers by and running in and out of the back yard.  The bald dog?  Why, he was curled up with me having a lie in.  

The time came to get up, do my laundry and consider getting ready to take the dogs for a lovely walk at the creek.  I started to bimble about and worked my way downstairs.  Hey, the sun's shining and it's a beautiful day.  I'd love to eat something but I'm not allowed in the kitchen.  Sigh........

I went upstairs and, through the open door of the Tidiness Nazi's bedroom, I spied a line of drips of rather wet dog shit.  Turning to my faithful hound I yelled the usual "What have you done!" He, realising he was in for a right Royal bollocking, headed off down the stairs and out into the garden.  Tutting, I wearily got the cleaning gear out and made good before the Nazi returned home and we were all collectively in trouble.

I then went into MY room to find.............the most enormous wet dog skid mark I have ever seen.  ON MY FUCKING BED!  "OH JESUS CHRIST" I yelled out loud this time as I wearily started to strip the bed.  As I got to the side nearest to the window I actually stopped with horror.

Yup, the next horror stopped time momentarily.  There was partially digested CAT FOOD VOMIT all down the wall, on the floor and all over my stuff which included shoes, a soft turtle toy I use as a pillow sometimes and paperwork.  Eyes wide I tried to take in the scene.  There was FAR too much vomit for one cat, I've seen cat vomit in my time but I'm sure her stomach couldn't have held THIS much food!  Couldn't the little bastard have done  it out of the window?  Did she invite other cats in THROUGH the open window for a feline bulimia party?  I think "FOR FUCKSAKE!" my expletive of choice on this occasion.

...you think this is all?  

You'd be wrong.

I stripped the bed and threw everything down stairs ready for the laundry.  I was wondering where I would find the mental strength to deal with the wall of vomit but deal with it I must.  Even more wearily I went back into the Tidiness Nazi's room to fetch the cleaning stuff......

...It was only NOW that I spotted the enormous turd and a diarrhea IN HER BED - NEXT TO THE PILLOW!  The shitty drips had been just a warning of the true horror within that room.  I think that one of my eyes started to twitch at that point, my hand became a claw and the words got stuck in my throat.  I think I tried to yell "HOLY MOTHER FUCKING FAAACK JESUS ON A FUCKING FUCK FUCK FUUUUUCKING FUCK!" ...or words to that effect, but they just came out as "Jejeje ffffffffffff".  Starting to seriously die inside I cleared up the turds and stripped off her bed.  By this time the little dog had come to the bottom of the stairs to see what was going on.  In an act of wasted breath I yelled at  him a bit more until he ran back outside to play happily in the sun.  

By this time, my mental capacity was becoming diminished and I stomped around upstairs muttering to myself and thanking the deities for taking the piss out of me again.  Heading back into her room I noticed something which made my blood run cold

A shitty partial shoe print on the Nazi's mattress.

Had I not had enough? The more I looked around me the more I noticed there were shitty footprints all over the fucking house.

With dawning horror I looked at the bottom of my shoes.  Yes.  You are there already aren't you?  There was undiscovered shit and I'd trod in it and walked it ALL OVER THE HOUSE.  

Fearful of an embolism I said  nothing.  I tried to clean the bottom of the shoes in the sink but hell, they had knobbly bottoms.  OF COURSE THEY HAD KNOBBLY BOTTOMS which meant that the shit was nice and embedded in.  I might even have started to laugh manically to myself at this point.  I know I uttered no other word as I went around the upstairs of the house on my hands and knees cleaning up my own shitty footprints.  I found the other shit site.  Foolish of me to have not started at the beginning and worked out that that the sequence was BED - RUG NEXT TO THE BED - DRIP ACROSS THE FLOOR - ONTO SKET'S BED FOR AN ARSE WIPE (horrified cat vomits?).

That's the problem with being a detective - if your first clue isn't the start of the mystery you end up with shit everywhere.  Ask Sherlock Holmes. 

The Turd Mystery

So, I get home this afternoon and the Tidiness Nazi informed me that there has been an issue.

Oh God.

It would seem that she smelled a horrible smell and followed the trail to MY room where she discovered a HUMAN SIZED TURD.  Not only that but there was a river of piss too!

I'm sure that things like this don't happen to other people as often as they do me.  Well, if they do, everyone else is keeping quiet about it.

Bastards.

So, who committed the shit crime, eh?  Let's examine the evidence

Was it my small freak of a dog Derek Ghengis Rasputin Trotsky?

Well, his house-training has been hit and miss and it HAS been raining today.  The bald, freak HATES the rain but no, it couldn't be him.  He is tiny and yes, as the picture suggests, he was mugged for cheese by a girl.  I am lead to believe that the aforementioned turd was so big it would have ripped this suspect's anus apart.

So, could it be the hairy idiot dog Lottie (The Kraken) Hairy McFairy?

Yeah sure she's big enough to produce a giant turd but I have knowledge I wish I didn't of the turdly dimensions  produced by this creature.  I would stand up in a Court of Law and state, hand on heart, that she doesn't shit human sized shits.  She is also fully house-trained and has been for a couple of years.  

Hmmmmm.....then maybe it was Twigletti-Spaghetti Victor-Spinetti Serengeti (Dr X) 

Well, for a start she's definitely a cat so would a cat's arse be able to evacuate something so big?  She's getting on a bit, has mental health  issues (day time agoraphobia - don't ask) and therefore a tendency to crap in the house.  As I refuse to pander to her craziness she is not allowed a litter tray and is therefore encouraged to go out and shit.  This usually results in a crap found in the shower.  She has left shower gifts on and off for years now so why would she switch locations to my bedroom? Perhaps she hates me.  Then again, cats have tiny arses don't they?

Perhaps it was Julie Gerbie?

...are you MAD?  It's a fucking gerbil!

.....could it then have been....

That'd be ridiculous.  ALIENS traveled thousands of light years to take a crap on my bedroom floor?  Perhaps it's a message for humanity.  

Perhaps it was just the Universe sending messengers to tell me I'm an arse hole and the turd was what the Universe as a collective thinks of me. 

That leaves ONE person.  ONE prime suspect.  I'm typing this and can hardly believe it myself!

Of COURSE I didn't crap on my own bedroom floor!

BUT my unhelpful/destructive inner voice, our old friend 'MY INNER ARSE-HOLE' has found an opportunity to tell me I have early on-set dementia and that I have no memory of squatting down in my room and  crapping because I've lost my mind.  My Inner Arse-hole is loving it and loving placing that small seed of doubt in my mind.  I mean I know I didn't do it.  Of course I didn't do it but what if?  What if there really IS something wrong with me and I'm losing my grip on reality?  What's the alternative?  The Tidiness Nazi found it so it wasn't her and it wasn't any of the pets nor passing aliens.  Ghosts don't shit.  I bloody HOPE they don't shit,  that'd be rubbish in Heaven wouldn't it?  Queuing up on a cloud in a line with Cliff Richard banging on about God and fucking tennis.  I'd rather be dead....oh wait.

...so that's it.  A total mystery.  Either a pet has a tardis like bowel, Aliens disrespected me or I've gone mental.  Sherlock Holmes once said something profound that I can't remember but it basically confirmed my Inner Arse-hole's assertion that it was I who committed the shit crime.  Clearly.  Oh God - I've gone mental, I'm incontinent and am experiencing blackouts.  

In Samuel Pepys proper diary type news, Margaret Thatcher, Thatcher Milk Snatcher is dead.  The toffs are pissed off so many people are happy and celebrating and all the other politicians are pissed off they have to pretend to be nice.  What do I think?  Clearly she was a remarkable woman with focus and drive.  Shame she destroyed entire communities and spread so much misery really.  It'll be interesting to see whether anything bad happens when they parade her through the streets.  

Dating

I guess most people are aware that I'm terminally single and although I bang on about it quite a lot, it really doesn't bother me.  To be honest, I'd lose a sizable chunk of my act if I met someone and do believe I genuinely have gone a bit wrong by now. 

I doubt having a bloke would work for me much any how. 

As I've said in my act (accidentally, the first time, after getting carried away and asking the audience if anyone was up for a shag, and then becoming scared by the overwhelming positive response), I'm probably all healed up now and wouldn't be good for anything.  I was discussing this with people at work today and revealed that, over the years, I have been able to collect a whole heap of hang ups and now, the only bloke I think I could relax with would have to be that kid who plays a mean pin ball (you know him, the deaf, dumb and blind one).

Of course, the sensible part of me says that I can't go on like this and that I need to have  word with myself.  I should slap myself until I beg myself for mercy but then I wouldn't GIVE myself mercy, I'd just keep on slapping until I cried, tears of pain mingling with confusion as to why I wasn't stopping with the auto self flagellation. 

Anyhoo, the bit of me that says I should change made me join a dating website a few months ago.  I decided to be totally honest and put on my profile that I'm a bit crap, my car tried to kill me, I'm prone to grumpiness and I don't want anyone who can only write their profile in text talk (morons), is needy, or soppy in any way.  I also said that until I was convinced any potential date wasn't a cannibal I would only be meeting them in a busy pub where they were free to feed me.  I didn't think I'd get any responses but bloody hell, the pile of emails frightened the bejesus outta me.  In horror, I promptly took my profile down.  The thing is, they kept sending me matches to look at so after about a week I decided to just go through these and see, in a no pressure environment, who they reckoned my perfect mates were.

CHRIST ON A BIKE!

No word of a lie, the first bloke had a tracheostomy - a bloody plastic pipe sticking out of his throat!  I got matched with a bloke who looked like he was 65, was propped up in a chair and had a sodding plastic tube sticking out of his neck!  Yeah, after everything I'd said about looking for a meeting of minds, wanting a bloke with wit and charm, I get a geriatric who was hanging onto life by a plastic tube.

The next bugger looked like he was about 50.  Not in age, in stones.  He was HUGE yet seemed to be wearing a toupee.  Looking closer it wasn't a toupee, I think his head had grown so big his hair had a shrunken look to it.  It was also cut in a Friar Tuck style.  Fuck me!

The third looked as if he'd posted a picture of himself from the 1970s.

The forth was the epitome of Paedophile Chic. 

The fifth had never had a job, had loads of kids and was looking for a 'special lady for fun and frolics'.  Piss off mate.

....I went through the list with growing dismay.  Bloody hell, who am I kidding any way?  What makes me think I've even GOT anything to offer anyone who was 'hanging the right way' in the first place.  Perhaps this was Fate telling me to stop thinking I could do any better than a bloke in an ill fitting suit with giant black framed glasses and a penchant for short women who could pass as being 12.  Gawd only knows what comments my photo and grumpy profile were getting.  I think most of it was made up with what I don't want and some vague nod towards my comedy.

Hell, I dipped my toe in the pool of real life and decided I preferred hermitude.  Hermitude, sweet hermitude, you don't judge me for wearing dinner stained pyjamas.....

Oh yeah, just a quickie.  Whilst typing this up I was summonsed upstairs by the Tidiness Nazi.  I could hear from the tone of her voice I was in trouble so I duly trouped up the stairs, my frightened face appearing slowly above the banister.  She was in the bathroom, her face set.

"Wha........?"

She didn't speak, she just silently pointed towards the shower.  I slowly entered the room and looked at the giant turd glistening in the cubicle.


"I'm not picking it up!" she huffed before leaving the room.


Honestly, I didn't do it.  We have a perfectly acceptable toilet in the same room!