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The thesis here: let me finish my god damn anecdote!

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No not you the reader, that’d be silly.  Please don’t leave.  Honestly, I don’t mean you.  What I’m talking about here is – what seems to be – the now common practice of usurping someones comedic genius to leech off of the group laugh like a son of a bitch.

Like, sweet baby Buddha I can’t even express the smoldering rage that nearly boils over every time some soggy lamp shade breaks into a story I’m telling like a god damn tornado warning with some half-assed similar event that they haven’t really practiced vocalizing and now we all just have to stand there and listen, myself (or whoever the original story teller was) just put off like:

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And trust me, I’m a master of having something really funny to say and wording it so poorly that it’s not funny anymore.  So if someone is in the zone, let them finish!!

The reason I’ve landed on this rant is actually a very specific experience that happened in the not-too-distant past.

I’m probably weird, but sometimes I day dream about being on talk shows with like Jimmy Kimmel, or Conan, or Colbert, whoever; telling these funny, light-hearted stories about this or that as if I’m super famous and people just want to hear what every day life is like for me.  I know… It’s stupid, but let me live my fantasies.

Anyway every once in awhile, I’ll chance upon these weirdly on-point stories about real life experiences because I’ve somewhat rehearsed how I would tell them to an audience in my head, on an imaginary talk show.

Boring

One of which, I was sharing with a group of blokes because we had gotten on the topic of how women don’t poop and boy did I have an anecdote for them.

INT. LOUNGE LIKE SETTING

A group of friends and I sit around discussing why this is thus and the reason for this thusness.

BLOKE #1

Dude you know women don’t poop.

ME

Oh they poop, let me tell you.  Once I was working at

a gas station, and I was in the restroom, cleaning you see.

I had the entrance taped off so that nobody would barge in.

The entire room is sagaciously listening to the story, actually interested in the plot, the development, what happens next;

ME

When suddenly, I hear the door open and someone

walk into the restroom.  I politely call out from

the stall I’m cleaning, “ma’am, I’m cleaning.  It’ll

be just a second.”  The stall door next to me

slams shut; I hear a woman answer back, “I’m so sorry.”

And then she just let’s go.

The room erupts with laughter, blokes cackling here, there, everywhere.

ME

Now, I’m in the stall next to her and I can hear it all.

The splishing, the splashing, the sloshing, the farting, the churning.  I

mean this woman probably barely got her pants clear

of the blast radius.

At this point, I’m basically screaming the story over the laughter of the room because, while it really wasn’t all that funny, we were all in a good mood and just feeling laughable.

ME

In a slip of professionalism, I exclaim, “My god,” as I grab

my cleaning supplies and quickly get the fuck out.

So let me tell you…

Enter the Jack Ass who interrupts literally the closing line.

JACK ASS

Yeah dude! Women totally poop!  My girlfriend poops

around me all the time.

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End Scene.

Literally, all I wanted to close on was, “Shit happens, to men and women.”  You know, to be poetic and stuff.  But no, homeboy had to insert commentary right in the thick of the plot!

I know, I’m being dramatic.  But still.

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