[Dean and Cooly]
It started when I heard suspicious noises coming from behind my university bedroom door. It was late and I was trying to get some sleep for the next days round of film classes. Something was awry and I wondered which one of my roommates in J51, a house with a roll call made up of filmmakers, cartoonists, and musicians, friends I’d known since high school, was being shady? I hopped out of bed and swung open the door only to confront my two pals, Raf & Cooly, hunched over a section of tabloid spread across the length of my door jamb.
"The fuck, man?"
Cooly looked spooked as Raf keeled over in a fit of giggles. Quick interrogation revealed a dare that Cooly would shit on a newspaper and leave it in front of my door the entire night in hopes of fumigating my olfactory with his foul feces, better yet, perhaps to get me to step in said matter come morning.
"The fuck, man?"
Busted, the plan was derailed and I was sobered awake. The three of us entered the kitchen for some malt liquor to chase back the night when Dave, our resident beefcake amateur pugilist cum Herman Melville student, swung open the front door and joined us for a toast. We toasted to everything and anything whenever Olde English 800 appeared and this was no damn different. Dave had an infectious laugh and so when I told him what Raf & Cooly tried to do to me, his laughter had all of us rolling and grabbing gut. This woke people up.
The first sleep casualty to climb down from upstairs in his robe was Clak, a man who carried a thousand year library in the back of his head, who didn't care why we were laughing nor did he want to share in any toast. Clak wanted milk. The next body to appear was Blazm, a witty fireplug of a man who also found the devious attempt to attack my senses quite funny. He raised a glass. Finally, Blue, the high-tech mercenary of the group wondered what the sudden gathering was all about as he pulled on a hit of Ol' E. The dare was discussed as we analyzed who could pull such a stunt if push came to shove and machismo got aggro. This was symptomatic of J51 and usually snowballed into something crazy. Often the instigator of such bad behavior, tonight I would become its victim.
I don't know if Raf winked at Cooly or if Cooly slipped a mickey in Dave's drink but within seconds Clak, Blazm, and I, were trapped inside the small kitchen area being held hostage by the trio of pranksters. Blue was on the outside of the kitchen exit playing politics. Somehow, the gauntlet was thrown down and Dave picked it up and he created a dual challenge. Dave was going to shit on the floor. The only thing that would free us was if we three caught said Dave doodoo as it poured from his anus before it hit kitchen tile.
"The fuck, man?"
None of us were going to have this as we abruptly made for the exit only to have a wall of Dave, Raf & Cooly, beat us back. Dave was a Juggernaut of muscle and Cooly was a short Hulk wrapped in Wolverine rage. Raf's wiry conviction held us at bay like Plastic Man. We fought and we scrapped yet there was no yield. By this time, Blue had run upstairs and come back down with a video camera, recording the domestic terrorism. He was laughing, too, the punk.
Dave pulled down his shorts, hovered over our extended circle of hands, and tried to shit. The sounds of him straining was appalling. None us planned to catch his crap but we egged him on. More pushing. Nothing. Dave tried again and feared urinating. All the forced pushing on his bladder was going to make him pee. He didn't want to pee. Finally, another internal shove of the intestine revealed something of a turtlehead. He yelled, "It's poking." We quickly retrieved our circle of palms in fear of catching said turtlehead when Dave pulled up his shorts, stood back up, and quit the contest. He simply couldn't shit for fear of spraying the floor with his urine. Good to know.
Cooly got cocky and pulled his pants down. By hook or by crook we were going to catch shit before the night was over! Extra pumped and red in the face, Dave was upset he couldn't perform and stood tight lipped and akimbo, blocking the exit. Raf entered a new phase of conviction as he, too, blocked the exit like a human spider-web. Blue snickered as he stood on the sidelines like a war journalist, video taping the entire event. Once again, we were instructed to reach our palms out and below Cooly's balls and anus. Once again, we did as we were told. It didn't take long for Cooly's sphincter to pucker and slowly unload brown yogurt. Naturally, Blazm, Clak, and I, quickly withdrew our hands as shit splattered against the floor.
Then, Cooly snapped.
Bug-eyed and frothing at the mouth, Cooly grabbed a fist full of his shit and screamed, "Show me your hands!" Blazm was closest and he lied, convincing Cooly he caught it by showing the palms of his lily white clean hands. Somehow, this ploy worked as Cooly let Blazm go and turned his attention towards Clak and I. Clak hid behind my body as I desperately tried to pry open a boarded up section of the kitchen counter that entered another room for escape, but to no avail. Cooly barked "Did you catch my shit!?" With tears in my eyes I admitted, "No!"
Shit storm soufflé.
Brown beads of wet bits and pieces got caught in the pubic hairs of my chest like black Velcro and I gagged. My throat filled with saliva, preparing for a flume of vomit and I become instantly dizzy. Clak screamed behind me as Cooly blasted another load and I staggered out of the kitchen and over to the bathroom and into the shower. I put on the hot water as bile ejected from my throat and slid down my face. Now I knew why there was water in the toilet. It helps cut the smell so you don't hurl on your lap while taking a dump.
Minutes later, I dried off and staggered back into the foyer between the bathroom and kitchen and I see the main door to the housing unit is wide open. It's like a bomb went off inside and everyone spilled outside. Dazed and stunned, everybody collects at ground zero.
A very late Larry, our resident genius writer and missing final piece to the J51 puzzle, came prancing through the front door. He smelled something rank and wondered what happened? We filled him in as we forgave the perpetrators. If there's one thing I learned from living at J51, sometimes a good story has to be lived in order to tell it. No permission. No apologies.
Larry starts laughing, certainly glad he wasn't involved when Clak decides its time to hit the hay. As he turns to leave Larry's eyes widen in disgust as he points at the back of Clak's neck, nearly puking at the evidence. Closer inspection reveals a nugget of Cooly's dung clinging to the short hairs on Clak's neck like a happy little leach. Screaming, Clak runs upstairs to lance the offensive dingle berry and everybody starts cracking up, except for me. I hurry back to the bathroom gagging and spitting up. Again.
Finally, Blue kicks himself because he pressed the pause button when he meant to press the record button on his video camera. Nothing of this harrowing event was captured. The entire night becomes here say.